Free Beneath the Patchwork Moon (Hope Springs, #2) by Alison Kent

She wanted pizza. Greek pizza, with spinach and red onions and Kalamata olives and feta cheese. She wanted salted caramel apple cupcakes from Butters Bakery. And really. There were more things she wanted than food. And food shouldn’t even be on her mind after all she’d ordered at Malina’s.
    It was that kiss, making her hungry, making her want more of him. Making her ache to end up exactly where he’d said they would. She’d wanted to slap him for suggesting such intimacy was inevitable. As if she hadn’t gained any self-restraint. As if she hadn’t learned to say no. Please. She was over him. Completely over him. And she had been for eight years. That kiss meant nothing. She refused to let it.
    Pushing open her door, she forced herself out, pocketing her keys as she heard another vehicle brake to a stop on Three Wishes Road’s gravel shoulder. Praying it wasn’t Oliver Gatlin again, she turned, and was genuinely surprised—and pleased—to see Will Bowman climbing from his big Keller Construction pickup. He headed toward her, the sun castinga funhouse shadow of his tall, lanky body down the driveway and onto her car.
    Welcoming the distraction, she walked away from the house—where Angelo waited—to meet him. “Will! What are you doing here?”
    His smile was coy, the light glinting off strands of his blue-black hair. “Wanted to see where you’ve been spending all your time.”
    The implication being that she wasn’t spending it with him? Or was she reading more into the one dinner he’d cooked for her months ago? “I’ve been busy, which working for Ten you should know. And from what I hear, Kaylie’s house has been keeping you busy, too.”
    He nodded, shoved his fists into the pockets of his skinny black jeans. “Who knew the short-term gig for the café would turn into a long-term gig after the fire? Though a lot of the delay goes to the insurance company for dicking around so long.”
    “I’m just glad the house was salvageable. I haven’t driven by in weeks. I’m anxious to see how it looks.”
    “It looks a lot like it did a hundred years ago. Or it will once the exterior’s painted. Though I have a feeling the particular shade of blue Kaylie chose is completely anachronistic.”
    Luna laughed. “I imagine Kaylie is less concerned about being period authentic than she is being able to live there. She loves that house.”
    “You’re preaching to the choir, sweetheart,” Will was saying as Angelo walked up, his scowl no doubt spawned by Will’s casual familiarity. Will scowled, too, his upward chin jerk and the resulting flip of his ironically emo hair equally—and unnecessarily—territorial.
    Men. Such ridiculous posturing. As if either one of them had laid claim to her. As if she’d let either one of them do such a thing. “Angelo Caffey, Will Bowman. Angelo’s sister was my best friend in high school, and this was their house. And I met Will a few months ago while he was working on Two Owls Café.”
    “On what?” Angelo asked, continuing to take in the other man.
    Instead of throttling him, Luna explained. “Do you remember Winton and May Wise? They lived in the big blue Victorian on the corner of Second and Chances? A friend of mine bought the place and converted the first floor into a café. Or was in the process of doing so when a fire broke out on the third floor.”
    Will offered Angelo his hand. The two men shook, each sizing up the other before Will spoke. “We’ve just about finished rebuilding the turret, and Kaylie’s thinking she’ll be open by November.”
    “That’s great,” Luna said. “I know she hated the delay.”
    “Pretty sure she hated more the idea of losing the house.”
    “Oh, of course,” she said to Will, then said to Angelo, “Will works with Tennessee Keller. Keller Construction is going to be building the arts center.”
    Angelo only nodded, leaving Luna to ignore him and ask Will, “What do you think of the plans?”
    Will looked