Winona came out of the kitchen, walked in his direction, and tossed an ice pack on the counter in front of him without a word. She traced her steps back to the center of the counter, took a guy’s order for two draws, filled two mugs, served them, and collected the guy’s cash.

“Did they take off?” she asked Cole, and it took him a couple of seconds to figure out who she was talking about.

“They weren’t moving much,” he said, holding the ice to his head.

“Do they need an ambulance?”

Cole shrugged. “Not that I know of, but I could go check—”

“No. You’re done,” she said. “I’m not saying they didn’t deserve what you gave ’em, but the fun’s over.”

Holding the ice pack with one hand, he used the other to pick up the sandwich and take a bite.

Winona shook her head at him, as if to say, How can you eat after that?, then came out from behind the counter and headed down the hall toward the back door. She returned shortly and resumed her place behind the counter.

“They’re gone,” she said matter-of-factly. “Let me see your head.”

Cole shoved another bite of sandwich in his mouth, every movement of his jaw throbbing through his whole head, then lowered the ice pack for Winona’s inspection. She leaned across the bar, peering over the top rims of her glasses.

“He caught you just right,” she said. “I don’t think you need stitches but that’s quite a cut. Maybe a shiner on the way too.”

Hell. His “date” with Sierra was only two days away. If he had a black eye, that would draw the wrong kind of attention to him and Sierra.

He couldn’t go back on his offer. That would put him in a class even lower than what’s-his-name, her ex. He’d just have to buck the hell up, cross his fingers his eye turned out okay, and try not to fuck up her evening in any way.

Long shot and he knew it.

Chapter Three

When Cole walked into the historical church in downtown Nashville Saturday evening, there was a scattering of people in the outer room, none of whom he knew, as expected. He checked his watch—his trusted jobsite-worthy Timex that was completely out of place with his suit—and realized he had twenty-five minutes before the ceremony started.

Dumb ass. You should’ve killed some time in the truck.

He hovered along the outer wall near the door, uncomfortable for so many reasons, the least of which was not that he was wearing a suit and tie. It was random luck that he owned one. He’d bought it four years ago for his uncle’s funeral and hadn’t worn it since. He tugged at the collar as movement in the sanctuary caught his eye through the open doorway.