“Tell me. What is it about Noah?” Delia abandoned the stockpot and headed to her favorite cutting board on the island.
Elisa shut the dishwasher door, then glanced around the clean kitchen. She was officially out of distractions. “What do you mean?”
Delia lined up a carrot on the wooden board. “You two got along quite well for a time if I remember correctly. Feud or no feud.”
“That was a lifetime ago.” Elisa rarely allowed herself the luxury of remembering that summer. When sunsets stretched long and lazy, when fireflies filled the humid evening air like fairy dust and late-night bonfires on the beach transitioned into early morning kisses…
“Well, you know what the Lord says about time—a thousand years is like a day, and all that.” Delia began chopping.
Elisa zipped the charm on her favorite necklace along its dainty gold chain, ignoring the words she’d just used on Noah. “That feud runs deep in these parts, and you know it. Sometimes I wonder if Sheriff Rubart isn’t even more upset about everything than Dad.”
“I think Noah’s adolescent escapades might have contributed to that.” Delia smirked. “When Sheriff was a deputy, he had to clean up quite a few messes after Noah and Gilbert. He’s a good boy, though.”
Elisa tilted her head. “You never took sides, did you?”
“It’s just land, darling.” Delia shrugged as she worked the knife against a celery stick. “Plus, I wasn’t around when the whole thing started before my time. I surely don’t see any point in punishing anyone for their last name.”
If only the rest of the town shared her sentiment.
Delia examined the knife in her hand, then dug a sharpening tool from the drawer under the island. “Trish was right, by the way.”
“About Noah looking like a paper towel ad?”
“About you flirting with everyone.” Delia glanced up from the knife.
Elisa crossed her arms and stared at the chipped tile near the sink. “It’s harmless. And serves a purpose.”
She’d learned right quick after a decade of waitressing, culinary school, and restaurant management that being the one to flirt first created an ideal barrier—oneshecould control. Leave ’em guessing, treat ’em all the same. She kept her male customers at arm’s length, and they kept the tip jar full…and her heart safe. Win-win.
Except she’d never attempted that formula on someone she’d truly liked.
“Maybe it has a purpose.” Delia tested the knife’s sharpness on the carrot, then began chopping. “But Noah’s different, isn’t he?”
He was, but not in the positive way Delia kept implying. Maybe that was Elisa’s way out—maybe she needed to reverse tactics and flirt a little bit. Put Noah in a category she could handle. He’d flustered her, but if she treated him like everyone else, maybe she could hide the truth.
She leaned one hip against the countertop, fiddling with a floral-print oven mitt. “Noah is a puzzle.”
“Good thing you like puzzles, then, Ms. Treasurer of the Puzzlers Club.” Delia’s smile turned into a wince as she rubbed her lower back. “Crank that thermostat down a few notches, will you, honey? It’s warm in here.”
It wasn’t any hotter than usual in the kitchen, but Elisa obeyed anyway, moving to the unit on the far wall. “For the record, Noah is the kind of puzzle you buy only to discover all the pieces aren’t in the box.” Detrimental to one’s plans and sanity, at worst. An aggravation, at the least.
“I bet.” Delia shot her a knowing glance, then her face contorted in pain.
“Are you okay?” Elisa tossed the oven mitt on the counter and started toward her boss.
“Of course. Just the old hip acting up—” Delia’s leg suddenly gave out and she grabbed for the counter, but missed, slapping the long handle of the butcher knife instead. It flipped into the air as Delia grasped for a hold on the cutting board, the island, anything—yet only found air.
“Delia!” Elisa lunged, but couldn’t reach her before the older woman disappeared behind the island. The knife clattered to the ground, along with the cutting board full of vegetables.
Then everything went deathly silent.
three
He hated the way this day was going. And he especially hated that it was hard to feel confident and capable with a giant wet spot on his jeans from his clean-up attempt in the men’s room.
Noah had finally gotten his coveted short stack, but despite sitting there staring at the rivulets of syrup, all he could think about was how Elisa had cut her hair. The last time he’d seen her, that blond mane had been long and flowing halfway down her back, skimming the tie on her swimsuit top as she’d jumped off the dock. Today, that short little ponytail only served to draw attention to her eyes, wide and blue like the bay first thing in the morning.
Stop. The last thing he needed right now was distraction—especially the distraction of Elisa. He stabbed his fork into his pancakes.
