ChapterOne
Though they'd never met, Jude Camden was an expert on Gemma Clare.
Minutes from now he'd introduce himself to her, which made him feel the way he'd once felt toward standardized tests in high school. Lots of duty mixed with purpose.
It was February sixteenth in the state of Maine and today's sunny weather would have been enjoyable for this time of year if not for the biting, angry wind. Fortunately for him, he always dressed appropriately for the weather because he never left home without first studying the forecast. Flipping up the collar of his dark gray pea coat against the gusts buffeting him, Jude walked past the trendy shops and restaurants of Bayview, Gemma's small, historic hometown.
When people thought about Maine, they usually thought about the coast. Many had little familiarity with inland towns and cities like Bangor, where Jude lived and worked. Or Bayview, which was named for its view not of an ocean bay, but the bay of Pushaw Lake. Bangor was a forty-minute drive from the coast and Bayview was twenty additional minutes north of Bangor. He loved to fish, so he'd come to Pushaw Lake numerous times. But he didn't love to shop, so this was the first time he'd bothered to visit the town's center.
He watched the address numbers climb until he reached Gemma's store and stopped. A sign creaked on a wooden arm jutting from the white-painted facade of an old brick building. Carved gold letters on the sign readPerfumes by Gemma Clare.
Time to get down to business. Steeling himself, he entered through a hot pink door.
He saw no one. But a fragrance—flowers and citrus—welcomed him the way a dust storm might welcome a traveler to the Arabian Peninsula. The scent barreled over him, incredible, unlike anything he'd smelled before. Rich and complex . . . Maybe too much of a good thing? Like serving a person a forty-ounce steak or a bucket of wine.
Other than the lack of people, the interior looked as expected based on the online photos he’d viewed. Wood floor. A ceiling that exposed the cement underbelly of the floor above plus ductwork and metal pipes. White walls. Shelves holding clear glass bottles of perfume, body cream, shower gel, candles. Labels in bright pastel colors. The feminine environment gave him the uncomfortable feeling that he'd breached a space men rarely visited.
“Hello?” came a woman's voice from behind the swinging double doors that divided the retail space from the space at the back.
“Hello,” he answered.
He knew that Gemma employed one person, Stella Russo, her aunt on her father's side, age fifty-eight. He also knew that Gemma worked the shop floor in the middle of every weekday so the older woman could take her lunch break. He'd purposely arrived during the lunch hour on a Wednesday in hopes of catching Gemma alone.
A flash of movement at the double doors caught his eye. He looked up in time to see a woman peek out. “Ah!” she said, then disappeared before he'd had a chance to meet her eyes or register anything about her other than her long, red hair. Fortunately, that one distinctive detail was enough to confirm her identity. This was Gemma. “One second,” she called.
He crossed to a shelf and opened a tester bottle of bath gel named Relaxation and Berry. As he was holding it up to his nose, Gemma burst through the double doors carrying a huge gift basket.
When she spotted him, her eyes went big with alarm.“No!”she yelled.
He startled.No?
“No, no, no!” She rushed toward him with the gift basket. “Put that down!”
“In my defense, it was labeled as a tester—”
“There's citronella in that! Let me take it from you!” She jostled the gift basket to the side to free one of her hands. Doing so caused the basket to slip. She bobbled it. Its top edge, covered in a pink bow, smacked the shower gel he was holding. A glob of it flew into the air and landed on the side of his jaw.
She steadied the gift basket and froze, gaping at him with wide-mouthed horror.
Gelatinous liquid curved down his throat.
What in the world had just happened?
Gemma set the basket on the floor and raised her palms toward his neck. “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness! Don't panic.” She jerked the bath gel from him and set it aside. “You'll be fine. I'll just—” She reached up and swept the goo off his skin with her fingers.
He was too stunned to speak. Too professional to lose his cool.
With her other hand, she pulled up the hem of her long cardigan and wiped the area. “Don't panic!” she exclaimed again, then sprinted to the back of the shop.
Jude looked from side to side. Was he being set up? Filmed for some type of social media challenge?
She returned, a tornado of orange-red hair and charisma. She now held a wad of paper towels, wet at one end. Once again, she took it upon herself to scrub at his jaw and neck.
He couldn't make sense of her huge overreaction. Or her complete disregard for his personal space boundaries.
“Lie down on the floor,” she demanded.
He gave her a slow, incredulous blink. “No, thank you.”
