“It’s about thirty-five miles away.”
“Is that where you grew up?”
“No. I grew up in New Haven.”
Reese smiled. “Is that why you’re wearing a Yale sweatshirt?”
There came a lengthy pause. “I graduated from Yale.”
He sobered quickly and realized that Cherie Thompson was an enigma. She’d graduated from an elite Ivy League college but worked part-time in a small restaurant. The two facts just didn’t add up.
“I suppose you’re curious.”
Reese shifted to his left and gave her a direct stare. “About what?”
“As to why would someone with a degree from Yale would accept a job as a maintenance worker.”
He couldn’t believe she’d read his mind. “You’re right. I am curious.”
Cherie had quickly tired of the ongoing questions. If Reese wanted information on her background, then she would give it to him. “I’m working temporarily at the Seaside Café until I return to college.”
“When is that?”
“Next spring. I intend to enroll in online courses for a graduate degree. After twelve years as the parent coordinator for a childcare center, I still want to work with children but as a classroom teacher.”
“You couldn’t do that in Connecticut?”
“I didn’twantto do that in Connecticut.”
“But why here?”
“I’d vacationed here for the past two summers and loved it. The first summer, I met Leah and Kayana, and when we discovered our love for books, that’s when we formed a book club.”
Reese ran a hand over his face. “You decided to move here because of a book club?”
Cherie placed a hand over her mouth to stifle giggles when she saw his stunned expression. “Yes. People relocate every day because of something they’re passionate about. With me, it’s books and loyal friends. Bettina Wilson told me you left the island to enlist in the military. Why did you come back?”
“I came back because Coates Island is my home.”
“And now it’s mine. Is there anything else you’d like to know about me?”
“That will do for now,” he said with an explicit finality. “Is there anything you can recall about the man who assaulted you?”
“What about him?”
“Do you recognize him as someone you may have seen before you began working at the café?”
“No. If I had, I’m certain I would’ve remembered him.”
“It appears that he’d become a regular at the café. Can you recall how often he came in? And did he ever speak to you?”
Cherie went still as she gave Reese a long, penetrating stare, noticing things about him she’d ignored during their past encounters. They were sitting less than a foot apart, and she saw a feathering of gray in the cropped, straight, black strands of his hair. His features reminded her of a mahogany mask she’d purchased from a street vendor selling artifacts from Africa, India, and Asia. She’d bought several pieces from the man; she planned to exhibit them in her home office.
Reese’s eyes—large, dark, and with long lashes women spent money and time in a salon chair to acquire—mesmerized her. It was as if he could see that she wasn’t as calm and confident as she appeared. Leah and Kayana’s visit had allowed her to temporarily forget that she could’ve been murdered if Reese Matthews hadn’t come along at the exact moment before she lost consciousness. But having to answer questions about the attack brought everything back as she was forced to relive the trauma.
“Cherie? Are you okay?”
She blinked as if coming out of a trance. Cherie wanted to scream at him that she wasn’t okay and wouldn’t be until the man who attacked her was in prison—and for a long time. “You’re firing questions at me as if I were being cross-examined as a hostile witness.”
