Muffin Man demanded, "Do you think I eat off the floor?"
I'd made a ton of stupid decisions lately, but I wasn'tsofar gone that I'd answerthatquestion. So instead, I mumbled, "I'm really sorry."
This was no lie. Iwassorry. I shouldn't have dropped the muffin. I shouldn't have tried to joke with him. And most of all, I shouldn't have thought I could hide in a tourist hot-spot that was only eight hours from Chicago – seven by car, plus an hour by ferry.
A chill skittered down my spine.Forget cars and ferries.By jet, the distance was significantly less. Less thanonehour.Holy hell.
On the upside, there were at least a dozen customers separating me from Ryder Vaughn. Of course,tendozen would've been better.
Muffin Man continued to glare, even as I handed him the pastry bag with a brand new muffin.
He stiffly said, "Idohave a dog, you know."
Absently, I replied, "Oh…that's nice."
Behind him, the woman muttered, "Yeah, and I've got three cats, but you don't seemeholding up the line."
Muffin Man didn't even turn to look. Maybe he was hard of hearing. Or maybe he was just too focused on me, because he was still giving me the stink-eye, as if I'd just insulted his dog.
When I said nothing more, he gave a disgruntled sigh. "So I want it forhim, not me. A little treat, you know? And the floor don't bother him none."
I blanked for just a moment before my brain finally caught up. "Oh. Of course. Sure…" And with that, I ducked down, plucked up the floor muffin, and shoved it into a pastry bag.
As I handed it over, a woman halfway down the line stared in open disgust. Looking ready to barf, she said, "That's so gross."
Was it?Not the wayIsaw it – unless she hadn't caught the part about it being for the dog. Looking to put her mind at ease, I called out, "It's not for him. I mean…it's not like we sell food off the floor."
A middle-aged couple standing directly behind her shared a worried look and then broke for the exit, as if I'd just announced that floor muffins were today's special.
But Ryder Vaughn?Hestayed put, as if the whole muffin drama had gone completely unnoticed. He was still talking to his friend, who, now that I noticed, had a big, black duffle bag slung over his shoulder, like he was fresh off the ferry.
As Muffin Man paid for his pastry – plus one black coffee, already poured – I sucked in a deep, calming breath.
Mackinac Island attracted all kinds of people, including some pretty famous names who had private getaways within biking distance of this same exact shop. So, was it really so strange that Ryder Vaughn would come here, too?
Maybe he was here on vacation.
Or to scout out some property.
Or hey, he could be on a sugar-bender. I mean, Elvis once tookhisprivate jet to buy peanut-butter-and-bacon sandwiches, so was it really out of the question that Ryder Vaughn would pop onto the island for some of its world-famous fudge?
As for myself, it was time to get a grip. It's not like he and I had ever met. Sure, I'd seen him from afar a time or two, but compared to him, I was background noise.
But then, just as I started to relax, a new thought made my heart hammer in ways that had nothing to do with his lazy grin or sparkling blue eyes.
What if…he was here for me?
Ridiculous?Probably.
Paranoid?Definitely.
But try telling that to my stomach, which was staging a revolt. If Evan Carver had anything to do with this, I was in serious trouble – the kind that should send me swimming for the mainland.
But I held my ground, making a decent Americano for the disgruntled cat-lady followed by two custom mochas for the eye-rolling teenagers. The mochas, unfortunately, were still a challenge. So of course, I screwed them up at the very end by spraying a crooked mountain of whipped cream onto the wrong drink, which meant I had to remake one of them from scratch.
But I wasn't thinking of mochas.Had Evan – that psycho in a suit – sent a couple of hotshot friends to ferret me out?
The thought was so nauseating I almost bolted out the back, leaving the customers waiting for nothing. If the crowd was lucky, I'd pass my useless boss along the way and tell him that his break was over unless he wanted a java-junkie riot on his hands.
