He nodded as if in understanding, and to her surprise he picked up a broom that had been standing in a corner. He began sweeping up the slivers of broken glass that glistened in the sunlight pouring through the large front window of the shop.
“You don’t have to do that,” she protested.
“I know, I want to.” He flashed her that devastating grin, then resumed his sweeping.
Libby watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged and went back to work. At her request, Tony kept the sightseers out of the shop, allowing in only the regular customers whom Libby first okayed.
It was almost another two hours later when Libby sat down tiredly on a chair and looked around her, grateful to see that the shop had been put back into some semblance of order. She sighed, then jerked upward in the chair as a loud banging noise came from the back rooms. Noting that Tony had disappeared, she followed the sound to discover him boarding up the back door.
She watched him silently for a moment, almost able to see the taut muscles of his back flexing and working through the fabric of his shirt as he applied hammer to nails. He finished driving in the last nail, then turned to her and smiled. “Hope you don’t mind. I found the hammer and nails back here and thought I’d put them to good use. This should hold until a new door can be properly installed.”
She nodded her thanks, then walked back to the front of the store, where she flopped tiredly into a chair and pushed her damp, blond hair away from her face with the back of her hand.
He sat down on a chair across the room and looked around. “I’d say we did a good day’s work, Libby Weatherby.”
“And I thank you for all your help,” she said simply.
He nodded, then stood up and walked over to stand before her. He knelt in front of her and pulled a pristine handkerchief from his back pocket. In a quick, gentle motion he wiped the cloth across her forehead.
“What…what was that for?” she asked, jerking back from his momentary contact.
He smiled, making her notice the fine webbing of wrinkles that radiated out from his dark eyes. “I never take a woman to lunch who has dirt streaked across her forehead.”
“And what makes you think I’m going to have lunch with you?” she asked peevishly, suddenly very hot and tired.
“It’s after noon. I’m hungry and I imagine you are, too. You’ve had a harrowing day. Surely you can close up shop early after such an experience.”
She started to protest, irritated at his presumption that she would have lunch with him. Still, he was right. She was rather hungry and she really wasn’t in the mood to keep the store open for the rest of the afternoon. She was exhausted and bewildered, and at the moment nothing sounded more appealing than a restaurant meal before going home to a warm shower and a long nap.
“I am hungry,” she admitted aloud.
“There’s a little café on the next block. It’s supposed to have great food. Olive’s—have you ever eaten there?”
“Many times. I often go there for lunch.” Decision made, Libby stood up and grabbed her purse. “Okay,” she agreed.
At the door of the shop she paused, her gaze lingering on the contents, basically back in order, but not quite the same as before.
“Anything wrong?” he asked, stepping out onto the sidewalk.
She shook her head slowly, then pulled the door closed and carefully locked it. How could she explain to him that somehow the shop now seemed tainted, blemished? A stranger, or several strangers, had wandered around, touching things, breaking things, effectively destroying the peace she’d always felt while in the store.
They walked in silence toward the café, and Libby’s thoughts turned to the man beside her. What kind of person was he? How could he make his living by following people, spying on people? She’d always thought those kind of paid voyeurs were sleazy, but Tony Pandolinni didn’t appear to be a sleaze bag. He was not only attractive to a fault, he’d also been kind enough to help her with the cleanup.
Maybe over lunch she could ask him to appeal to Bill, to get him to stop this senseless, constant surveillance. If that could be accomplished from this mess, then maybe it would all be worthwhile. It would be nice to be able to call her life her own again, to no longer feel the presence of someone constantly watching her, following her.
They entered Olive’s Café and sat down at a booth toward the back of the small restaurant.
“Hi, Libby.” Olive waddled to their booth, barely able to fit her massive bulk between the tables. “I hear there was some excitement over at your place this morning.”
“Hmm, a break-in and a big mess, but nothing of value was stolen,” Libby replied, noticing the way Olive looked at Tony hungrily, as if he were a thick, juicy red steak.
“What can I get for you folks today?” Olive’s gaze never wavered from Tony, and to Libby’s utter disgust, Tony actually winked at the big woman.
“I’d like a hamburger, fries and a glass of ice tea.” Libby snapped her menu shut, already regretting the impulse that had led her to agree to have lunch with the virtual stranger across from her. Her day had been horrendous enough, and the last thing she needed was to spend time with a mini-Magnum who’d probably skated through life on the magnetic attraction of his high cheekbones and dimpled chin.
“And what about you?” Olive grinned broadly at Tony, then leaned toward him with a conspiratorial whisper. “I have it on good authority that the spaghetti sauce is exceptional today.”
“Homemade?” Tony raised a dark eyebrow.
