“Sample my—” I repeated, then flushed. “Oh! Coffee!”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a wicked little grin. “Yes, coffee. In fairness, I suppose I shouldn’t crown anyone the best until I’ve tried yours.”
I opened my mouth to provide an appropriately saucy comeback when his phone rang.
His expression darkened immediately when he saw the number. He silenced the call.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Family business,” he said, his tone tight. “I might have to take a raincheck on the coffee.”
“Yeah, sure. Of course! Anytime,” I said with a shrug even though I couldn’t help being disappointed.
When we reached the bookstore, Whit hopped out first and quickly made his way to my side, opening the door before I could, and took my hand to help me—completely unnecessary but devastatingly effective. My heart hammered as he pulled me a little closer before shutting the door behind me.
“Thanks,” I managed, breathless.
His eyes held mine as his thumb smoothed over the back of my hand.
The early morning breeze danced across my skin, sending a shiver through me. Well, it was partly due to the breeze. Suddenly shy and awkward at the way my body reacted to the closeness of him, I whispered, “I should go.”
Before I could change my mind, I hurried to the shop, fumbling with the key until I finally got it in the lock. When I glanced back, Whit still stood where I’d left him, watching to make sure I got inside safely. He gave me a soft yet heart-stopping smile and lifted a hand before getting in his car.
“Hi, Ms. Dottie!” I called, cheeks still warm. “It’s just me!”
Quick, muffled footsteps—more than one set—padded on the floor above where Dottie kept an apartment. A few minutes later, Dottie descended the back stairs, smoothing her side ponytail and tugging at her bedazzled shirt.
“Good morning, honey,” she said, without meeting my eyes. “You certainly arepunctual.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, unable to suppress a grin. “Where would you like me to start this morning? Inventory?”
She fluttered around a little aimlessly as if trying to look busy. “Oh. Oh, yes, Zellie honey. I think that would be just fine. You go right ahead.”
I headed to the back of the store to where we kept all the supplies for the coffee shop. I’d barely stepped inside when low voices floated through the doorway. Dottie’s voice was obvious. The other belonged to a man. Curious, I poked my head out just in time to see the back door closing.
I wasn’t about to pry, so I was surprised when later that afternoon during a lull, Dottie came clacking into the coffee shop, glancing over her shoulder as if making sure no one was around.
“Zellie honey, I need a word.” She leaned in and whispered with exaggerated precision. “I’d like to keep my…visitorbetween us, if it’s all the same to you. We have too many nosy old busybodies in this town. I don’t need them poking around in my affairs.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I assured her. I gave her a conspiratorial wink and added, “Your secrets are safe with me.”
She patted my hand. “You’re a good girl, Zellie. I’ll be sure everyone knows that.”
As she tottered off on her heels, I frowned after her, confused. “She’ll make sure everyone knows I’m a ‘good girl’?” I muttered. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Chapter ten
Ihated the basement of Dawes House.
It was dark and creepy as all old basements are, but this was on another level. Whit was absolutely right to forbid anyone from living down there.
Some of the space was under construction. Framed-out rooms and half-finished hallways created even darker corners than usual. Other sections seemed untouched for decades. The timber used for support beams groaned with age. Forgotten possessions lingered like abandoned memories, the remnants of lives left behind—an antique wooden wheelchair, an old hobby horse, a child’s rusting bicycle, lanterns, long-unused gardening tools. An enormous black heating oil tank loomed in the far corner, cold and obsolete since the house was converted to electricity.
But one of the most unnerving relics—the one that always made my blood run cold—was the well set into the floor. Layers of stone stacked in a circle formed its lip, a heavy wooden lid secured over the hole with a rusted padlock. Piles of construction debris sat on top of the lid as if someone had tried to bury the damn thing.
“I don’t like it down there, Mama.”
Henry pressed close to my side as we stood at the top of the basement stairs. Even with the light on, the bottom was lost to shadow.
