It had been like that with my late husband Terry, only... less.
But the first time he walked into the shop with his friend, both new to town, his arrogance and the way he threw money around, as if he expected people to fall at his feet, soured my stomach immediately. It was enough for me to ignore the way my pulse raced when his eyes lingered on mine. The way my skin prickled with goosebumps as he raked his gaze up and down my body.
Six months ago...
It was an early fall morning; the shop had only been open for about thirty minutes. Pati, my granddaughter, had been here since four; her son Tyler, my great-grandson, would be getting ready for school shortly. I’d been puttering around the shop when the bell over the door jingled.
“Morning.”
The sound of his voice rolled over me in a way I hadn’t felt in a lifetime. I looked up from the counter, and my breath hitched. He was tall, my age or maybe a few years older, judging by the lines etched into his face. He was still in shape; his wide shoulders and muscular arms caught my attention immediately.
“Good morning,” I answered quickly, praying he didn’t hear the stutter in my words. “What can I get you?”
“How about you, darlin’?” His smile was slow and dirty, as if he was already undressing me with his eyes. “You on the menu?”
“No.”
“Damn shame.” His friend laughed, and I narrowed my eyes at them both. Despite being sixty-eight years old, I wasn’t too old to remember what men were like when they had theirboysaround them. Especially men like this one, all swagger and testosterone. His hands flattened against the counter as he stepped back and bent down to look into the display case. “I’ll take a bear claw and a black coffee, sweetheart.”
“And you?” I asked his friend, my voice tight.
“Black coffee and a cinnamon roll.”
I rang up the order, my jaw clenched. He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and slid it across the counter as if it were nothing.
“What the hell is that?” I stared at the money like it might bite me.
His eyes glinted with amusement. “Payment, sweetheart. Unless you’d rather I work it off another way.”
Heat flooded my face—from anger or maybe something else I refused to acknowledge. “I can’t break that. It’s too early in the morning, and I don’t have change for your bullshit.”
“Keep it then.” He shrugged.
The man freaking shrugged, that cocky grin never wavering. As if throwing a hundred dollars away was nothing. As if it wouldn’t make or break his budget for the week. As if he had it to throw away.
“Not a chance in hell.”
He chuckled, low and rough. “Your blush, darlin’, tells me everything I need to know.”
I closed my eyes and counted to ten, then twenty, my hands shaking slightly as I turned away. I grabbed tissue paper with more force than necessary, wrapped the bear claw, and placed it in a bag. Did the same with the cinnamon roll. Then I walked to the coffeepot and filled two cups with black coffee, my movements sharp and deliberate.
“It’s on the house,” I said through gritted teeth, setting the cups on the counter. “Now get out.”
I turned and walked into the kitchen, leaving them both staring after me, my heart pounding in my chest.
When I heard the bell jingle, I stepped back into the main room, and there, on the counter, was the hundred-dollar bill.
Ever since then, every time he came in, he ordered the same thing and left a hundred-dollar bill on the counter when I refused to accept it. I’d been putting them away toward Tyler’s college fund.
His name was Stephen Hartley, but everyone called him Popeye. He was a retired biker from New York.
And he was Grace’s father.
Grace, whom I hadn’t seen since the day the Death Dogs stormed in and kidnapped her and Karlyn from the store.
Without looking up I knew it was him. Six months of the same routine had trained my body to recognize the weight ofhis footsteps, the way the temperature seemed to climb a few degrees whenever Stephen Hartley walked into my shop.
“Morning, Trudy.”
