Page 14 of The Romance Adventure

The comfiest, overstuffed loveseat in the world sits temptingly beneath the window, along with several other seating arrangements to the right, and a few of my paintings on the wall. To the left is the counter with an assortment of homemade chocolates, confections, and cold beverages of the coffee variety. Exhausted from the ride, I could go for some caffeine. There’s also the register, flyers for local events, and a few plants. Bean has greenery everywhere.

In the back is the kitchen and storage space.

Aside from that, bookshelves stacked with books cover every other surface. It’s delightful, even though the last book I read was a romance when I was here. Don’t hate me. I love to read, but between a bad relationship and a burgeoning business, I haven’t had much time lately.

Bean pours me a lemon-limeade and we sit down on the plush loveseat.

“Hard to believe this used to be Aunt Olga’s place.” Bean and I made up fantastically fake stories about how she met an islander and this is where they’d clandestinely meet once a year.

“It’s come a long way, huh?”

“I’m impressed. Did you do it all yourself?” I hint at whether there’s someone special in her life.

“Yep, with a little help from online videos and Nutmeg.” Bean makes a clicking sound and her tabby cat lazily lifts her head as if she can’t be bothered.

I yawn and mutter, “More like nut case.” The last time I visited, Nutmeg climbed the curtains in the middle of the night and yowled as if tattling on me. All I did was move her off my pillow, promise.

Bean covers her cat’s ears. “Don’t listen to Auntie Isla. You’re the perfect kitty.”

“She also licked clean my pot of fine-line cream. It was sample-sized, but still.” I brush my finger across what are sure to be a pair of Hefty bags under my eyes.

“It was ginger green tea infused. She probably thought it was a treat. Who can blame her? Honest mistake.”

With what amounts to a sneer, Nutmeg lounges on the windowsill and watches the world go by. It’s quiet for a moment except for the windchime outside.

Bean says, “So what’s really going on?”

I swallow thickly, then catch a yawn. I’m not going to tell her the whole story, but I will have to later. “Dax missed our Monday doughnut date a few weeks ago. I got him his usual and brought it to his house, thinking he’d overslept.”

“Don’t tell me you walked in on him and another⁠—”

I nod. “I walked in on him and the girl he’d cheated on me with. It was instantly over between us. But as I was letting him know clearly and loudly what I thought of his behavior, several federal agents paid a visit.”

Bean’s jaw drops. “What?”

“Turns out my ex’s brother was a wealth manager and got Dax involved in an investment fraud scheme.” I cover my mouth when I yawn again.

“So, he’s in jail.” It’s a statement of relief, not a question.

“I wish that were the case. The weasel is on the run.”

Bean gathers me into a hug, one I’ve sorely needed. The tension in my shoulders releases a fraction.

“I learned that he was using my address as his. I’m not in trouble, but figured I ought to get out of town until things blow over.” I swallow because I don’t know why it looked like my apartment blew up.

“I never liked Dax,” Bean says.

“I know. You warned me.” I’d rather not think about my guy-dar deficiencies, as in my loser guy radar doesn’t operate optimally, or at all. Don’t get me wrong, the guy at the Smoothery was handsome, but I’m not looking. I mean, I was because it was hard not to notice him, but I’m not looking looking. Though not to worry, there’s no chance I’ll ever see him again.

“I’m also not the biggest fan of the McGregor brothers,” Bean says off-handedly.

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Their grandfather bought this island and built the resort. His name was Chip Almeida.”

She says something else, but it’s a bit garbled. I squint as if looking into the past, then shake my head as if waking up. Did I nod off?

Bean waves her hand. “Never mind. That’s another drama for another day. Tomorrow, in fact.”