“Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”
“Why didn’t you call from the airport?”
“I decided it would be more fun to surprise you at your shop.” She gave the space an appreciative sweep. “I like this. It’s cozy and welcoming.”
“That’s what I was after. As long as you’re here, why don’t you sit for a few minutes and have a drink and a snack—unless you’re too tired from the trip.”
She waved his comment aside. “I’m used to traveling across multiple time zones in a day. Try flying from New York to Tokyo if you want to see jet lag. Atlanta to Oregon is a piece of cake. Food and drink would be most welcome after the cross-country airline fare—or should I say, lack of fare?”
“I feature snacks and desserts here, so a hearty meal will have to wait. But see if anything in the case tickles your fancy.” He led her over to the glass display unit.
She leaned closer to peruse the offerings. “Mmm. My taste buds are already tingling. Tell me about everything.”
“The packaged snacks are fair-trade sourced.” He indicated the selection. “Everything else is local. Cranberry nut cake and scones from Harbor Point Cranberries, lavender shortbread from Bayview Lavender Farm and Tearoom, and Eleanor Cooper’s famous fudge cake. She’s ninety-three, bakes the cakes for me in the Grace Christian Church fellowship hall kitchen, and donates all the proceeds to Helping Hands, a local charity sponsored by our two churches.”
Stephanie straightened up. “Fudge cake, no contest. I can’t resist chocolate—or the opportunity to support a worthwhile cause. The other offerings sound yummy too, though. I’ll have to sample them all while I’m here.”
“That can be arranged. What would you like to drink?”
“Do you have a house specialty—or a customer favorite?”
“The café viennois is popular. And we also have café de olla. You won’t find either at any of the popular chains. The viennois is—”
She held up a hand. “From France—light espresso, whipped cream, and chocolate powder. The Mexican coffee is made with cinnamon and piloncillo—that would be raw dark sugar for the uninitiated.”
“The lady knows her coffee.” Frank joined them and offered Stephanie a smile.
A dimple appeared in her cheek. “As a coffee lover, I’ve tried brews all over the world. After decades of sipping from Rio to Rome to Riyadh, I’ve become somewhat of an aficionado.” She extended her hand. “Stephanie Garrett.”
“Frank Simmons. I’m one of the baristas here.” The man gave his palm a quick swipe on his jeans and held it out. “A pleasure.”
“Likewise.”
The clasp lasted a bit longer than protocol demanded, and Zach inspected them.
A slight flush had tinted his aunt’s cheeks, and Frank was grinning as if he’d won the lottery.
Zach’s mouth quirked at the interesting vibes wafting from the pair.
As the handshake continued, he cleared his throat. “Sorry. I should have taken care of the introductions.”
“We managed.” Frank released his aunt’s hand—but not her gaze. “Welcome to Hope Harbor.”
“Thank you. I expect I’ll have a wonderful visit.”
“We’ll see to that.”
We?
Zach studied Frank. If the man was thirty or forty years younger, he’d peg that look as serious interest—and attraction.
But wasn’t the immediate zing phenomenon reserved for the younger crowd?
“I appreciate that.”
At his aunt’s response, he transferred his attention to her—and picked up the same spark in her irises.
Similar to the one that had momentarily flashed in Kat’s on the beach as they’d shaken hands.
If this kept up, Hope Harbor was going to be in the midst of an electrical storm.
“So . . . Aunt Stephanie, what’s your pleasure?”
The flush on her cheeks deepened as she continued to fixate on Frank.
“Aunt Stephanie?”
She blinked and broke eye contact with his right-hand man. “Yes?”
“What would you like to drink?”
“Oh. Um . . . whatever you think goes best with the fudge cake.”
“I’d keep it simple and stick with an Americano. A flavored drink could affect the taste of the cake.”
“Sold.”
“Find a seat and I’ll bring everything over.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” She angled back toward Frank. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure was all mine.”
She acknowledged his comment with a nod and strolled across the shop.
“You want me to cut the cake?” Frank continued to watch his aunt.
“Sure.” Zach went about preparing the Americano, keeping tabs on the other barista . . . who, in turn, was keeping tabs on Stephanie.
It appeared the ember of attraction could burst into flame at any age.
Wouldn’t it be a kick if Frank and his aunt connected?
But a relationship between them had about as much chance of developing into anything serious as the one between him and Kat. In both cases, the woman involved was only a visitor to Hope Harbor, and as far as he knew, neither had any intention of uprooting herself.
He finished the Americano and took the plate and fork from Frank. “Thanks.”
“You have any idea how long your aunt is staying?” Frank’s tone was nonchalant as he swiped a rag over the spotless counter.
“No. I don’t think she has a definite timetable in mind. I know she bought an open-ended return ticket. Now that she’s retired, she doesn’t have to adhere to any fixed schedule.”
“You think she’ll be stopping by here on a regular basis during her stay?” He leaned down to scrub at a stain Zach couldn’t see, giving the task more attention than it deserved.
“I expect so. You heard her—she loves coffee, and this is the only game in town. She’ll try to pay, but if you wait on her, tell her you’ve been instructed that her drinks and food are on the house—boss’s orders.”
“Is she going to be okay with that?”
“No. From what I know about Aunt Stephanie, she’s not the type to accept favors or preferential treatment.”
“An admirable trait.”
“Unless it morphs to stubbornness.”
Frank ran out of counter to scrub and straightened up, folding the cloth into a neat square. “How come you’ve never talked much about her?”
“We haven’t stayed in close touch.”
“That’s a pity.” He flicked her another glance. “She strikes me as a woman worth getting to know.”
“I don’t think she’d object to making a few friends while she’s here, if you have the inclination.”
“I’ll have to consider that.” He tucked the cloth under the counter. “On a different subject—are you attending the Helping Hands meeting tomorrow night about the foster home?”
“That was my plan, but it depends on how Aunt Stephanie settles in. I hate to leave her alone on her first full day in town.”
“I can bring you up to speed if you can’t attend, but a large turnout would be helpful. Personally, I think it’s a fine idea if all the hurdles can be overcome. The concept of keeping foster children from the same family together, in a more permanent home environment, has a lot of merit. So much of what we become later in life is influenced by our youthful experiences of home. I’d like to think the town will throw its full support behind this.”