“That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” Charley motioned toward the foam art. “Why don’t you show that to your customer? Brighten her day.”
Not a bad idea. Perhaps it would elicit a few words from her—or initiate a conversation.
He set the cup on the counter as she approached and offered her his most engaging grin. The one that usually turned female heads. “Your personalized skinny vanilla latte.”
Lips flat, she gave his handiwork no more than a fleeting perusal. “Thanks.”
Not only was the lady immune to his charm, she had no interest in extending their conversation.
Fighting back an irrational surge of disappointment, Zach put a lid on the drink. “Enjoy.”
“Thanks.” She hurried toward the door, pulled her umbrella out of the stand, and disappeared into the gray shroud hanging over the town.
“I think my attempt to brighten her day was a bust.” He folded his arms as the rain pummeled the picture window.
“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes the simplest gestures of kindness can touch a heart in unseen ways.”
Zach didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “Assuming the lady’s willing to let her heart be touched. She didn’t exude much warmth.”
“She may be hiding it behind a protective wall. Could be she’s dealing with a boatload of heavy stuff. That can dampen a person’s sociability.”
Zach’s antennas perked up. “You know anything about her?”
“Nothing much—though she seems familiar.” He squinted after her. Shook his head. “It’ll come to me. Anyway, I spotted her on the wharf Monday, sipping a brew from your fine establishment. She was sitting alone on a bench during one of the few monsoon-free interludes we’ve had this week. I got gloomy vibes. Like she was troubled—and could use a friend.”
Zach wasn’t about to question the veracity of Charley’s intuition. The man was legendary in these parts for his uncanny insights and his ability to discern more than people willingly divulged.
Present company included.
How Charley had realized there was an unresolved issue in his past was beyond him. He’d never talked about it to anyone. But the man’s astute comments, while generic, were too relevant to be random. As a result, on more than one occasion he’d been tempted to get Charley’s take on his situation.
Yet as far as he could see, there was no solution to the impasse short of returning to his former world and toeing the line—and that wasn’t happening. The new life he’d built these past two and a half years suited him, and now that he was settled in Hope Harbor, he was more convinced than ever his decision to walk away had been the right one.
“You still with me, Zach?” Charley’s lips tipped up.
“Yeah.” He refocused. “You think she’s a visitor?”
“I’d classify her more as a seeker.”
What did that mean?
Before he could ask, Bren appeared at his elbow. “Here you go, Charley.” She popped a cinnamon stick into his drink, snapped on a lid, and handed the cup over the counter.
“Thanks. It’s a treat to have authentic Mexican coffee available here in our little town.”
“We aim to please.” The door opened again to admit what appeared to be a family of tourists, and Zach lifted his hand in welcome. “Everyone must be in the mood for coffee today.”
“Count your blessings.” Charley raised his cup in salute. “I’m off to the taco stand.”
“I’ll try to send a few customers your direction.”
“Always appreciated. Maybe Kat will stop by.”
“You know her last name?” He kept an eye on the newcomers as they perused his menu board and examined the offerings in the pastry case.
“No. But I may find out if she visits my truck. Or she might come back here again and you can take another crack at breaching that wall she’s put up. See you soon.” He strolled toward the door.
The new customers began to pepper him with questions about the pastry selection, but as he answered, the image of the mystery woman sitting alone on a bench at the wharf—and Charley’s comment that she could use a friend—remained front and center in his mind.
If she was dealing with a bunch of garbage, he ought to cut her some slack for her lack of sociability today. Been there, done that—and it was a bad place to be.
Yet thanks to grit, determination . . . and the kind people of Hope Harbor, who’d welcomed him into the community he now called home . . . he’d survived.
Hard to say if the woman hiding behind the dark shades had similar fortitude . . . and if she was merely passing through, he’d never find out.
But if she stuck around awhile, perhaps in Hope Harbor she’d discover an answer to the worrisome situation Charley thought she might be wrestling with.
Mistake, mistake, mistake.
As the accusatory refrain looped through her mind, Katherine Parker sipped her excellent latte and watched the boats in the harbor through the rain-splattered windshield of her rental car.
The drops on the glass looked like tears.
How appropriate.
Throat tightening, she set the drink in the cupholder, fisted her hands in her lap, and willed the waterworks behind her eyes to dry up.
She should have stayed holed up in her cottage above Blackberry Beach. That was the safest place for her, as today’s excursion had confirmed.
Yet the cozy, comforting atmosphere in the coffee shop on Monday had been seductive. How could she not succumb to the temptation to visit again?
Especially since four days into her flight from chaos, she was as unsettled as ever. Her appetite had vanished, sleep was elusive, and her mind churned with questions . . . doubts . . . second thoughts.
But what else had she expected? Running away didn’t solve anything.
Except . . . she hadn’t run away. Not exactly. This trip was more about sanctuary than escape. A quiet interlude to rethink her goals in solitude, away from the raucous craziness that had become her life.
And Hope Harbor had seemed the perfect location for that.
So far, though, the peaceful ambiance she remembered hadn’t managed to permeate her soul.
But it was possible she was expecting too much too soon. A few days of peace weren’t going to counteract five years of constant stress and pressure. She ought to give herself a chance to acclimate to a slower pace. To let the tranquility of this place work its magic.
Fingers trembling, she picked up her latte. Took another sip as she gave the view a slow sweep.
Nothing much had changed in the past six years.
Overflowing flower boxes rimmed the sidewalk along crescent-shaped Dockside Drive, benches interspersed for the pleasure of passersby who could spare a few minutes to sit and enjoy the view. Beyond the harbor-hugging sidewalk, a sloping pile of boulders led down to the water, where bobbing boats were protected by a long breakwater on the left and two rocky islands on the right. On the other side of the street, shops with colorful awnings and window boxes faced the distant horizon.
She shifted sideways. At the far end of the crescent, where the frontage road dead-ended at the river that emptied into the sea, a gazebo graced a tiny pocket park containing a picnic table and what appeared to be a historic cannon. The latter hadn’t been there on her last visit.