And perched on the edge of that park? Charley’s taco stand. The white truck with his name emblazoned in colorful letters over the serving window hadn’t budged an inch—nor changed one iota.
Neither had the owner—or those perceptive eyes of his.
She set the latte down again, the quiver in her fingers more pronounced.
Despite the passage of years and a disguise that would fool most people, that tiny flare of recognition in Charley’s dark cocoa irises at the coffee shop suggested he’d seen through her disguise. That he’d realized they’d met.
Whether he’d put a name to her face wasn’t clear. If he had, he’d kept her secret. If he hadn’t—who knew what he’d do once he did? Worst case, he’d mention it to someone . . . who’d mention it to someone else . . . and her attempt to remain under the radar would be a bust.
Sighing, she watched a boat on the horizon disappear into the mist—as she’d hoped to disappear in Hope Harbor.
Why, oh why, had she run into the one person she’d befriended during her previous stay? The one person most likely to recognize her?
Her plan to lay low and avoid his stand, despite the fabulous fish tacos he concocted, should have protected her—but how could she have known he’d frequent the new coffee shop in town she’d popped into twice for a handful of minutes?
A shop that had managed to suck her in with its low-key, welcoming atmosphere.
She picked up her latte again and took another sip of the cooling brew, spirits dipping.
Too bad the coffee shop was now off-limits. On her first visit, it had appeared to be a relatively safe haven. The customers, most of whom were no doubt transient summer tourists, had shown more interest in the twentysomething female barista with the triple-pierced ears and spiky, rainbow-hued hair than in her.
No surprise there. While the woman wouldn’t have drawn a second glance in Katherine’s world, she had to be a bit of a novelty here in quiet, sedate Hope Harbor.
But Charley had ruined the shop for her.
Not fair, Katherine. Charley isn’t the only reason you can’t go back.
In the distance, the light from the buoy at the end of the breakwater pierced the gloom, and the sonorous blare of a foghorn dispatched a warning across the expanse of water.
A warning she’d do well to heed.
The truth was, the tall, midthirties guy behind the counter also posed a risk—perhaps a bigger one than another unexpected meeting with Charley.
She took the lid off the remains of her latte, visualizing the fanciful K the man had created on top of her drink.
He’d been there on Monday too, but other customers had kept him occupied.
Today, however, he’d given her his full—and unwanted—attention.
Katherine’s fingers tightened on the disposable cup as the rain beat a staccato rhythm on the roof of her car.
In any other circumstances, the spark of interest in his deep brown eyes would have been flattering. With his dark hair, confident air, and lean, toned physique, he had the looks to rival any Hollywood heartthrob.
But romance wasn’t in her plans for this trip.
The taste of the latte grew bitter on her tongue, and she set the cup back into the holder. No more coffee shop visits for her. She couldn’t risk another run-in with Charley—or another attempt by the guy behind the counter to chat her up.
And unless her instincts were failing her, that’s what would happen if she showed up again at The Perfect Blend. All the signs of male attraction were there.
She twisted the key in the ignition, released the brake, and backed out of the spot she’d claimed on the south end of the wharf.
As she drove north on Dockside Drive, she surveyed Charley’s truck. Despite the dismal weather, a line had formed—and the savory aroma of grilling fish infiltrated her car.
A rumble from her stomach reminded her she’d skipped breakfast.
She ignored the message—and the temptation to stop. Her kitchen was fully stocked, and preparing a meal would keep her occupied on this rainy afternoon.
Her hands, anyway.
Her mind was a different story. It would be free to wander—and that wasn’t smart. Not yet. It was too soon to sort through the tangle in her brain. She needed a few days . . . or weeks . . . of long hours on a secluded beach to decompress first.
That’s why she’d rented a cottage perched above an isolated stretch of sand.
Now if only the weather would cooperate.
She hung a right, toward Highway 101 and the short trip north to her secluded hideaway, giving the taco stand one last glance.
Charley’s gaze connected with hers, and as he smiled, warmth radiated toward her.
Not the kind of sizzle she’d felt from the coffee shop guy. That had been more . . . adrenaline stirring.
No, this felt . . . peaceful. As if the taco maker was trying to comfort her. Tell her everything would be okay. Encourage her not to worry.
As she rounded the corner and the stand disappeared from view, Katherine frowned.
That had been . . . weird.
How in the world could she have read so much into a connection that had lasted . . . what? Three seconds? Four?
Huffing out a breath, she tightened her grip on the wheel. She was losing it. Grasping at straws. Conjuring up far-fetched sources of the consolation and encouragement she craved.
Good grief, the man may not even have been looking at her. It was impossible to be certain from that distance.
Picking up speed, she left the town center behind.
Yet the soothing, uplifting feelings engendered by that fleeting connection with Charley—real or imagined—lingered.
So why not enjoy the brief boost to her spirits, whatever the source?
For as she’d discovered over the past few years, most moments of happiness were short-lived—and few of them offered the lasting gratification she’d assumed success would beget.
2
“You about finished, Frank?” Zach called out the question to his Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday barista as he moved the thought-for-the-day sign from the sidewalk in front of The Perfect Blend into the shop.
“Almost.” The silver-haired man surveyed the crumbs littering the floor. “The toddler in the family group that claimed this table was apparently more interested in shredding his cake than eating it.”
“You want me to take over?” Zach folded up the A-frame sign and leaned it against the counter. Frank was spry and fit—but he was sixty-three. Not ancient by any means . . . but from the perspective of his own thirty-four years, it seemed old—even if the man had the energy of someone half his age.
“No thanks. I can handle it. This type of mess is much easier to deal with than some of the ones I ran into during my career as a mail carrier.” He motioned to the sign. “What’s tomorrow’s saying?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” Zach pulled out the eraser for the dry-erase board and wiped off the quote he’d featured on this August Tuesday. “Which do you prefer—‘Keep your face to the sun and you’ll never see shadows’ or ‘A diamond is merely a lump of coal that did well under pressure.’”
“I like them both—and they’re in keeping with the encouragement theme that’s been running through the sayings for the past few days.” Frank gave the mop one last swirl and rested his hand on top of the handle.