Page 4 of Haunted Ever After

“Hey, Libby.” He nodded at the woman who’d just walked in. Libby Simpson was a Boneyard Key native from a long line of Boneyard Key natives, just like Nick. And while they’d both stuck around this town, she’d gone into the family business instead of striking out on her own like he had. But Nick had never been cut out to be a tax accountant, and besides, Libby’s family business was a lot more interesting.

“Morning.” Her blond ponytail swung over her shoulder as she examined the pastry case. “The largest coffee you can possibly make, please.”

When Libby said coffee, she meant latte. And it sounded like she needed an extra shot. “You got it.” The espresso machine hissed as he got to work. “Nan working today?” he asked as he set her extra-strong latte in front of her.

Libby nodded, and he reached for the coffee pot. Libby drank lattes, but her grandmother was a purist. Black coffee and nothing else. “May I have a banana bread too?”

“Of course.” He wrapped it up for her and placed it on the counter next to Nan’s coffee.

Libby sipped her latte, closing her eyes briefly in bliss before blinking them open again. “Oh, hey. Did you hear that someone bought the Hawkins House?”

“Sure did.” Which wasn’t a lie. He just hadn’t heard it through the usual gossip channels.

“I don’t mean when that out-of-state contractor or whatever bought it a couple years back. I mean sold to a new owner.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I guess they finished fixing it up.” And it had needed a lot of fixing up. Ever since mean old Mrs. Hawkins had died, long before Nick was born, the two-story house at the edge of the historic district had sat empty. It was practically a landmark on the way to the pier. The road bends around to the right, past the creepy old house on the corner…

“Anyway.” Libby broke off a piece of the banana bread slice and popped it into her mouth. “I saw a moving truck there the other day. Someone’s actually going to live there.”

“I know.” Nick handed her back her card. “She came in yesterday.”

Libby’s eyes went wide. “No way. What’s she like?”

Pushy. Opinionated. Big brown eyes. Legs for days. A pain in the ass. She’d bustled in yesterday like she owned the place, plopping her bag down on that table in the back corner, plugging in her laptop and setting herself up for what looked like a business meeting. Hadn’t glanced at the menu or asked him for so much as a glass of water. Of course, Elmer had been giving him a running commentary on the morning breakfast rush, so it was possible Nick had missed something.

He’d written her off as a tourist. The type who ordered one singular coffee and then set up camp for the day. Probably here on vacation for “inspiration,” whatever the hell that meant. Nick had seen plenty of people like that in his time owning the café. They took up all his outlets and mooched off his Wi-Fi, all for the price of the cheapest cup of coffee they could get.

Then she’d insulted him, and he’d insulted her right back, and for some reason that had cleared the air between them. And for the first time he really noticed her. Her eyes were the color of espresso, and her dark, blond-streaked hair was piled up on top of her head in that messy way women did that still managed to look put together. She’d huffed a breath, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes, which only served to dislodge another. Something about that lock of hair, falling down to curve around her jaw, softened her face and made her look younger, more vulnerable. That lock of hair transformed her from a bitchy customer into someone having a bad morning.

Libby’s eyebrows went up, because Nick still hadn’t answered her question. He cleared his throat. “She was all right. From Orlando, I think.” As he said that, he heard her voice echo in his head, bright and professional on her virtual meeting. How’s everything back in Orlando?

“She’s going to be living here? Not turning the place into a vacation rental?” She broke off another piece of banana bread; he should have just given it to her on a plate.

“She was talking about moving boxes, so I think she’s here to stay.”

“That’s wild.” Libby considered that. “No one’s lived in that house since before Nan was born; she said she always remembers the place being empty.” She took another sip from her latte. “What’s in the banana bread today? It tastes different.” She said different the way a less polite person would say shitty.

Nick sighed. Maybe Elmer was right after all. “Cinnamon.”

“Hmm.” She took another bite. “It’s not bad,” she said finally. “It’s just…”

“Different,” he said. “I know.”

“I bet Elmer had things to say about the cinnamon,” she said with a wry smile.

Nick snorted. “He has things to say about everything. You sure your grandma can’t talk to him?”

“She did, remember?” Libby shrugged. “Elmer said he’s good where he is.”

“I bet he did.”

She clucked her tongue at him. “He likes you. Said you’re his favorite.”

Nick growled under his breath, but it was half-hearted. Elmer hadn’t owned the café for a couple decades now, and Nick was the only one since who could put up with him. The last owner of the place had been happy to sell the business to Nick for a song, just to get away from Elmer’s constant meddling.

After Libby left, the true morning rush began. Well, it wasn’t so much a rush as it was a trickle: Theo dropped by for a large coffee and blueberry muffin on the way to open the bookstore a couple doors down next to a T-shirt shop. Two tourists consulted the novelty map while he made their vanilla lattes, denying their requests for extra foam and half caff or whatever the hell. (How is a coffee made extra hot anyway? If it’s hot coffee, it’s hot coffee.) Eventually he pointed them in the direction of the kayak rental and bait shack by the pier and tried to sell them on Sophie’s ghost tour if they were still around on Friday. They made noncommittal noises in response, so that was a bust.

The end of the morning rush was punctuated, as always, by Josephine, running late to open the consignment shop down the street that she helped her parents run. Nick reached for the box of herbal tea before the door-opening chime had faded. Jo hated coffee, but she still came by for a morning cup of hot water with tasteless leaves. (Nick was not a fan of herbal tea, but he was a fan of the money Jo gave him for it.)

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