Page 15 of Capricorn Blessed

“You’re almost all set, but we will need to check the weapon.”

I sigh but pass it over to her, watching her mark the case with a tag and place it on the conveyor to go under the plane.

We turn to leave when Izzy says over her shoulder, “Thanks again! You’re a lifesaver, maybe literally!”

Chapter 8

The Local

Stepping out of the airport, I take a deep breath, smelling the distinct scent of water nearby. We hail a cab and pile in, asking the driver to take us to the main part of the city.

We pass by old stone buildings adorned with overflowing flower boxes, a tall bell tower that appears older than the city itself, and numerous boutiques and coffee shops that I hope to return to and explore.

The car stops, and I pass over some of the Euros we picked up at the airport before smiling and waving at the driver. He doesn’t return the gesture.

“Any thoughts on what to do now?” asks Dennis.

“Not really,” I say. “My gut says we are in the right area, but I just don’t know where...”

“Then we get to explore?!” Izzy says excitedly.

Dennis and I shrug.

“Guess so,” I answer.

We pick a street at random and start to walk. I admire the asphalt streets turning into stone as we move down the road. No nudges come to direct us, so we keep walking up and down the streets waiting and hoping.

An hour later, we are tired and thirsty and decide to stop in to a local cafe for a break.

They lined the road with wrought-iron tables and chairs with dark green umbrellas to block the sun. Dennis moves over to a table at the end and takes a seat.

“I’ll wait here. You two go inside and order. Can you get me something to eat and water?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, moving to the door and opening it for Izzy to enter.

Blue tables and wooden chairs are spread throughout the room. The counter is to the left of the door. It’s a white-washed wood with dark wood countertops in front of modern stainless steel espresso machines and what appears to be a modern kitchen. We make our way to the counter and smile at the woman who passes behind it.

She doesn’t approach us, simply furrows her brows and keeps walking. I look around to see if there is a sign about waiting to be seated, but everything is in French, and I can’t read it. I don’t see any servers at tables, so I continue to stand at the counter.

“You must not be from around here,” a deep voice says from behind me.

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, turning to face whoever spoke.

My jaw drops open at the sight of a man who has to be six-and-a-half feet tall with shoulder-length hair that is such a light blonde it is almost white. His shirt hugs the well-defined muscles of his chest and arms. I meet his icy blue eyes and feel like I’m being sucked into a black hole. I can’t seem to make myself look away.

His eyes move up and down me, and the world stands still.

“A little bit, yeah,” he answers. “I’m Kenric, moved here several years ago from the States.”

I reach out and shake his hand.

“My friends and I are trying to get some food, but no one is coming to the counter to take our order.” I shrug and force my eyes to rove around the cafe again.

“Did you find a table?” he asks.

“We did. Outside.”

“Care if I join you? I’ll show you how to get a server to your table to order,” Kenric asks.

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