Page 3 of The Harborer
Then the door flew open, and a fireplug of a dark-haired guy cursed as he nearly walked into Shane. “Shit, man! Scared the piss outta me.”
“Sorry, dude.” Shane stood aside and let the guy pass, watching as he climbed into the Pathfinder. When he headed through the doorway, his spirits lifted. Amy stood beyond the open door in the shop’s vestibule, and she beamed him one ofher gloriously sunny smiles, making his heart pound a little harder than it should have.
“Shane! What are you doing here?” Eyes like polished mahogany danced with delight.
“I saw a vehicle behind your shop and thought I should check it out.”
She shook her head, and glossy black strands caught in a ponytail swished across her slight shoulders. “Deputy Shane, do you ever take a break?” she teased as she motioned him inside.
He grinned. “I could ask you the same thing, Barista Amy. It’s way past your quitting time. And where’s your car?”
“I walked. You don’t miss anything in this town, do you?”
He shrugged, a herky-jerky movement that made him aware he was a little flustered. “Just doing my job.”
“And you do it well. Come on in.”
That one smile and her friendly words held the power to sweep away all memory of his shit day, replacing it with warmth and a strange hope he had no business feeding.
It occurred to Shane he shouldn’t follow her inside, where it would just be the two of them. Yes, he needed to talk to her about Bruno’s complaint, though that was somewhere near the bottom of his list of reasons for being here right now. Something about her spun him up, drew him in, and he couldn’t find the will to turn away. And in that moment, he didn’t give a goddamn. He caved to the pull of Amy’s orbit and followed her like a puppy chasing down a treat.
Chapter 2
Outsiders and Insiders
Unable to stop herself,Amy grinned like a fool at Shane O’Brien’s profile—the only view she had of him since he had turned to watch the delivery guy get into his car and drive off. Seeing the deputy always brightened her day, whether he was ordering coffee in her shop, winking at her from his yoga mat in class, or simply waving at her from his patrol SUV the same way he waved at everyone else in town. Something about him simply made her feel … lighter. He was strong and steady and didn’t mind showing his soft side. He topped her list of all-time favorite people in Fall River, and she found herself wanting to keep him at her shop a little longer. His calming presence would help counter the tilt-a-whirl that was her life lately, and she had a mystery she wanted to run past him anyway.
“Can I tempt you with a cup of the good stuff, Deputy?”
Hesitation shone in his caramel-brown eyes. Still in uniform, he had obviously just finished a shift, and he looked exhausted.He was probably anxious to get home. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll make it with a French press. I was thinking of having a cup myself.” Total lie. “And no offense, but you look like you could use a pick-me-up.” Total truth.
One side of his mouth curled up. “You twisted my arm.” All ease, he propped his back against her counter and watched as she grabbed a bin and measured out his favorite blend. Funny, but he looked as though he belonged there. “So who was that guy in the Pathfinder?”
“He works for my supplier. I’m handing out coffee at the Big Event, so they were getting me the extra supplies I need.”
The “Big Event” was the nickname locals had given the “Boarding Call,” which was the official christening of the narrow-gauge railroad spur connecting Fall River to Silver Summit, a fancy ski and golf resort ten miles south. The project had been a long time coming, and business owners in Fall River—like Amy—were overjoyed the project was finally finished. It promised to be a big boost to their growing economy, shuttling visitors from the luxury lodge who had money to spend in Fall River’s quaint shops and restaurants. In two days, the newly refurbished Mountain Belle would roll along the restored tracks and deliver leaf-peeping tourists to Bowen Street and the stores’ doorsteps.
Shane crossed his arms over his chest, his well-defined biceps straining his khaki-colored sleeves. “Freecoffee?” She nodded. “That’s really generous of you. You know people are willing to pay though, right?”
She shrugged. “It’s my gift to the town. Besides, the mercenary in me understands that with a train full of wealthy tourists piling out of train cars on that first visit, it will also be a great marketing opportunity. Anyone who accepts a cup will know about Mountain Coffee, and they’ll come visit me when they’re tired of shopping.”
“How’s that sandwich-board sign on the sidewalk working for you? Is it pulling people in?”
“I’m not sure if it’s helping or hindering,” she sighed. “Half the time it’s being flattened by the wind, or it gets caught in some dog’s leash and dragged before the owner realizes it. Either way, it’s a hazard. I brought it in today, and I think I’ll park it for the season.”
He stared at her as if he was making mental calculations before seeming to snap out of it. “You’re a smart businesswoman, Amy. Always thinking about those details the rest of us would totally miss. Just like your coffee handouts—that’s a savvy play by one of our town council members, not a mercenary move. You don’t have a mercenary bone in your body.”
Her heart fluttered with the compliment. She loved hearing herself referred to as a town council member, a position she’d been appointed to not long ago over several other qualified candidates, including an Aspen attorney who owned one of the restaurants in town. Made her feel as though she belonged in her adopted hometown and wasn’t some random transplant the townies couldn’t trust. The fact that they’d wanted her to take the position was a sign that maybe, just maybe, they had accepted her after six years. “Well, it’s too much trouble to charge them anyway,” she reasoned.
“It’s going to be cold, and you’re going to get mobbed. They’ll probably wipe you out in the first ten minutes. Is someone helping you?”
“Cade will be there.”
“Do you have any other help?”
“No, just Cade.” She knew why he was asking the question. Cade was her twenty-one-year-old part-timer, who, since turning twenty-one and officially of legal drinking age, had become a little flakier than he’d been before. Inside, she crossed her fingers he’d show up on time and help her get the job done.
