“Not town, just my inn, and no one’s running in those boots.”
The line moved as we inched our way to the front.
Delia chewed on her lip, her nose wrinkling in irritation. She was probably calculating the deadly dose of cinnamon.For when you forget to bring your cyanide.She was definitely up to something. Her gaze darted around the cafe, taking it all in like she was concocting some sort of scheme. Maybe she planned to rob the place. I still didn’t know why she’d come to town. A laugh rumbled in my chest at the thought. Delia, the Candy Cane Bandit.
When we reached the front, Becky—my supposed admirer, did a double take. Most people did when they spotted me, but rarely with a friendly smile. To be fair, Becky was the only one in town who didn’t seem to care about my past. But that didn’t mean I wanted to date her and drag her down to the depths of my despair.
Plus, she wasn’t nearly as fiery as…
“Jack, it’s nice to see you. It’s been a while.” Becky’s smile deepened, interrupting my dangerous line of thought. “I have your grandmother’s order in the back. But can I get you anything else?”
I shrugged, barely looking at the specialty menu. “Large coffee, black.”
Delia cleared her throat and leaned in to mutter, “Come on, live a little. This is my treat. Pick out your favorite pastry and order something you wouldn’t normally get. Something with foam and sprinkles of cinnamon.”
See, she’s planning something nefarious with spices.
“Fine. A cheese danish and a large cappuccino, extra shot of espresso.Nocinnamon. Then whatever my—” I glanced at Delia, stumbling over what to call her. We weren’t friends. Nemesis was closer. I certainly couldn’t call her the stranger who’d invaded my home, and my thoughts for the past forty-eight hours.
Delia answered for me. “I’m staying at the inn for a few weeks, and Jack offered without hesitation to give me a ride into town this morning. He’s such a great guy.”
Was that sarcasm? Yeah, there were distinct bitter undertones in Delia’s reply. But the mockery must have gone over Becky’s head because she nodded, her auburn curls bouncing.
“He is,” she insisted. “I’ve always thought so.” Becky’s lashes fluttered, and a foreboding sensation seized my spine. I gauged Delia’s reaction, but she was nodding too with a look of innocent approval on her face.
That’s it. She’s tasting my coffee first.
Delia ordered some fancy latte with extra whipped cream that came in a giant ceramic mug, and we took our orders to a small table along the wall. I listened skeptically as Delia gushed over Becky’s sweet personality and supposedly fashionable pastry chef outfit. It was a white coat. How did you make that fashionable?
“She’s really cute, and successful! And look—” Delia wriggled her fingers, then pointed at my cappuccino. “Becky made a heart in your foam. I think she likes you.”
Okay…things were getting weird. There wasn’t anything etched in my foam on the walk to the table. I know because I checked to make sure there wasn’t cinnamon dust lurking in my cup. But sure enough, there was a heart now. The foreboding was back, coupled with an odd suspicion. First, the floodlights had gone out on their own, then my brand new saw bit the dust, and I’d spent a good ten minutes picking up the fallen trees by the woodshed that had been fine five minutes earlier. All mysterious events that took place strangely around Delia. Not to mention her uncanny aim from a second-floor window. I might not have witnessed it, but Delia hit me with that snowball.
“Huh, interesting.” My lips flattened into a grim line.
“That’s it? It’s just interesting?” Delia’s shoulders slumped, and she sucked a bunch of whipped cream from the top of her cup. “It’s more than just interesting. It’s a sign.”
I lifted my brow. “A sign?”
“Yeah, a signal from the universe. Sometimes guardian angels go out of their way to make things happen.” Delia gritted her teeth. “It’s vital you pay attention.”
A laugh choked the back of my throat. “I think it’s just coffee art. It’s artisanal. That’s why it costs so much.”
Delia’s nose twitched. I really enjoyed riling her up, and the coffee wasn’t half bad either. I sipped from my cup until the heart became just a smudge in the foam. Then I went in for the kill.
“So since you aren’t going to be leaving my inn anytime soon, what exactly are you doing here in Wood Pine?”
Delia took her time, savoring more of the whipped cream. My gaze followed her tongue as she licked some from the top of her lip.
“I’m a writer for an obscure magazine, and I’m doing an article on your grandmother’s Spells and Brews Ladies’ Club for our holiday edition. You’ve probably tried her Winter’s Moon Spiced cider. I’m including the recipe.”
“Ah, you’re one of them.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, mystical people.”
Delia shoved a lock of hair out of her face and scowled. “Let me guess. You don’t believe in magic.”
