Chapter 2
There were a few things Dylan Hawke tried to avoid like the bubonic plague—two of those things were being late and feisty-hot women.
At this point he was late.
And the woman he just encountered?
Feisty-hot.
When he placed an ad to rent out the empty unit across from his, he didn’t expect to be contacted by a literary agent with a request to rent the place for a full three months. On top of that, he was faxed a non-disclosure contract, agreeing to keep the name and identity of the occupant, Chloe Davenport, a secret. Naturally, curiosity led to an online search of Ms. Davenport. But no photos came up—only links to what seemed to be a series of romance novels which, of course, he had no clue about. His sister, however, knew all about the author and her series of romance novels calledLovestruck. Apparently, the author’s MO was to surreptitiously slip into a small town—always keeping her identity concealed—study the town and its residents, then pen the new book in her popular series based on the town. Dylan couldn’t help feeling like an insider, knowing the new novel would beLovestruck in Fortune’s Bay.He signed the non-disclosure, with an amendment that included three advanced, autographed copies of the novel. Based on his internet research, he learned how successful the author was. So, Dylan assumedtheChloe Davenport was a much older, refined woman, probably the age of, or even slightly older, than his mother.
Nevertheless, he sure as hell never imagined the author would be the twenty-something-looking knock-out who griped at him this morning. The image of her in that T-shirt, her hair a hot mess, hands on hips, made his mouth hastily curve into a smile. He hadn’t smiled about an encounter with a woman for a while.
And he wasn’t ready.
“What the heck happened to you? You’re late.” Samantha glanced up from behind the counter, her expression a colorful mix of wonder and worry. Probably because it wasn’t like Dylan to be late.
“Yeah. Forgot to set my alarm clock,” Dylan grumbled, brushing past her, reaching for the black apron dangling from the hook. “Did you start the pot of decaf? I rode past the Early Brew Crew about a half mile down the street.”
“Of course. I know the routine,boss.” Samantha let out a soft giggle at the sight of her brother’s glare.
“It’s way too early for your sarcasm, Sam.”
Letting out a stifled yawn, Dylan tied the apron around his waist, ignoring the set of dark brown eyes penetrating him.
“So you’re still not sleeping, huh?”
The query sounded much more like an assertion.
Dylan shook his head at his sister’s question. Sarcasm and probing, especially before noon, annoyed him.
“None of your business, Sam. How about we just get the store open? The regulars will be walking in soon enough.”
And by the regulars, Dylan meant the spunky group of retirees who’d been patronizing the small, trendy coffee shop for as long as it had been open.
The two siblings, separated in age only by minutes, scrambled to get the pots of coffee ready, the bakery display stocked, and carafes of cream and milk out, before Dylan managed to get the doors to Destiny’s Brew open just as the regular customers walked up.
“Good morning Marge, Dan, Hillary, and Mitch.” Dylan held the door open with a wide smile plastered on his face, as his four regular customers—AKA the Early Brew Crew—waltzed in, energized from their ritualized morning walk.
Each of them smiled back, offering their hellos as they made their way to the counter, collecting cups full of decaf coffee. Then, as per habit, all claimed a communal table smack dab in the center of the coffee shop, sat, and began their usual morning banter.
Not much of a morning talker, Dylan made his way to the shop’s back office, grabbed his clipboard, and began taking inventory.
“You want coffee?” Samantha stood in the doorway to the supply room, holding up a cup for her brother as if it were some sort of a peace offering.
Enticed by the coffee’s aroma, Dylan looked up from the clipboard. “Thanks.” He grabbed the cup, took in the tantalizing scent, and sipped.
There was no denying, the shop’s signature blend was hard to resist. It had been drawing in locals and tourists since the day the doors opened years ago.
“Maybe that sip will cure your morning grumpiness,” Samantha joked.
“Yeah. Maybe.” He snickered, knowing his smart-ass tone was more signature than the famous blend of coffee he was sipping.
“Did your renter move in yet?”
Dylan’s mouth curved into that smile he wished thoughts of his new neighbor didn’t produce. “Yep. She’s there.”
“She? Your new neighbor’s ashe?”
