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I drop my hands to my sides. “I will be as soon as I can’t hear my pulse.”
“Guess you’re not interested in coffee, then.”
“Oh, I’m always interested in coffee.” Although I’ve already had quite the wake-up jolt and I’ll probably stick with a small, the warm aroma always comforts my nerves.
Inside, we order our drinks and Riker makes sure I get a bottle of water as well, but I keep glancing over my shoulder, and realize when I reach for my coffee, my hands are shaking.
“You look a bit rattled,” the barista says.
“Just had one of those run-ins with a guy I couldn’t shake.”
Her brow tenses. “It wasn’t Rowdy Robert, was it? Black cap?”
“You know him?”
“Don’t know if that’s his real name because he always pays in cash, but that’s what everyone calls him.”
An older woman steps out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.
“Robert’s at it again,” the barista tells her.
The older woman shakes her head. “I wish he’d stop hanging around, but it’s a small island.” She speaks with a much thicker southern accent than the young girl.
“Is he dangerous?”
The older woman scoffs. “He just creeps people out. Used to work in forestry, but he had an accident a few years back. Something didn’t heal quite right.” She points to her head. “Now he’s always hanging around trying to sell tourists on hidden gem tours or shoddy souvenirs.”
She mumbles as she walks back toward the kitchen, “Bless his heart.”
Then, the barista slides my usual danish across the counter.
“I didn’t order—”
She holds her finger up to her lips and winks.
Riker and I take a seat, but he keeps his gaze on the doors while I break off a piece of the danish. “Have some. My stomach is still in knots.”
Then, my phone buzzes and Trent’s name pops up.
“Shit.” I wipe my fingers on a napkin and answer.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, just had some weird guy trying to chat me up. When he didn’t take the hint, I found some local backup.”
Trent makes a sound. “So, you weren’t trying to get me killed.”
“Get you killed… what?”
“I was opening food for Spiegel and had you on speaker.” Trent actually sounds like he’s about to come through the phone and kill me.
My lungs attempt inhalation and exhalation at the same time and I choke. “Well, you should know not to put me on speaker. Wait… am I on speaker now?”
Riker snorts, trying to hide it behind his coffee cup when I glare at him.
“No. Brooke and Spiegel are hanging out in front of the TV now, but I got some dagger glares of death before things settled down.”
“At least your girl”—I catch myself—“wife likes one of us.”
