“Where’d you end up finding a place?”
“Up a few blocks from here.” I jerked my chin in the direction of the road unfolded out in front of us. “There’s a little set of three houses. Normally they’re rented out by the week, at a hefty price tag, but I talked the owner into letting me do a three-month rental, and she gave me a break on the lease.”
Aaron nodded. “Nice.”
When he’d offered me the job, it was on a trial basis, just long enough to repair an F-4 he’d won at an auction and hadn’t had time to fix up himself. After that, it had been left open ended. Which was fine with me. After spending eight years with the Marines, I was in no hurry to get myself into another long term commitment. Of any kind.
Freedom was new and it was sweet. I wouldn’t have traded my years in the service for anything. The skills, life experiences, and friendships were irreplaceable, but I wasn’t in a hurry to give up my newfound anonymity. If the job didn’t work out—or something better came along—I’d be free to make a grab for it.
Aaron pulled up in front of a shop with a small blue sign that read The Siren hanging above a doorway that was painted a matching shade of blue. A silver mermaid was stenciled onto the sign, giving it a nautical feel that would have translated even if the shop weren’t steps from the beach. Aaron hopped out and I hustled out to meet him on the sidewalk.
Aaron pointed up at the sign. “Now, this is important. This is Carly’s shop. She’s a fuckin’ genius with all things coffee, food, and especially desserts. Prepare yourself.” He grinned and pulled the door open.
I stepped inside the small pastry shop and did a quick sweep. There was a similar color scheme on the inside. Blue walls, silver accents, and a few more mermaids laying around. The owner obviously had a thing for the mythical sea creatures. My visual tour was cut short, as I brought my eyes back to the central focal point—the dessert case and espresso bar—and found myself staring at a drop-dead gorgeous woman with huge blue eyes, long blonde hair with streaks of bright pink, and a silver stud in her nose.
And she was wearing a smile that dripped with flirtation.
Unfortunately…it wasn’t directed at me.
“Hey, handsome,” she purred at Aaron, flashing an even wider grin as he stepped up to the counter.
“Good morning, gorgeous.”
What happened to his fiancée? Of course, it wasn’t any of my business, but it certainly didn’t seem wise to be carrying on an affair with the coffee shop owner when you lived in such a small town.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked, her eyes giving me a once over.
Aaron laughed and turned toward me. He beckoned me forward, and I realized that I’d stopped in my tracks as soon as I’d seen her, leaving me two steps inside the shop. “This is my new mechanic, Nick Adams. He’s helping me restore that F-4 I got a few months ago. Things have been so fuckin’ crazy since everything went down that I haven’t had a chance to get to it, so I called in for backup. This guy was rottin’ away out in Fallon, so it’s a good deal for the both of us.” Aaron turned back to the woman. “Nick, this is Carly. The magician behind everything you see and smell right now.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Nick.” Carly laughed. “Although Aaron flatters me…I’m really more of a mastermind.” She winked at Aaron and backed away in the direction of a gleaming espresso machine. She set her hand on the lever and looked back at Aaron. “The usual?”
He nodded and leaned against the counter, propped up on his elbows. “Yeah, then I’m gonna need a shit ton of desserts. Whatever ya got. Staff meeting.”
She nodded and then flicked her eyes to me. “What about you, Nick? Name a drink and I can whip it up, even if it’s not on the menu.”
“Thanks.” Carly turned to work on Aaron’s drink and I noted that she was using a manual machine. Impressive. She was old school. Then my eyes wandered away from the machine and down her full ass.
Her curves were hidden under an all-black outfit, ankle length black pants hugged her thighs and hips and the white ties of her apron hung over a curvy ass that was hard to stop watching as she tapped out the beat of the pour on the shot she was pulling.
The menu was hanging above her workstation, a long chalkboard, framed with silver and large enough to hold the three dozen menu items, each written out in loopy white lettering.
As I was still looking it over, the bell on the door jangled, and the morning breeze filtered into the shop. I turned to glance over my shoulder. A female was walking through the door, half of her face masked by enormous sunglasses. She was dressed in clothes that looked like they probably cost more than most people made in a week, and she had an air of impatience and irritability to her that made me sidestep out of her path without her so much as glancing my way.