Page 2 of Banter & Blushes

“No-sugar desserts? Isn’t that an oxymoron?” I grumble.

Her eyes widen and she shifts back and forth, as if trying to decide how to deal with my grumpy comeback. Not wanting to encourage another rambling speech about coin-flip business decisions, the healthiness of sugar, or how Zoedisguises the black beans, I wave my hand. “Never mind me, I’m running low on fuel so I’m a bit of a grouch. I’ll try that tea and a brownie.”

She smiles, my heart reacting with a little flip. Surprisingly, I’m enjoying this rather protracted interaction. My original intent was to purchase the snack and quickly head back to my car, but there’s something about the woman that interests me.Her funky shop? Her rambling stories? Her subtle flirting?

“Superb choice! Are these for here or to go?” Her hand pauses over the stack of white ceramic plates as she waits for my answer. Her chocolate orbs lock with mine and I feel a tug ofsomethingI haven’t felt in a long time.

“For here,” I murmur automatically. My addled brain wonders if she cast a spell on me. I haven’t been single for thirty-four years for no good reason. Granted I’ve done my fair share of dating, but I haven’t had a serious relationship that survived longer than nine months, and not one in recent memory.

Every time I think about getting serious, my or the woman’s dedication to our jobs gets in the way and drives a wedge between us. Or we drift apart, not caring either way whether we see each other or not.Could it possibly be different with this woman?That ticking time bomb on my trust fund ratchets up my urgency. And probably also my interest level.That’s gotta be it.

When she blinks and hurries to fill my order, I wonder whether I imagined an attraction between us. Maybe I’m hungrier than I thought. The chocolate, black beans, and caffeine should hopefully get me back on track.

She efficiently fills the order while I pay. When our hands touch for a brief instant as she hands me the plate, I swear I feel a zap of electricity jolt between us. Confusion mixed with a touch of excitement mars my brow.

I’m usually drawn to corporate women who wear power suits with a laptop glued to their hand. They’re somewhat aloof, and our emotions never stray into what I would call “messy.” Our relationship is always structured, with clear boundaries, and often we have regimented, set dating times—such as meeting for dinner at a trendy new eatery every other Friday at precisely six pm.

Staring at the beautiful shopkeeper as she greets another customer, I realize that she’s absolutely nothing like my usual type. Everything about her screamsfree-spiritandmessy.And yet...

The elderly male customer inquires about essential oils, and the pair wanders to the other side of the store, where I can hear only snippets of their conversation—which oils are best to relieve headaches, which ones help with indigestion, and which ones encourage sleep. This guy must suffer from a range of ailments.

When her sexy feminine laugh floats across the room, my heart flips again, an unexpected and rather unwelcome reaction. Now I wish I’d done takeout.What was I thinking?Reality sets in. Time for me to get to the rental and quit mooning over an unusual woman I just met.

Quickly consuming the brownie, my brain registers the delicious taste combination—you’d never know these were made from black beans. I gulp down the hot tea (which isn’t too bad), bus my plate and mug to the collectionarea, and stride out the door. I’m here to facilitate a real estate deal, so I need to keep my focus.

A small sign in the corner catches my eye. “Matches made nationwide as part of the Cupid Matchmaking Network.”Huh? There’s a matchmaking network?

Tick! Tick! Tick!The clock inside my head reminds me again that time’s running out to fulfill the stipulation from my crotchety grandfather. I make a mental note to return and inquire about the matchmaking network, convincing myself that I won’t be returning because of my interest inher.

CHAPTER 2

LUNA

The visitor was attractive, in a trendy businessman sort of way. He didn’t strike me as a tourist, with his wrinkle-free khakis, button-down shirt, and boat shoes. A conservative outfit not at all like those most people wear around here. Flip-flops, shorts, and T-shirts are the norm. He piqued my interest, maybe because he wasn’t just a tourist and he certainly isn’t a local. The male dating pool here is slim to none, so I probably overreacted to seeing a new handsome face. But there wassomethingabout him...

My lips tip into a smile as I stare out the front window, recalling the incident. The guy was driving a Porsche, although I didn’t pick up on an entitled, elitist vibe. When I addressed him and he stumbled over his words, even blushing in the process, he endeared himself to me. He even mentioned his grandmother and her brownies.Swoon!

After hypochondriac Alfred—who constantly suffers from a range of symptoms—wandered into the store and pulled me over to the essential oils section, the stranger didn’t stick around. Did I read the newcomer’s flirting incorrectly? He could have gotten takeout, but he chose to eat here.Why?

The bells over the door tinkle. I glance up and cringe. It’s about time she showed up—in fact, I’m surprised she didn’t appear sooner.

“Who was your patron driving the fancy car?” she asks without preamble. She flounces up to the register with a busybody smirk on her face. Harmony Davidson owns the shop beside mine, offering a combination of tarot card reading,tacky seashell creations, and macramé plant hangers that she makes herself. The aging hippie is wearing her ever-present slouchy overalls covered with various paint spatters. I forgot to mention that she also sells her original seascape paintings at ridiculous prices, and I honestly wonder how many of them she’s sold in the twelve months we’ve been storefront neighbors.

“Good morning to you too, Harmony,” I say in a snarky voice. We have an unusual relationship, one where she tries to constantly poke her nose in my business while I get frustrated at all the freely provided advice. I basically acquired a second mother when I moved here—one with terrible advice. During our brief time as acquaintances, Harmony insisted that essential oils are a flash in the pan, but they’re one of my best sellers. She was sure homemade soy candles were nonstarters, yet tourists snap them up. The only part of my business that she hasn’t advised me on is matchmaking, probably because she’s happily married.

The older woman waves her hand in a dismissive fashion and snorts. “You didn’t get his name, did you?” She flops onto one of the café table chairs, as if settling in for one of her advisor sessions. I secretly hope Alfred returns to purchase another essential oil for another perceived ailment. Patting the tabletop, she says, “I have some insider information. If you brew me a chai, I’ll tell you who he is and what he’s doing here.”

With no other clients in the shop, her invitation is simply too inviting to dismiss. Especially since I’m kicking myself for not getting his name.

“Coming right up!” I prepare the tea with the right mix of black tea, spices, and milk. It’s one of my bestsellers, so I’m adept at brewing a cup quickly. Fixing myself a cup of my special caffeine-free peppermint tea, I deliver both items to the table and join Harmony. We sip the warm beverages for a few minutes in awkward silence, with me anxiously awaiting Harmony’s meddling, er, information.

Thunk!Harmony sets her empty cup down none-too-gracefully and rubs her hands together. “His name is Cade Bainbridge. He’s that real estate guy we’ve been hearing rumors about. Old man Sears is finally going to sell his beachfront property, and he’s hired a prestigious real estate firm out of Jacksonville to represent him.” She leans in and in a conspiratorial whisper adds, “Of course, Hugo wants to get the best price possible, so he’s hoping Mr. Bainbridge can instigate a bidding war.”

For weeks, rumors about this sale have been swirling about our tiny community. Condominium real estate developers, high-end resort hotels, and even a billionaire hoping to build his own private beachfront estate have expressed interest in the property. I’m not surprised Hugo hired a professional real estate agent to help him sell. My heart takes a nosedive that Mr. Bainbridge is in town for only a short time. Plus in my experience, hotshot businessmen never take an interest in me other than possibly for a summer fling. And I’m certainly not interested inthat.

Men seem to get the wrong impression about me. Mom says it’s because Idress like a gypsy, overshare when communicating, and dabble in matchmaking. Being named after the Roman goddess of the moon doesn’t help. I mean, who takes someone named Luna Zapatta seriously?

Cackling with glee, Harmony adds, “Maybe you can end your relationship dry spell. This guy is someone you should snap up!” The woman is always pushing some new guy at me.

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