Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,14
frustration, and something else, warring in her expression. But she was right, he didn’t think either was directed at him so much as herself.
Problems, he thought. She had plenty of them, the least of which, apparently, was her piece of junk car. That was the only one he had any interest in fixing.
He lifted his hands off the handlebars, palms out. “You’re safe with me,” he said more dismissively than was perhaps necessary, thinking first nosey fruit roll, now fruity customer. Was it too much to ask for a man to just work in peace, without interruption? He turned to head back into the shop. She could follow him or not.
“I’m not safe with anyone,” she muttered, or that’s what he thought he heard, but when he looked back, she’d climbed off the bike and was propping it against the back of the building, next to the bench.
He went in and grabbed the clipboard with her service order on it, made a few notes from the phone conversation he’d had with the parts guy while they were still fresh in his mind, then headed back to the service bay, only to find the second woman of the day poking her nose under the hood of the Beetle. “Might want to be careful there.”
Honey straightened and turned to look at him. Despite what had just happened in the alley, she seemed steadier than the day before. He wasn’t sure if it was the brightly colored shirt or the bicycle ride over that had lent some color to her face, but she didn’t look as . . . well, as haunted as she had. She placed a protective hand on the side panel of the car. “Can she be fixed?”
He nodded. “But it’s going to take the better part of a week just to get the parts here. And it’s not going to come cheap.”
She merely nodded.
He’d expected more of a reaction than that. Shoulders slumping, disappointment in those still-spooky, pale green eyes of hers, something.
“So . . . how long until it’s done? And how much?”
“Ten days, give or take parts delivery.” He quoted her the price.
He saw her throat work, then her gaze shift toward the back bay door. He thought, for a second, she was contemplating taking off, but realized almost immediately she was looking once again at the bakery shops across the alley, on the corner.
“This was a mistake,” she said more to herself than to him.
Yep. She was trouble. And quite possibly in trouble.
He sighed. “Is there someone who can come get you? Were you . . . visiting somebody? Over on the mainland? Traveling?” He glanced at her tags and the packed contents of her car, then back at her.
“No. I mean, no, I’m on my own. I’m—I was . . .” Her chin dropped, just for a moment; then she briefly closed her eyes and seemed to gather herself up. When she lifted her gaze back to his, it was resolute and resigned. “I was planning to stay here. Move here, actually. I’m . . . not so sure now. But I guess I’ll be here at least until my car is done, so that’ll give me time to figure the rest out.”
“We can work something out with the cost, if—”
“Oh, no, that’s not it. I can take care of that.” He must have looked somewhat dubious, because she added, “I know the car isn’t much, but I haven’t needed much. And it’s . . . sentimental. It belonged to my Aunt Bea.”
He’d glanced back at his clipboard, intending to see where he might be able to cut a corner or two, but his gaze snapped back up at that name. “Bea Chantrell?”
Her entire face relaxed, and the smile that naturally followed transformed her features from wary and guarded, to open and . . . well, attractive. Very attractive.
“Yes. Did you know her?”
“Not personally, but it’s a small island. She was well liked here. Ran the little tailor—” He broke off . . . and looked across the alley at the buildings on the corner. Where her aunt’s shop had once been. And a brand new, about-to-open bakery business now stood. That raw, wistful look he’d seen on her face the day before took on a whole new meaning. He looked back at Honey. “Oh.”
Her smile shifted to one of dry humor, reaching those eyes of hers . . . and changing everything.