of the sign. “This is it. Anybody doesn’t like it, I’ll kill them with a sledgehammer. I’ll feel bad if it’s Mom or Carolee, but I’ll still do it.”
Ryder studied it, said, “Huh.”
“What font is that?”
“The one I picked,” Beckett told Owen. “I can kill you. I have a spare brother.”
“Justine, look at the colors.” Carolee laid a hand on Beckett’s arm as she leaned in.
“They’re exactly what I wanted, that rich brown on creamy, beigy tan.”
“It’s to scale. Plenty of room for the website and the phone numbers without crowding the name.”
“Not bad.” Ryder nodded, scratching D.A.’s ears while he shot Beckett a grin. “Not bad at all.”
“I still need the font. If we’re sticking with this—”
“We’re sticking with it,” Beckett insisted.
“I need it for the stationery, business cards, room plaques, key fob—”
“Okay, shut up.” Beckett took a disk out of the file, handed it to Owen. “Everything’s on here.”
“It’s like the towel warmer.” Justine wrapped her arm around Beckett’s waist. “It’s a hundred percent.”
“I made one up for the gift shop, figured we’d go vertical there, hang it out on a bracket, print on both sides.”
“I love it!” Justine took it. “Carolee, let’s go see if Madeline’s still over there. She’ll want to see this. Good job.” She gave Beckett a squeeze. “Really good.”
“I guess I’ll buy you a beer,” Ryder decided.
“I guess you will.”
“Meet you there. I need to clean up since I wasn’t riding a desk all day.”
“Did you give me the point size on the—”
“It’s all there, Owen,” Beckett assured him.
“I’ll check it out. After Ry buys me a beer.”
“Why am I buying your beer?”
“It’s your turn.”
“Bullshit.”
They argued about it on the way out.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CLARE BARELY HAD THE COFFEE STARTED AND THE computer booted on her preopening routine when the bookstore doorknob rattled. She glanced over, saw Sam Freemont through the glass panel. Too late to hide, she decided as he’d spotted her, gave her that sly wink and smile.
She considered just shaking her head, but he’d only knock, wink, smile. She’d never been able to figure out why Sam thought he was so charming.
Unlocking the door, she angled herself in the narrow opening. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m not open yet.”
“I smell coffee.”
“Yes, I just started it, but I’m not open for an hour. I really need to—”
“I could sure use a cup. You can spare a cup for a friend now, can’t you?”
He didn’t exactly muscle his way in, but she found herself backing up. Easier to just pour the damn coffee, she thought, and slipped behind the counter.
Sam had given her the mild creeps since middle school.
“How do you want it?”
“Hot and sweet. Why don’t you just tip your finger in it. That’s all the sugar I need.”
Maybe more than mild these days, she decided.
“I saw your car in the back, and thought, Clare’s getting an early start today. Honey, you work too hard.”
“Can’t run a business without working.” Unless your daddy owned the car dealership where you put in time when it suited you. She set the go-cup on the counter. “Sugar’s on the shelf right over there.”
He only leaned on the counter. “How are things going with you, sweetheart?”
“Busy. In fact, I’ve really got to get to work. So—”
“You’ve got to take time for yourself. Isn’t that what I always tell you?”
“Yes, you do. But right now—”
“Did you see the demo I’m driving? She’s one sweet ride.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Come take a look. In fact, let me take you for a spin.” He gave her that wink again.
“I have work to do.” She slapped the top on the cup since he’d made no move to doctor it. “Coffee’s on the house.”
“Now you can’t buy yourself pretty things if you give it away.” With that sly look on his face he reached in the inside jacket pocket of his gray pinstripe suit, flashed gold cuff links and monogrammed French cuffs.
He took a twenty out of his wallet, set it on the counter.
“You keep the change, buy yourself a little something.”
She came around, intending to get to the door, get him out. He timed it well, turning into her so she ended up trapped between him and the counter.
Enough, Clare decided. Just enough.
“You’re in my way, and you need to leave.”
“I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll go for a drive tonight.”
“No, we won’t.”
“A long, pretty drive,” he said, trailing a finger down the side of her throat before she slapped it aside. “I’ll treat you to a nice dinner. And then—”
“I don’t