up when someone came to the cream and sugar station until the newcomer spoke to me.
“Have you ever had the triple-pumpkin latte?” the man asked. “I took a chance and got it, and now I’m hoping I’ll like it.”
I glanced up at the best looking man I had seen in a long time, including on TV and in the movies. He had dark hair and blue eyes, and although his jacket-over-jeans combo was casual, I recognized the brand names of the clothes and knew they didn’t come cheap.
“It’s very good,” I replied offhandedly. I was still thinking about what Drea had said, and it had me worried.
“I figured that you’d know,” he said, and nodded toward my cup. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the rest of the women and some of the men had noticed the stranger. I glanced outside through the picture window, wondering where the production truck was and racking my brain for which show he might be on.
“Yeah,” I said. “This is my favorite place to get a latte.”
I expected him to grab some packets of sweetener and a stir stick and be on his way, so when he gave me a high-wattage smile and turned like he meant to chat, I was surprised. Isn’t your producer waiting for you? Since when do they send the on-air talent for coffee?
“I take it you’re not a tourist?” he said. Behind us, I could hear a muted buzz of conversation as the folks in the coffee shop tried to place the newcomer.
Cute though he was, something put me on guard. I hoped it wasn’t just being out of practice. It’s been about a year since my last ‘romance’. “Nope. I live here. Most of my life. Charleston is a nice place.”
On one hand, I hesitated to ask a question because I wasn’t really in the mood to flirt. And on the other, I’ve been raised to be polite – unless I’m kicking demon ass. “New in town?” I asked, letting politeness win out, for now.
His smile reached his eyes, which were Caribbean-sea blue and crinkled a little around the edges. Maybe that’s what put my guard up. Not only was he my type, he was a little too much my type to be true. I’m cynical. So sue me.
“Everyone says how beautiful Charleston is,” he said. “So I came to find out for myself. And it is,” he added with a little extra emphasis to let me know he wasn’t talking about the city. Was that actually a pick-up line?
I reached for the sweetener packs at the same instant as Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Perfect, and my hand brushed his. Magic tingled so hot it burned, and I stifled a yelp. I saw a flash of something in his eyes that went deeper than surprise. He hid it well, but I thought I saw a glint of anger.
“I got us a table in the back.” Kell Winston came up just then, tall and lean with light brown hair, blue eyes, and dark summer tan – looking like he should be on a yacht somewhere rather than in a coffee shop. He stepped in between Coffee Guy and me, sparing me from having to say something. “I’m glad you could meet me,” Kell added. Whether Kell was oblivious to the good-looking stranger or was ignoring him intentionally I wasn’t sure.
“Enjoy your visit,” I said to the newcomer as I gathered my things, trying to be neighborly without giving him any ideas. Something about the guy was sending my gut warnings into overdrive, and I’ve learned to trust my intuition.
“See you around,” he said, grabbing his cup of coffee. There was nothing unusual about the way he said it, but I wondered whether it was a promise or a threat.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Kell said. “I know you’ve got to open the shop. So I really appreciate you meeting me here on such short notice.” We found a table away from everyone else, and I took a sip of my latte, waiting for him to go on.
“I don’t know who else to tell about this.” Kell said. “But I know you’ve dealt some with ghosts, and frankly, I have no idea what to make of things.”
I sipped my chai, letting Kell take his time telling his story. Kell runs the Southern Paranormal Observation and Outreach Klub, better known as SPOOK, a local group of high-tech ghost hunters. Unlike some of the ghost shows on television, Kell and his group aren’t