Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I guess I’d just never felt unsafe in Balm Harbour. There was little to no crime. And the businesses were so close together that were I to do so, someone would hear me scream.
But not, I reminded myself, on days when every other shop was closed due to the weather.
That information had his head turning away, and I’d like to say I didn’t study his handsome profile, but I totally did.
“Do you know when Dennis is typically in?” he asked, his arm lifting to touch the petal of a white rose that had just begun to open, making the sleeve of his suit slip up, revealing a watch that I just knew cost more than I made in half a year. Maybe more. I mean, I knew nothing about watches. But everything about this man spoke of wealth and material comfort.
“Oh, uhm,” I said, trying to find a way to break the news that didn’t sound bad. I didn’t want it getting back to Dennis that I was implying he didn’t really care about his business.
To that, the man’s lips curved up into a wicked little smirk as his chin dipped a bit.
“He’s not here much, is he?” he guessed.
“Well, we take good care of the shop,” I told him, sidestepping giving him the full confirmation he was seeking.
“I can see that,” he said, looking around once again. “Have you heard from him recently?” he asked.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard from him in quite a while. It wasn’t that he contacted me often to begin with, but there was sometimes a note in the back room or an email or something.
As a whole, though, I was mostly in charge of everything around the shop. I didn’t feel the need to reach out to him. And because things ran well, he didn’t have a need to contact me.
“How long?” the man asked, face going a little dark as he looked at me, clearly seeing right through me.
I felt an odd little tingle at the base of my spine, something that had me stepping to the side, going back behind the counter. Closer to the phone. Putting some sort of protection between us.
Because while the man was godlike in gorgeousness, something told me there was something dark and dangerous beneath all those good looks.
“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” I asked, reaching for a pad and pen as if I was going to make a note. In a ‘I will tell my boss you were looking for him’ kind of way, not the actual ‘In case I go missing and my body turns up in a ditch’ way that I was actually doing it.
His gaze moved down over me, and if he knew what I was thinking, he didn’t let on.
“Cesare,” he said, making my head pop up, surprised. You didn’t meet a lot of men named Cesare. Or, at least, I hadn’t. “Costa,” he added. “If you hear from him, let him know I was trying to reach him,” he said, once again reaching out toward that white rose, then turning and making his way out of the store.
I waited a solid five minutes, my heart slowing down from a hammering to a slower, but no less erratic beat, before I moved out from behind the counter, walking up the center of the store, and glancing outside to find him sliding into a black SUV, then driving off.
Don’t ask me why, but I plucked that white rose out of the bucket as I passed, putting it aside to go home with me later as I wondered about the handsome, darkly dangerous stranger, and what he wanted with my middle-aged, slacker boss.
Something told me, though, that a man like Cesare Costa wasn’t in Balm Harbour to discuss the flower business…
CHAPTER THREE
Cesare
I woke up to just shy of the predicted eighteen inches of snow on the ground.
Even though I wasn’t exactly keen on the shit, I had to admit that it was nice to look at as I stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the sea of perfect white, almost blinding in its brightness, twinkling a bit under the bright sunshine.
I’d already called ahead before I’d gone to bed to make sure someone would be by to clear the driveway and street, so I didn’t have to drag my ass out there to do much, save for making a quick trail down to the garage.
I was half tempted to make Gav do it, but judging by the way he’d been tossing and turning and cussing my ass out all morning as he tried to get comfortable on the tiny bed in the guest room, I figured it wasn’t wise to push him too much.
“Morning,” I said to Gav as he walked in, hair mussed, eyes puffy and heavy-lidded, wearing black pajama pants and a white tee.