Kris Fletcher - Now You See Me

She boogied her way behind the counter where Nadine waited with her arms crossed and eyes rolling.

“Lydia, it’s bad enough you make me work at this hour. Force me to listen to that and I’ll report you to the labor board.”

“Stop. This is good. People like it.”

“It has a beat, I’ll give you that.” Nadine scanned the room, pausing briefly at the opening door. “But I think you need to try something... Oh, my God.”

“What?” Lyddie looked up, more worried by the sudden drop in Nadine’s volume than her words. Then she realized that the entire room had gone suddenly, eerily still. If it hadn’t been for Bonnie belting from the CD, asking if she was ready for the thing called love, there would have been dead silence.

“Nadine?”

A nod toward the door was the only answer.

Lyddie glanced in the direction indicated and saw that a man had entered the shop. Dark hair. Slightest hint of stubble on the chin. Electric blue T-shirt over black biker shorts. The most remarkable thing about him was the Rollerblades on his feet, and even Comeback Cove had progressed enough to handle those.

On closer inspection, this guy didn’t need anything remarkable to stand out. He wasn’t what she’d call drop-dead gorgeous, though he certainly was making the second look worth the effort. It was something about the way he held himself. The set of his shoulders, the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth, the calm and purposeful way he scanned the room sent a clear message that this was a man who knew exactly who and what he was, and nothing would change him.

So why did she get the feeling he was braced for attack?

“It’s him,” Nadine whispered. “J. T. Delaney.”

Ooooooooh.

The quirk spread into a cocky grin. “Nice to see I still know how to make an entrance.”

The room echoed with the sound of about a dozen throats being cleared.

His gaze settled on Lyddie. Something like recognition flashed in his eyes, confusing her. “Okay to wear these in here?” he called over the coughing and harrumphing.

“Uh...” Somewhere in her brain she understood he was referring to the skates. She wanted to toss off a casual reply, but something—anger?—had started curling low in her belly, interfering with her thought process.

It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t had time to think, no chance to determine her plan of attack. Why was he here already?

And why did he have to look so...interesting? Despite what Nadine and Tracy had said, Lyddie had expected a middle-aged version of his late father: sober and responsible, slightly balding, wearing sensible loafers and madras plaid shirts. That kind of man she could handle. What was she supposed to do with James Dean the Second?

His grin widened. “If you’d rather I didn’t, could we pretend this is a drive-through?”

From the corner of her eye she saw a flash of red. Oh, no. Jillian was moving in for the kill.

“Well, well, well. So much for that line about being adults.” Jillian crossed her arms and looked him up and down with—in Lyddie’s opinion—a bit too much interest. If Ted heard about this, there would be hell to pay. “You’re still as crazy as ever.”

“Only when I’m here, Jelly.”

Behind Lyddie, Nadine snickered back to life. “Jelly?”

Lyddie had much the same thought. She’d never met anyone who could put Her Worship in place with five little words. When the mayor clamped her lips together and hustled out the door, Lyddie had to remind herself that this was the potential bad guy in front of her.

But bad guy or not, she couldn’t leave him standing in the doorway. She waved to let him know the blades were acceptable but couldn’t keep from adding, “After all, it’s your place, Mr. Delaney.”

The soft whir of wheels across slate marked his progress. That and the swiveling of every head in the room. He moved slowly, as if making sure everyone had a chance to size him up.

“Morning, Mrs. Krupnick.”

“Morning, J.T.” Nadine spoke far more cautiously than Lyddie would have expected. “What can I get for you?”

“A cup of French roast.” There was a slight pause before he added, “Please.”

Lyddie stifled a groan. Just what she needed. A landlord with a God’s-greatest-gift complex.

She had to meet him eventually, so she straightened her shoulders and prayed that she would come off as an efficient businesswoman instead of the brain-dead twit she was currently channeling. Though how she was supposed to do that when he’d dropped in on her out of the blue like this...

“Hi.” She thrust out a hand, well aware that it was more challenge than greeting. “Welcome to River Joe’s. I’m Lydia Brewster.”

“J. T. Delaney.” He took her hand, palms meshing in a perfect fit. An unanticipated fog rolled through her brain. All she could think was that he sure didn’t look like a landlord. Nor, to be honest, did he resemble her idea of a wild arsonist. She wasn’t sure why. He certainly had the “wild” part down. Maybe it was his teeth. They seemed far too straight and white for someone with a juvenile past.

Nadine slid a full mug in his direction. He lifted it and inhaled like a drowning man who’d just found an oxygen tank.

“God, that smells good.”

Okay, he appreciated good coffee. That was a plus. But looking at him made something bubble inside Lyddie. She couldn’t put a finger on it. She was irritated and intrigued and frustrated and fascinated, all at the same time, but none of those emotions seemed to capture exactly what she was feeling.

All that was certain was that she needed to know the truth—not through a rumor, but from him.

She gave him a moment to swallow before saying, as casually as possible, “I hear you’re selling the building.”

The room echoed with a dozen sudden inhalations.

J.T., however, showed no reaction other than a slight quirk of an eyebrow. “Word travels fast as ever, I see.”

She nodded. Crossed her arms. Settled her hip against the corner of the counter so he’d know she was in no hurry.

A slow smile spread across his face. No surprise. It was the brief hint of some other emotion flashing in his eyes that made her pay attention. Was that guilt she spied?

But his next words laid to rest her brief hope that J. T. Delaney was having second thoughts.

“That’s right.” He spoke clearly, slowly. She had the impression he wanted to make sure everyone in the room caught every word. “I’m selling this and every other building my father owned. I want it done quickly and easily so I can leave at the end of summer. The sooner I can get back to Tucson, the better.”

A chorus of whispers filled the room. Lyddie was glad for the solid wood against her hip. It compensated for the weakness in her knees.

He looked straight at her, but again the words were meant for the crowd. “This is prime waterfront property, Mrs. Brewster. I won’t have any trouble selling.” He fished in his pocket, tossed money on the counter. “I’ll stop by at closing time to discuss the details.”

He saluted her with his mug and took another long swallow before setting it on the counter with what looked like regret. Without another word, he skated out the door.

Silence filled the shop.

“Damn that boy.” Nadine’s words were soft but heartfelt.

“Ditto.” It was the only word Lyddie could manage. Too many thoughts vied for attention in her head, pushing her toward panic mode. The rumors were true. Could she buy? Would she get a new landlord? Was her rent going to jump? Would she have to move? Would he—

“He never was any good at math.” Nadine whisked the coins off the counter, shaking her head, and Lyddie finally clued in.

Not only had J. T. Delaney stolen her piece of mind and upset her business for the morning, but he’d also shorted her on the price of the coffee.