Cindy Dees - Her Secret Spy

“Hey!” he protested.

“I thought we already established that all that psychic mumbo jumbo is pure poppycock,” she declared.

She was saved by the arrival of breakfast dessert crepes, which were as scrumptious as they sounded. She and Max dived in to the clotted-cream-and-strawberry-filled confections in companionable silence for the most part. And what conversation there was stayed safely on small talk.

She was stuffed when Max finally held her chair for her to stand up. She was going to have to diet for a week to work off that meal. But it had been worth it to get to know Max a little more.

He drove her back to the shop and dropped her off, and she commenced the tedious process of cleaning up after the damage done by what must have been baseball bats or steel pipes. The vandal or vandals had been thorough. Even the walls had gaping holes in them.

Once the debris was swept into a single pile, she began the even more tedious process of inventorying everything that remained and then guessing at what had been broken based on the bits she sifted through. If only she knew the inventory better. She was sure to forget something, and without a list of merchandise made by her aunt, she was bound to lose a fortune in any insurance claim she filed.

Where had Max run off to, anyway? Hopefully, their conversation over breakfast hadn’t scared him. She’d gotten the impression that he liked kissing her nearly as much as she liked kissing him. But he’d driven away from the shop a couple of hours ago like the devil himself had lit a fire under him. Like things were moving too fast for him. Like she’d spooked him.

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