Windswept Way (Hope Harbor #9)(53)
Author: Irene Hannon

 

“My muse had me up early and working through breakfast. A café de olla would hit the spot before I open the stand for the day. For my friend here too. Have you two met?”

 

“No.” The man set down the rag and extended his hand. “Zach Garrett.”

 

Legs stiff, Jon walked forward and returned Zach’s firm clasp as he introduced himself.

 

“Zach’s the owner.” Charley extracted a wallet from his pocket and counted out bills. “Great space, isn’t it?”

 

Charley’s comment gave him an excuse to avert his face from the discreet perusal the other man was giving it.

 

A gallery of close-up, poster-sized nature shots graced the walls, with tables tucked in between them and around a freestanding fireplace in the center. The design was clean, simple, and restful, as Charley had promised.

 

“Very nice.”

 

“Have a seat and I’ll bring your drinks over as soon as they’re ready. You have your pick of tables at this hour.” Zach waved a hand over the shop and set about preparing their coffee.

 

“I’m partial to that spot.” Charley indicated a table near the fireplace. “On a chilly day, it’s the most coveted seat in town.”

 

“That works.” Anywhere away from the harsh light of the afternoon sun streaming in through the picture window was fine with him.

 

Jon followed him over, claimed a chair, and exhaled.

 

That hadn’t been too bad. Other than Zach, the shop was deserted. And while the owner had noticed his scars, he’d recovered from any initial shock fast.

 

Perhaps others would too.

 

Like Ashley.

 

Once she got used to his appearance, maybe it wouldn’t be the stumbling block to romance he’d always assumed it was. After all, the sparks flying Saturday night hadn’t been one-sided. As far as he could tell, she—

 

“Well, look who’s here on this bright afternoon.”

 

Charley’s comment pulled him back to the present as two golf-shirt-clad, fiftysomething men engaged in a heated debate entered the shop.

 

He stifled a groan.

 

So much for sharing a quiet, one-on-one cup of coffee with Charley in relative anonymity.

 

“Ah. My favorite clerics.” Zach continued working as he greeted them. “You two are later than usual today.”

 

“Blame it on Kevin. He insisted on searching for every ball he hit into the rough—and we’re talking lots of balls.” The more slender man rolled his eyes.

 

“Hey! Golf balls are expensive.” His jolly-faced companion pulled out his wallet. “Ministers must be paid more than priests, if you can afford to lose as many balls as you do. We’ll have the usual, Zach.”

 

Charley leaned across the table and lowered his voice, humor glinting in his irises. “Our town pastors, Reverend Baker and Father Murphy. The padre is the one with the wallet. They have a standing tee time on Thursdays and an ongoing friendly rivalry. But you’ll never meet two finer men or better friends.”

 

“I don’t discuss money.” Reverend Baker gave a disdainful sniff.

 

“You sure spend enough of it. Those high-end doughnuts you serve after Sunday services are pricey. And they don’t hold a candle to St. Francis’s homemade ones.”

 

“I’m not debating doughnuts with you again.” Reverend Baker skirted around his companion and approached their table. “Hello, Charley. I see you were in the mood for a late coffee too.”

 

“I’m introducing my friend to The Perfect Blend. Have you met Jon Gray?”

 

“Only by phone.” The minister extended his hand, and Jon rose to take it. “Your company did a fine job with the landscaping around our fellowship hall last year.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Two café de ollas.” Zach set their drinks on the table as the minister moved aside and Father Murphy joined them.

 

Charley repeated the introduction.

 

“Happy to meet you.” Father Murphy pumped his hand, exhibiting no reaction to the scars other than a brief flicker of surprise, followed by compassion, in his eyes.

 

“Being a landscaper, you should drop in at St. Francis and see the meditation garden my Catholic counterpart has created.” The minister nodded toward his golfing buddy. “His talent on the greens may be questionable, but he does have a green thumb with plants and flowers.”

 

“Thank you for that backhanded compliment.” The priest gave his fellow cleric a smirk. “But please do stop in, Jon, if you’re passing by. All are welcome to seek refreshment in my little slice of paradise.”

 

“Drinks are ready, gentlemen,” Zach called out from behind the counter.

 

“Would you like to join us?” Charley stirred his coffee with the cinnamon stick in his brew.

 

“No can do. I have homily prep on my schedule this afternoon.” Father Murphy pulled out his car keys.

 

“And he needs every hour he can get for that task.” Reverend Baker’s lips twitched.

 

“Very funny. I happen to have it on good authority that a pastor who shall remain nameless cited the wrong verse last Sunday while preaching about the good Samaritan.”

 

Reverend Baker arched his eyebrows and folded his arms. “Who told you that?”

 

“I have my sources.”

 

“You mean spies.”

 

Father Murphy shrugged. “A source by any other name . . .”

 

“For the record, it was a mere slip of the tongue. I corrected it immediately.”

 

“I would hope so. I would suggest you bone up before our next Bible trivial pursuit event.” The padre winked at them. “You two enjoy the rest of your day.”

 

After adding a similar sentiment, the reverend followed his friend out.

 

They were still razzing each other as they pushed through the door.

 

“They’re quite a pair. They’d be a great stand-up comedy team.” Charley motioned toward the untouched coffee on the table. “Give that a stir with your cinnamon stick and let me know what you think.”

 

Jon did as instructed, took a sip . . . and exhaled. The brew was sweet, black, and strong, with a hint of spice from the cinnamon.

 

“Now this is a cup of coffee.”