He arches an eyebrow. “I don’t know if smart is the right word. She got married and left.” He hugs himself and shivers.
“Let me guess, you don’t believe in marriage.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I believe in love. Soulmates—the perfect person just for you.”
“But?”
“No buts.”
I cross my arms while studying him. He sounds jaded. It takes one to know one, Nathalie. Not the point. “You sound skeptical about the baker leaving for her true love.”
“Would you leave your life behind because of a man?”
I left everything because of a man…and many other things. Oh, but I get it. I’m not chasing the man. More like running away from what he represents. An archaic belief that I have to marry someone who’s part of the big social circle where my parents like to mingle. It didn’t work for my brothers. Each one has a couple of divorces under their belts. Why condemn myself to the same fate?
I hate to admit that he’s right. “I don’t see myself in that kind of scenario.”
“Because you’ve never been in love,” he offers.
Is that why he’s here, hiding from the rest of the world and retired? He came down chasing love. His girlfriend broke his heart?
I might’ve browsed the internet to see what the deal is with him and his group. There are only a bunch of speculations. I doubt he’ll confirm my suspicions, but I still throw out the question. “Have you?”
“Ever loved someone to the point that I want to give up everything for them?” He rubs his chin a couple of times before grinning. “Nah.”
“I bet you don’t really believe in love.”
“I’ve seen it. I don’t think it’s going to happen to me.”
Then, why is he here? “Why not?”
“Trust me, I know. Can we focus on your breakfast?” He offers me a fork.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to.”
“What were you planning on eating?”
“I’m sure there are plenty of restaurants around town.”
He shows me two fingers. “Only two. A diner and the coffee shop downstairs.”
“That place is confusing. It’s a bar and coffee shop and…do you have problems choosing one thing?”
“We do,” he says with a strange air of pride. “The place has it all. It’s a coffee shop during the day and a bar at night.”
“You shouldn’t have music playing so loud.”
“That’s the point of the place. We can play all day, every day. We have a stage.”
“Well, stop. I can’t sleep with your noise.”
“It’s music.”
“Noise.”
He gives me a look that says, poor-ignorant-woman. “Clearly, we’re not going to agree. Enjoy your breakfast.”
“You forgot to give me the passcode for the medical practice.”
He gives me a glance and grins. “After you eat and change your clothes, come to the shop. I’ll take good care of you.”
He’s infuriating. How can I get rid of him?
Chapter Seven
Fisher
Too Far From Grace is a lot more than a music band. The five of us—if we include Byron Langdon—are busybodies who can’t rest. It’s part of our making. Music is our first love, but we don’t play all the time. If we’re not scouting or on a mission for The Organization, we’re setting up a new business. At the moment, we’re focusing most of our energy on reviving Luna Harbor.
And you guessed it. We also like to save those in need. This town needs everything: new infrastructure, more people, and a breath of life.
Though I believe in the cause, I don’t understand why we have to meet every week to discuss the progress and next steps to achieve our goal.
I hate meetings, but who doesn’t?
Byron Langdon, that is who. He’s a different kind of asshole—more like a well-developed A.I.
I love the dude, but if I’m heartless, he’s…I don’t even know if there’s a word to explain him. His love to control everyone and everything brings him to Luna Harbor every Monday. Unlike the rest who choose to connect via video conference. Beacon, Nando, Efren, Iskander, and Grace are on the screen. If I were them, I’d make some excuse and skip this nonsense.
None of us care much about these meetings. Sanford and Myka are staring at their tablets. I bet they’re reading manga or some obscure article about their favorite anime. Mane and I are the only ones pretending we’re just as excited as Byron.
“I saw the plans for the new Inn.” And we start the meeting with a big boom from Lang.
I stare at him, confused. “What happened to let’s restore the old one?”
He clears his throat, pointing at the big screen. “Efren.”
Efren rolls his eyes and explains, “Since the engineer thinks it’s going to cost more to strengthen the foundation to add more rooms than building a new one, we’re going to restore it. It’ll become Luna Harbor Bed & Breakfast. We’re adding a spa and some other fluffy stuff to it. Nando has a friend who’s worked in hospitality her entire life. Her parents own several small hotels on the East Coast.”
“She’s going to help us with both. The Inn and the Bed and Breakfast,” Nando adds. “She’s also going to help us come up with more ideas to increase the tourism in town.”
That’s Lang’s cue to show us his spreadsheets with timelines and budgets. I swear that’s the only thing that gets him hard—numbers, data, and money. The B&B should be running before October. Luna Harbor Inn & Spa opens next year. I’m confused as to where the spa will be opening but don’t want to extend the meeting, so I don’t ask. Nando’s friend is moving in with us by the end of May.
“You know what we need?” Mane asks.
Ooh, I’ll take that one. “A baker, a chef…more people to work under me.”
“Stop flirting with every breathing, living thing, Asshole.” Mane glares at me.
Okay, I shouldn’t have said the last two words provocatively. At least I didn’t ask if Nando’s friend is hot.
Lang, who I believe is torturing me by keeping me in charge of our shop, says, “Your baking is good enough. There aren’t many customers. You can keep up with the demand for a few more weeks—even months.”
Probably, but it’s tiresome doing the same thing over and over again. Maybe I should find a hobby outside this town. That might be the only way to claim that I’m not available to work every day at the coffee shop. I love the place. Preparing coffee, cooking, and serving drinks at night is fun until I have to do it every fucking day.
“You promised to hire a chef and a bartender. What happened?”
“I’m working on that.” Byron taps his tablet. “Next order of business, we need a new doctor.”
Dr. Hottie isn’t going anywhere, is she? “Why would you say that? The new doc arrived last week.”
He gives me the are-you-for-real glare. “We can’t trust a person who is here until she can sell the practice. It’ll be a lot easier to buy her out and hire a doctor who’s willing to stay for the long haul.”