Carolina Blues by Virginia Kantra Read Free Book Online Page B

equipment, buying the best she could afford. But there was no one on the island to teach her how to use it.
    “The grinder was adjusted when I bought it,” she said.
    “Mm,” Lauren said noncommittally. “You know, changes in humidity and temperature affect how coarse the grind should be.”
    “Seriously?”
    Lauren nodded. “You should probably adjust it every day.”
    Jane puffed out her breath. “Right. Okay. Thanks.”
    She studied the woman in front of her. She couldn’t afford to make mistakes. But . . .
    “How long are you here for?” she asked abruptly.
    Lauren shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
    “Where are you staying?”
    “The Pirates’ Rest.”
    “I know it.” The Fletchers’ bed-and-breakfast. Not the most expensive place on the island. Not the cheapest, either, especially in midseason. Obviously, Lauren Whatever-her-name-was didn’t need to sling coffee to get by.
    Which was too bad. The HELP WANTED sign still hung in the window. If only Jane could afford to pay more than a measly hourly wage . . .
    No more
if-only
s.
    “Well, it was nice of you to help out. Do you want . . .”
A cup of coffee. A cookie. A muffin.
“A job?”
    “Oh, I—”
    Jane saw the uncertainty gather like clouds across her face and hurried into speech before she could refuse. “Not full-time or anything. Maybe ten hours a week? Just around the lunch rush. You’re here then anyway.”
    “But I’m working. Writing.”
    Right
. Jane sighed. Well, it had been worth a shot.
    Lauren’s dark gaze fixed on hers. “Only ten hours?”
    Jane nodded, afraid of sounding too eager. Too desperate.
    Lauren bit down on her lower lip. “I have been in kind of a rut,” she admitted.
    “We could give it a couple days. See how it goes. You’d really be helping me out,” Jane added.
    That didn’t sound too needy. Did it?
    And maybe it was the right thing to say, because Lauren’s smile broke like the sun through clouds. “Sure. Why not?”
    *   *   *
    J ACK DROVE THROUGH the center of town toward the bakery. Fifteen months ago, he’d been a plainclothes detective with an unmarked car. Driving the big, department-marked SUV made him feel like a beat cop again, like a giant leap back.
    But he had a chief’s responsibilities now. Bottom line, the shield on the door, the lights on top, were a visual deterrent to crime. For every tourist speeding through town, for every island kid with too much time on his hands, the official-looking vehicle and uniform served as a reminder.
Slow down. Think twice.
    Jack parked the SUV near the road, where it could be seen by passing motorists. Gravel and oyster shells crunched underfoot as he stepped out into the lot.
    He climbed the steps to the porch, anticipation tightening all the muscles in his abdomen, like he was about to take a punch to the gut. Like he didn’t need coffee, his heart already pounding.
    The over-the-door bells chimed. He stood a moment silently inside the doorway, eyes adjusting to the light.
    Jane was coming out of the kitchen with a tray, a smudge of flour on one flushed cheek, pink and white and delectable as one of her own cupcakes. He looked past her toward the corner table, Lauren’s table. Empty.
    She wasn’t there.
    The unnamed hope in his chest collapsed, leaving him deflated.
    Jesus Christ. He wasn’t a fourteen-year-old boy anymore, hanging around some girl’s locker after class, waiting for her to show.
    Even at fourteen, he’d never had to wait. Females had been coming on to him since first grade when Tina Zanelli offered to show him her underpants if he’d be her boyfriend. He couldn’t remember how that had worked out. He might have taken her up on her dare. She could have delivered on her promise. More likely, he’d said something rude and the opportunity had been lost.
    Proving he hadn’t learned a damn thing in thirty years. What the hell had he been thinking, busting Lauren’s chops the other day, making that crack about her