“Yes, it will be nice.” She walked behind the counter and glanced at the ledger. Apparently Mr. Russ Mitchard, of no fixed address, was to be her only customer. One client was better than none, wasn’t he?
“I hear an unspoken ‘but’ in your voice.” Russ leaned against the counter, shadowed chin propped on one palm.
“I’m glad the bookstore is able to remain open.” She shrugged. “It’s full of character. I used to go there often when my mother was alive, but lately…”
“I heard about the accident. I understand.” He nodded, his voice sympathetic. “I can imagine it hasn’t been easy on your godson, either.” He shrugged. “Perhaps seeing the place open again will ease his memories, help him see life goes on.” His attention shifted to Felicity. “I’ll bet Annie was one of those little girls who lost themselves in fairy tales and dreamed of her own Prince Charming.”
He was so exactly on target that Annie drew into her shell.
“Actually I studied birds,” she informed him. “I had a thing for birds.”
“Still do. Birds and wildflowers. Which anyone who looks through this place could tell right off. Her watercolors are all over the place.” Felicity grinned, then shrugged into her jacket. “I’ve got to get going. Saturday is our play day, and my daughter doesn’t like waiting. See you, Annie. Bye, Russ.” She disappeared like a whirlwind, her long legs carrying her out the door and down the street in mere seconds.
“When she goes, she really goes.” Russ swiveled his head, watched Felicity’s lithe figure disappear. “She seems nice. Straightforward.” He was looking at Annie again.
“As straight as they come.” Annie wished the phone would ring. Anything to get his focus off of her.
“Unlike you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She glared at him. “I’m no crook.”
His finger grazed her cheek, cupped her chin, forced her to look at him.
“I didn’t mean that. But you’ve got secrets, Annie girl. Anyone can see that. Sad secrets buried in the glacial silt of those blue eyes. It’s going to take some work to dig them out.”
“Don’t be silly. There’s nothing glacial about my eyes. They’re just plain old blue.” She jerked her chin away, then stepped out from behind the counter. “Besides, in a place like Safe Harbor, it’s impossible to have secrets.”
“Do you think so?” He sounded strange, almost hopeful.
Annie took a deep breath and refocused. She was his hostess. Time to earn her money and act like it.
“Did Felicity show you to your room?”
“Changing the subject, Annie?”
“Yes. Did she?”
He nodded, his mouth tilted in a wicked grin. “She did. Thank you.”
“Good. Fine. Excellent.” She was babbling. “Well, make yourself at home then. Let me know if you need anything.” She turned, walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. There she made a pot of coffee, chose a freshly baked cinnamon bun from the rack.
When she turned again, he stood leaning against the door frame, leather jacket gone but still the charmer in black cashmere and worsted slacks. If she’d snapped a photo of him, Annie would have titled it The Ultimate Flirt. Funny, she’d thought she’d heard him leave.
“Wanna share?”
“Oh. Well, it’s up to you.” What else could she say? He was her guest. She poured two cups of coffee, then motioned toward the cinnamon rolls. He put three on the plate she offered.
“I’m good at sharing.” He laughed at her look. “I’m also starved.”
“I see that.”
They sat down at the small bistro table under a bank of windows that overlooked a tiny flagstone patio and Lake Michigan beyond. Suddenly Annie remembered.
“Since you’re going to be living here, I wonder if you’d be interested in playing for our children’s choir—the same music you played today. Easter morning.” She rushed on, blurting out the facts in no particular order. “They’re good kids, but I can’t direct and play, and they need to practice to memorize their parts. We haven’t yet begun to coordinate with the readers, and that will take a lot of work to get the timing right, and—”
“Okay.”
“And then, of course, there are the robes to think of. Someone else is handling them, but I expect—” She stopped, stared at him. “What did you say?”
“I said I’ll play for you. The organ?” His eyes sparkled with mirth. “That was what you asked, wasn’t it?”
“Oh. Yes, it was.” Annie gulped. That easy? “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He licked the white Danish icing off his fingertips, then took a sip of coffee before leaning back in his chair like a satisfied cat just finished a bowl of cream. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something else.”
“Talk to me?” she demanded, suspicious of the odd smile twitching at his handsome mouth. “Why?”
“Calm down. It’s nothing horrible,” he assured her. “I can see the worst ideas flickering through your eyes.”
“What could you possibly have to talk to me about? We’ve only just met.”
“Remember I told you we used to come here in the summer?”
She nodded.
“My parents are both lawyers in Chicago. They’re very busy. Back then they lived in Green Bay and they wanted a place nearby where our family could get away from work and relax together.” His voice tightened a fraction.
“Oh, yes.” She still didn’t see what that had to do with her.
“My grandparents would come sometimes, too. My grandfather wasn’t crazy about leaving work. He was a workaholic, and lazing around made him very uncomfortable. But my mom loved having her mother visit us at the cottage, and my gran adored the lake. They spent a lot of time talking. My grandfather didn’t dare put a damper on that because Gran was the love of his life.” Those unusual eyes darkened with emotion. “Their marriage was perfect, exactly what everyone thinks of when they say the word love. Unfortunately Gran died eight years ago.”
“Oh.” Where was this going? “They were your only grandparents?”
“The only ones I knew. Dad’s parents died before I was born. They lived in New York.”
Mitchard. The name pricked her memory. A newspaper article, what, a month ago? Something named in memory, wasn’t it? Annie stared at him. “The land developer?”
He smiled. “Uh-huh.”
“Oh.” What else was there to say? Russ Mitchard’s grandfather had been a household name and certainly a workaholic. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to put grandiose building schemes aside to traipse around Door Country like the tourists. If she remembered correctly, the son, Russ’s father, was an only child and had inherited everything when Mitchard Senior had a heart attack. Curiosity got the better of her.
“With that history, it seems strange you’d choose the career you have. I’d have thought you’d follow your grandfather, build more office buildings.”
“There’s nothing wrong with what I do.”
The belligerent words startled her.
“I didn’t say there was. I just thought—” She stopped when his face darkened. “Never mind.” She sipped her coffee, thinking. “So you came back to Safe Harbor because of your memories.”
“I