Haunt Your Heart Out

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Some nights, I kept the bookstore open a bit later, just for kicks. It rarely drew customers, but it was an excuse for me to put off laundry. I’d pitched author signings and open mic nights to Charles, who’d insisted there wasn’t a market for “that sort of thing.” The Montpelier night scene begged to differ, but what did I know?

The après-ski crowds swarmed the streets; LED holiday wreaths, menorahs, and kinaras attached to the phone poles bathed them in an eerie, festive glow. Just another reminder that people stopped into our town only briefly, just to rush home and pick up their lives where they’d left off. Nobody stuck around. They were in and out in a week, with nothing but vacation photos languishing on social media posts and in automatically backed-up cloud storage to prove they’d enjoyed themselves. They barhopped until they dropped, but I always held out hope that someone would slip into the store and be relieved to escape the hustle and bustle.

I’d set a goal to finish The Return of the King in a single day, so I downed a bit of espresso and settled back in. I scraped a fingernail along the cracked spine of the book as I relived the tale, fueled by caffeine and nostalgia. The goal was lofty, though, and my eyelids were heavy by eight-thirty, so I abandoned ship and prepped a hot chocolate for the trip home instead.

The front door swung open, and a man swept in as I drizzled chocolate syrup over my drink.

“We’re closing, sorry,” I said, without sparing a glance.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, glancing around and rubbing his hands together. “I was hoping I could use your restroom.”

I stole a peek when I heard a newly familiar voice: the stranger who’d given me a lift to work just yesterday. He wore a long black wool coat, a knitted scarf, pressed-enough pants, and the notable Yankees cap to top it off. The cap’s brim shadowed most of his face, as it had in his car.

“You’ve gotta make a purchase, customers only.” The tone was meant to be joking—friendly, even. But the last few years of pointing to the dark back corner and handing off a key had influenced me more than I’d realized.

He pressed his lips together, more challenge than smile. “I don’t see any signs.”

I grabbed the chalkboard marker and scrawled “Bathroom for Customers Only” on the menu board. My brain always shut down when pretty people were involved, so it was probably an attempt at flirting gone terribly wrong.

His eyes flashed amusement and a subtle dimple appeared in the middle of his chin. “My mistake. I’ll have a latte, double shot. Soy, no foam.”

“Not from around here, then?” I asked, cringing inwardly that I’d created more clean-up for myself through the failed flirting attempt.

“Why would you assume that?” he asked.

I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow.

“There’s nothing strange about a soy-no-foam order.”

“It’s not the order,” I said, snagging a to-go cup from the counter and pointing it at his head. “It’s the hat.” And the out of state plates on his peppy sedan.

He brushed his fingertips along the hat’s brim. “I’ve been found out.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been assaulted. Brave of you to wear that around here. This is Red Sox land.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I think I can take ’em.” He tossed a playful wink in my direction.

I interrupted his peacocking by grinding fresh beans—an unnecessary move, ingredients-wise, but absolutely required to drown him out before my idiot heart took over. Confident, fast talker, and not sticking around. Exactly the type I’d fall for.

I tugged the key from its hook and slid it across the counter to the man. “Down that way, take a left at Nietzsche.”

He disappeared between stacks of books. I tended to his coffee order, peering down the aisle after him, hoping to catch another glimpse.

A few minutes later, the floorboards creaked under the weight of his footfalls. When he reached the counter, I slid the capped to-go cup across the counter and crossed my arms.

“What do I owe you?” he asked.

I pointed to the cash register, the amount lighting the room with its digital green glow. “Unless you want to sign up for the Coffee of the Month Club. Ten percent off your cuppa, every time, if you get the featured beverage. A free coffee every ten purchases.”

“I’ll pass,” he said. He patted his back pockets, then his coat, then dug into the front pockets of his pants. He pulled his hand free and slid a few quarters from his palm onto the countertop, counting under his breath as the metallic ring echoed through the bookstore.

“Misplaced wallet?” I asked. “It’s cool, I’ll just take this one for the road.”

“Must be in the car back at the inn.” He sighed and fiddled with his coat’s pocket flap. “Sorry to have wasted your time. Excuse me, I’m expected at the cemetery in a few minutes.”

I clenched my hands into guilty little fists beneath the counter. I’d mocked the guy for his preferred sports team, heckled him about his coffee order, and been all grumpy because he was an out-of-towner—and he was here because someone had died . Way to go, Lex. Stellar performance.

“You know, I may have forgotten to mention that new coffee club members get a free beverage. Just need your cell number, right here.” I nudged a membership slip toward him and lifted my shoulders apologetically.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Is that so?” he asked, eyes scanning the floorboards.

“Oh, and we promise never to sell or give away your information or spam you. Or anything.”

He accepted the pen and tapped the tip to the sign-up slip. I braved a glance at his profile as he bent to jot down his information. Rough hair grew at his chin, like he’d skipped a couple days shaving. Travel and grief do that to you. His jawline tightened as he started to write, so I averted my eyes in case I was making him uncomfortable. He finished, and passed the slip to me. “Seems like a punch card would be a less sketchy option, don’t you think.”

“I don’t make the rules … James,” I said, reading his name off the slip of paper. “I just do what the boss tells me. Thank you for joining the Dog-Eared Coffee Club. Just give us your number next time you’re in and we’ll track your purchases in our system.” If he ever came back, which was unlikely given his here-for-a-funeral status and out-of-state area code. Not sticking around.

“Thanks, uhh …?” He pointed at me with his free hand.

“Have a good one,” I said. Don’t give him your name, check. Suggest he enjoy a trip to the cemetery, also check.

“Absolutely.” He took a sip of coffee as he backed toward the door. “Thanks again. I owe you one.”

“We’re even,” I said. “Consider it payment for yesterday’s wonderful taxi service.”

Falling snow danced around him as he crossed the road and half-jogged toward the park. I fiddled with the slider top of my travel mug, staring after him until he disappeared beyond the streetlight’s glow.

James didn’t show up the next day. Not that I expected an appearance—it was just a simple observation and reading into things was a dangerous game. The store was slow, as usual. Only a handful of customers, a rush on drip coffee when a caravan of skiers dropped in on their way toward the resort, and an antique book collector who stopped by looking for a copy of some obscure book—and to criticize Dog-Eared’s cataloging methods.

I flipped the sign to “closed” and started counting out the register when I heard a tiny tap at the window. I finished tallying my handful of pennies, not willing to get tripped up somewhere in the thirties only to have to start counting the register all over again. If it was important, they’d stick around until the change-counting was complete.

When I had the chance to squint through the smudged windows, I spotted a familiar silhouette. Long jacket, ball cap, and a hand holding up a driftwood key chain in the window.

I scurried to the door, flipped the lock, and beckoned for the bathroom key. After realizing the key was gone this morning, I’d picked the bathroom deadbolt and left it unlocked all day. Not having to hand it off to customers had actually been a real time-saver.

“Missing something?” James asked, dangling the key slightly out of reach.

“What, did you steal it just to have a reason to come back?”

“Of course not. I tucked it in my pocket while I was washing my hands last night and forgot to return it because you tricked me into signing up for your secret club. No foul intentions. No harm.”

I hopped to grab the key from his hand and snatched it from his grip before he could tease me with it any more. He grinned and stepped around me, then headed toward the coffee counter.

“Your timing is terrible.” I wrinkled my nose as if it could convey an apology I wasn’t sure I was prepared to give. “We’re closed. Again.”

“Just checking out the décor,” he said, meandering. His hands were shoved deep in his coat pockets and his feet crossed with each step. The movement turned his walk into a swagger. “Cozy little place you have here. Smells like a library.”

“Might be the books,” I said.

He pressed his weight onto one foot, testing a creaky floorboard. “Noisy.”

“Creaky floorboards add ambience,” I said. “Now that you’ve returned the contraband, can I finish closing up?”

“Go right ahead.” He took two strides across the floor and settled into the ragged armchair by the window.

“Door has to be locked if I’m counting cash. Owner’s rules.” I waved him toward the door.

He got up, walked toward the door, and flipped the lock. “Better?”

I snorted a laugh. “Close enough.” My heart wasn’t going to survive.

James crossed toward the desk, swept his hat off his head, and leaned onto the desk with both hands in fists. He gripped his hat, and his eye contact sent a shiver through my spine.

“I wanted to properly thank you for the coffee last night.”

“Oh, that.” I shrugged, not at all coolly. “No big deal, benefits of the club.”

“Absolutely. That’s right, the club. Well, thank you for bringing it to my attention.” He smirked, and his dimple appeared. Without the brim of his cap in the way, his eyes glittered from the overhead lights. Was he trying to torture me?

“I’m trying to close up here. For real.” I hit the button to close out the register and nodded toward the door.

“Right.” He pointed with both hands at the door. “I’ll just go then. But, hey, I hope to see you around.”

He pressed himself away from the desk and walked to the door, not a second glance spared. He flipped the lock and tugged it open.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” I said, fully aware that it was shitty to apologize to a guy I didn’t know for the death of a person I’d probably never met.

He glanced back at me with a grin. “No worries, I’ll make a note of your business hours so I’m more likely to be served next time.”

Next time. Like he wouldn’t be skipping town in a couple of days. He jogged off in the direction of the park again, offering a low wave to the driver who let him cross the road. My eyes remained glued on his disappearing silhouette until there was no discerning his shadow from December’s pitch black.

With the register counted, money tucked away in the safe, and lights switched off, I walked back to the desk to turn off the banker’s lamp. And there was James’s hat, exactly where he’d been leaning minutes before.

I’d never figure out where he was staying, not with twenty-five inns and a handful of B&Bs within spitting distance of the store. Even if I did know, I wasn’t going to fall for it. He’d probably left it on purpose. He wasn’t going to come in here, all scruffy beard and charm, and get me to chase him down. Not in my town.

I hung the hat from a hook on the wall using the adjustable back strap, then made my escape.