CHAPTER FOUR

      THE CAFé WAS BUSY, which made it even more ridiculous that Lucy’s heart insisted on skipping a beat every time the door opened and a customer entered. Was she excited at the prospect of spending more time with Adrian? Nervous about it? She didn’t even know, but she didn’t like reacting so strongly for no good reason at all.

      For goodness’ sake, he was going to eat lunch in the café! He’d eaten here last night. She planned to introduce him to a few people. He’d probably freeze her out in between stops. He was good at that.

      Reason didn’t seem to be helping. Something had changed between them this morning. He’d let her see the cracks in his facade of invulnerability. Well, he might not have chosen to show them, but they were there. He did hurt. This wasn’t easy for him.

      And he’d looked at her. Really looked, and maybe even liked what he’d seen. For just a moment, she’d seen something on his face that had stolen her breath and panicked her.

      Common sense and reason did work to stifle any sense of expectation that he was suddenly, madly attracted to her. Okay, there might have been a brief flicker. But Lucy hated to think how she compared to the women he usually dated.

      Her hands froze in the act of tossing salad in a huge bowl.

      Dated? He could conceivably be married. When she researched him on the Internet before going over to Seattle that day, she didn’t see anything to make her think he was, and he certainly hadn’t mentioned a wife, as in, My wife will visit any nursing homes my assistant finds, which you’d think would be natural. But he was closemouthed enough that it was still possible.

      And what difference did it make if he was? she asked herself with unaccountable depression. He was here in Middleton until Tuesday. Today was Saturday. Once he was gone, she’d probably get a nice note thanking her for taking care of his mother and that was it. Oh, and the chances were his assistant would’ve written the note. Wasn’t that what assistants did?

      Mabel stuck her head in the kitchen. “Erin just called in sick. She has a cold.”

      Lucy groaned. “Oh, no. Is it bad? Or an I-need-a-personal-day bug?”

      “I didn’t recognize her voice. It sounded like she has a doozy of a cold.”

      “Which we’d better not catch.” Lucy frowned. “Okay. Why don’t you call Bridget? I was going to hire her anyway. See if she can start tonight. She’s spent enough time here she ought to be able to jump right in.”

      Mabel knew Lucy’s aunt as well as Lucy did. “Beth doesn’t want her to work.”

      “Yeah, I kinda suspected that. That’s between them. I can’t imagine she’d mind Bridget filling in.”

      “Probably not,” Mabel conceded. She flapped a hand and retreated.

      The bell on the door tinkled and Lucy’s head snapped around. For the hundredth time.

      It was him. He looked more human today, wearing running shoes, jeans and a V-neck blue jersey. Sexier, she realized, her pulse tap-dancing. Even his hair was a little disheveled.

      Unlike last night, when his single glance around the café had been distant and even dismissive, today his gaze moved slowly and comprehensively from the old-fashioned, gilt-trimmed cash register and the jar of free mints to the artwork hanging on the walls, the windows with their red-checked curtains below lacy valances, the townsfolk and tourists nearly filling the tables and row of booths along the back wall and finally the cutout that allowed her to see him.

      Their eyes met, and he nodded.

      Lucy nodded, too, hastily, and ducked out of sight, her cheeks hot. He’d caught her gaping.

      No, he hadn’t. She’d glanced up because a patron had entered the café. She always kept half an eye on the front of the house even while she was cooking. Of course she did; it was her restaurant.

      He had no reason to suspect he made her heart flutter, and she wouldn’t give him any reason to.

      What the heck. He’d probably be rude this afternoon to someone she really liked, and her heart would quit fluttering anyway.

      When she looked out at the restaurant again, Mabel had seated him and he was studying a menu. Other people were covertly watching him. Lucy’s cousin Jen was murmuring behind her hand to her best friend, Rhonda, who owned the Clip and Curl, the competition to the Hair Do. Rhonda had been heard saying disdainfully, “I wouldn’t have washed some homeless woman’s hair. Imagine how disgusting it must be.” Lucy didn’t like Rhonda, and Jen wasn’t her favorite relative, either. Jen, who liked feeling important, would be telling all she knew about the rich lawyer who was the homeless woman’s son. The two were probably both thrilled that he’d be ridding Middleton of the scourge of homelessness.

      Jen had come by her tendency to gossip naturally. Her mom was Lucy’s Aunt Lynn. The one who was a trial.

      Lucy had worked herself up to being annoyed enough that she took off her apron and marched out, ignoring Jen and Rhonda, straight to Adrian.

      Maybe, if she were lucky, she’d start the whole family talking. Hadn’t she wished for years that she’d done something exciting enough to scandalize them?

      “I’m glad you made it,” she said.

      He looked up from the menu. “You thought I was afraid to show up?” Before she could answer, he said, “How’s the grilled-chicken sandwich with red-pepper aioli?”

      “Fabulous,” Lucy assured him. “Sam bakes the focaccia bread for us.”

      “Ah.” That apparently decided him, because he set down the menu. “This is a family enterprise, huh?”

      “No, it’s mine, except that I’ve been buying baked goods from Sam. And now we’re talking about me catering dinners for some special events she’s thinking of holding at the B and B. Like a mystery weekend. You know.” She paused. “Well, and I just added one of my cousins to the waitstaff. Although her mom won’t be happy.” Oh, brilliant. Like he’d care. “Are you ready for me to take your order?”

      His eyes held a glint. “Did you think I wasn’t going to show?”

      “No. I doubt you ever back away from whatever you’ve decided is the best course.”

      Did that sound as rude to him as it had to her own ears?

      His mouth twisted. “Oh, I have my cowardly impulses. ” Then his expression closed and he said, “I’d like the grilled-chicken sandwich and a cup of your soup.”

      “Anything to drink?”

      “Just coffee.”

      “It’ll be right out,” she said, and went back to the kitchen.

      Mabel was dishing up soup. Voice dry, she said, “Bridget squealed and said, ‘I can start tonight? Awesome!’”

      “She’s young.”

      “She’ll do fine,” Mabel said comfortably. “If she’s floundering, I’ll stay late.”

      Lucy smiled at her. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

      “What’d Mr. Attorney order?”

      “Adrian.” Lucy moderated a voice that had come out sharper than she’d intended. “His name is Adrian Rutledge.”

      Mabel’s carefully plucked eyebrows rose. “Didn’t mean to be insulting.”

      “It