Chapter 6
six
H e was seeing things.
Noah set his tackle box on the shelf of the inn’s garage and scrubbed his eyes with his palm. He blinked twice, but the image of Elisa Bergeron rushing through the twilight across the front lawn of the Blue Pirogue, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and red plaid pajama pants, didn’t diminish.
He turned to fully face her—or perhaps her apparition—but she didn’t seem to notice him as she pushed up the sleeves of that giant hoodie. She angled away from the garage, dodging a paint can Peter left out in the grass, and hopped over a discarded stepladder.
In the distance, headlights flashed then vanished as the slow rumble of an engine faded.
What in the world?
This day couldn’t get much weirder. He’d thought the call from the claims adjustor he’d just received dropping the bomb that his insurance payout for hurricane-related claims was maxed had been the final nail—but he might have assumed too quickly.
He edged out of the garage, keeping to the shadows as Elisa continued her dogged mission down the walkway bordered by overgrown bushes—he kept meaning to trim them back—to the front door of the inn. There she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, raised her hand to knock…and froze. Fist lifted, back straight, unmoving.
She’d chickened out.
He smirked and leaned one hip against the corner of the inn, crossing his arms over his flannel shirt as he waited.
Her arm lowered to her side, and she shook back her hair, the blond bright against the deepening dusk. She raised her fist again, inches from the door, then exhaled loud enough to disturb all the fish they hadn’t caught in the bay.
Oh for crying out loud.
He straightened. “Christmas called. It wants its pants back.”
Elisa shrieked, jumping backward like a cat and stumbling over the concrete step. She planted one hand against her heart and bent over, chest heaving as she glared. “Bless it, you scared me.”
“You’re the one creeping around in the dark.” Noah stopped a few feet away on the walk. “In your pajamas.” He gestured toward her buffalo plaid sweatpants.
She closed some of the distance between them. Crickets protested the interruption from the unattended flowerbeds alongside the porch, and the evening wind that rustled her hair sent a welcome rush over his slightly sunburned neck.
Elisa’s cheeks were pink, but he’d bet money it wasn’t from a sunburn.
“Sweatpants aren’t seasonal.” She peered up at him, her crossed arms making her look tiny beneath the sweatshirt’s bulk. “I have a pair with ice cream cones that I wear in the winter.”
“Noted. Was there anything else you came here to say?” He glanced at the driveway, which was empty save for his own vehicle and one of the work trucks the crew left behind. “Walked here, apparently, to say?”
“I didn’t walk.” She stabbed her hands through her hair, pulling it away from her cheekbones as she released her breath. “And yes, I’ll say it as soon as my heart rate returns to normal.”
Elisa standing a few feet away from him in her pajamas was causing his own arrhythmia. Good grief, did the woman sweat vanilla? How did she always smell that good?
He focused on the small patch of pale skin between her eyes, refusing to let his gaze drift the length of her. It wasn’t fair how time had only added to Elisa’s charm. Nope, he’d memorize every dip of that little furrow in her brow before he allowed himself to remember what it felt like to press his hand against her lower back and tug her close?—
“We have to do the treasure hunt.”
He blinked. “I’m sorry?”
She lifted her chin, squaring off with him as if her next suggestion might be a duel. “We don’t have a choice.”
After getting the bad news from the adjustor, he agreed—but he couldn’t give in that easily, not after his dramatic exit from August’s office earlier that day. “Why’s that?”
“Because I need the money. And after talking with my dad this evening, it sounds like you need it, too.” She jerked her head toward the inn.
Great. A flare of bitterness sparked in his gut. “Isaac told you about the failed inspection?”
“I asked him why you two were meeting at the diner.” She shrugged. “It’s not a secret.”
“Not for the inspector’s daughter, I guess.” He slapped an errant mosquito on his arm.
“Sugar, I couldn’t care less about black mold. It’s not shameful.”
He clenched his jaw. “I’m not your sugar .” Hadn’t been for a long time, and he sure wasn’t interested in re-upping for the role.
“Well you could stand some sweetenin’.” She quirked an eyebrow at him.
He took a deep breath. Neither he—nor the inn—could afford for his pride to stand in the way. He’d booked two reservations for the summer just that afternoon, unwilling to tell the potential customers there might not be an inn to stay at come June. If insurance wasn’t going to help, and he couldn’t open for tourist season before fixing the mold issue, the remaining inheritance was his only option to fund the mitigation.
But still. “What do you need money for?”
“I don’t see how that’s your business.” Her tone, while matter-of-fact, somehow wasn’t rude, which only aggravated him more.
Did she ever get mad?
“Well, you know why I need the money. If we’re going to be partners, then it’s only fair I know where you’re coming from.” He didn’t know why he cared what she did with it, except for the fact that Elisa even having a stake in this game still irked him.
“Wait. You said partners.” Her blue eyes lit with hope. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”
His resolve flickered. “Like you said—I think we have to.” He studied her delicate features, and considered the red flags going off in his brain. This was such a bad idea. Why had his grandfather thought it a good one? “But if we do, I think we should keep this on the down low.”
“ Down low ?” Her lips curved up. “Apparently the 1990s called, too. Want their slang back.”
“You know what I mean. If anyone realizes we’re working together, it’ll raise eyebrows. I’m not up for the drama.” Or a write-up in the Magnolia Chronicle.
“Me neither.” Her expression sobered. “Especially from my dad.”
One thing they could agree on. Was she, too, remembering a particular night twelve years ago, much like this one? When the moon was full above their heads, and the cicadas sang in the treetops and the grass folded cool under bare feet?
When black tears tracked Elisa’s cheeks and her father made it incredibly clear to Noah how many shotguns he owned?
He cleared his throat, pushing back a summer best forgotten. “So…” The past was the past, despite its sudden attempt to convince him otherwise. It needed to stay solidified in history, where it belonged. Tonight, the hunt was all that mattered. Saving the inn. Proving he wasn’t a failure. Red flags aside, they had to go for it.
He held out one hand to shake. “Temporary truce?”
Elisa rolled in her lower lip, peering up at him with cornflower blue eyes as if gauging his sincerity. Then she shook his hand. “Temporary truce.” Her palm was small and warm in his, and his brain had to tell his hand to let go twice before his fingers complied.
He hooked his thumbs in the back pockets of his jeans. “And only people who need to know will know.”
She nodded, her hair swinging in her face. She brushed it back. “Right.”
The word had barely left her lips before an engine puttered. Noah squinted at the road. A dark car inched by, headlights off. A familiar silhouette sat in the driver’s seat, her pale face illuminated by the full moon. He sighed as he angled back to Elisa. “I’m guessing Zoey Lakewood is on that need-to-know list.”
“Told you I didn’t walk.” Elisa grinned sheepishly. She waved, and Zoey guided the car up the driveway.
Noah watched as Zoey rolled down the driver’s side window. He didn’t know the woman well—she’d been a grade younger than him in school—but he’d bought some pastries from Bayou Beignets for his crew a few weeks ago, and they’d been a big hit. “If she was your ride, why did she leave?”
“Because I told her to. I didn’t want to chicken out and lose.”
Lose?
Gravel crunched as Zoey shifted the car into park. “Hey, Noah.” She leaned out the open window and wiggled her fingers.
“Zoey.” He tipped his head at her and frowned. “Your headlights are off.”
“I know.” Zoey clicked them back on. “So, did you do it?” Her dark brows disappeared into her thick bangs as she looked eagerly at Elisa.
Elisa headed for the other side of the car. “Yep. You owe me ten bucks.”
“Did you do what ?” Were the shadows playing tricks, or had Elisa’s smile turned downright sassy?
She opened the passenger door and paused, one arm braced on the frame as her gaze mingled with his. “Why, convince you to do the treasure hunt, sugar .”
He narrowed his eyes.
She slid inside, shut the door, and leaned over to talk to him through Zoey’s window. “Zoey bet I couldn’t, so now, I can treat both of us to Burger Barn fries on the way home.”
“Slay.” Zoey slapped her a high-five. “Cash is in my coin purse on the console, there.”
Noah clenched his fists. He’d made a mistake. Less than an hour ago he’d been on the pier with the guys, most of whom had completely understood his need to not get involved in this hunt with Elisa. Now, after ten minutes in her presence, he’d shaken hands on the opposite— and become the subject of a bet at the same time.
He stifled a growl.
Zoey waved as she yanked the gearshift into reverse. “Thanks, Noah!” Clouds shifted overhead, revealing more of the moon. The glow illuminated the front yard, pushing back the shadows as she backed up and cut the wheel, gravel skittering.
“Meet me at August’s office tomorrow morning!” Elisa hollered out her open window before they gunned it out of the drive.
Noah crossed his arms and stared after them as the vehicle zipped away, Elisa’s arm weaving a pattern in the wind as they sped off. Yep. That smile had definitely been sassier. She’d gotten the best of him, and she knew it.
And he’d just agreed to work with her.
* * *
“I have to admit, seeing you two here is a surprise.” August Bowman handed Elisa a ballpoint pen and pointed to the legal documents spread across his desk. “Considering the way we left things yesterday.”
Elisa leaned over the desk and signed her name in her best cursive, intentionally ignoring Noah’s tense posture next to her. “He had a change of heart.” She hadn’t expected said change to come that easily. She’d barely even flirted. Was Noah warming up to her?
“More like I had a heavy dose of reality.” Noah plucked the pen August offered and scrawled his own name in a barely legible chicken scratch under Elisa’s. “Is that it?”
“Initial page three.” August accepted the pen Elisa handed him. “And that should do it! You’re officially on the hunt and in agreement with the terms.” He stacked the papers carefully before sliding them into a file. “I’ll get Peggy to scan and upload these, but I’m old-school—I like having paper copies too.”
“Seems reasonable.” Elisa hoped her manners would make up for Noah’s lack of.
As if reading her mind—bless it, wasn’t that a scary concept—Noah cleared his throat as he stuffed the pen back in the desktop holder. “I apologize for my grumpiness. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Had an unwelcome guest late into the evening.”
Elisa’s eyes widened. So much for warming—his tone could freeze water.
August frowned as he tugged his ever-present tweed jacket down over his slacks. “I hope they didn’t vandalize anything. You have enough going on over at that inn of yours.”
“I thought people would realize that, but alas.” Noah cast Elisa a sidelong glance. “So far, no permanent damage done.”
She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his innuendo, then clamped her lips shut. Be a good girl and calm down. She lifted her chin and flashed her best smile at August. “Thanks for all your help. I’m sure we’ll be updating you with our progress.”
“Right.” August snapped his fingers, looking down so fast his glasses slid across his nose. “Speaking of progress, you need your first clues.” He shuffled through the folder and pulled out the envelopes he’d shown them yesterday. “Here you are. There will be four clues to follow. Five locations.”
“Great.” Elisa eagerly accepted hers. This was going to be fun—she hadn’t had a good puzzle to solve in ages. Or rather, it would be fun, if Noah wasn’t being a living, breathing Eeyore about it all.
Noah was slower to take his packet from August. “Thank you.”
At least he was polite this time.
“We’ll be in touch.” Elisa hoisted her purse on her shoulder and clutched her packet to her chest. Best to get Noah out of there before he dove for that file folder of paperwork, wielding liquid Wite-Out. Neither of them could afford to back out now.
“Best of luck to you.” August began ushering them toward his office door. “Remember the rules, and call if you have any questions. But I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Elisa felt confident as well, but Noah’s drawn expression indicated otherwise. “Absolutely.” She tugged at Noah’s sleeve—flannel again?—and beamed for August’s sake. “In fact, we’ll go get started right now.” Maybe if she stayed upbeat, Noah would eventually follow suit.
Noah allowed the contact on his sleeve until they were out of the office, then pulled his arm free. He held open the exterior door to the law firm. “Don’t you have to go to the café?”
They stepped out into the morning sunlight. Elisa smirked. “Trying to get rid of me already?”
Noah squinted as he looked left and right before crossing Magnolia Bay’s main drag. “Don’t tell me Delia is already back at work today.”
Elisa fell in step beside him on Village Lane, pulling sunglasses from her purse. “No, she’s still at the hospital for monitoring since her blood pressure was having trouble regulating. But we got the morning shift at the Blossom covered, and I arranged for a limited menu with a temp chef Delia recommended. I just need to go help him during the lunch rush.”
Noah grunted his acknowledgment of her update as they strolled the landscaped sidewalks in silence, bees buzzing in the bordering flowerbeds filled with tulips. The hanging Second Story sign creaked on its rusty hinges as it swung from the porch ceiling of the used bookstore, freshly painted eggshell blue. Next door, Sawyer Dubois was heading inside the coral-colored Spin Shop, where he worked part time selling vinyls in exchange for discounted gear.
Despite the recent rebuilding efforts, effects of Hurricane Anastasia still lingered. For every storefront or stretch of street that seemed back to normal, there was a broken tree or patched siding. A few neighboring fences boasted new planks of wood, mismatched from their weathered counterparts. Some of the more unfortunate businesses still had tarps on their roofs.
As they walked, Noah shrugged out of his flannel, revealing a fitted tee beneath. Elisa slid on her sunglasses, grateful they hid the way her eyes kept finding the curve of Noah’s biceps. “So, where to?”
Noah glanced at her, a strand of dark hair flopping over his forehead. Why she wanted to move it out of his eyes was beyond her. “Don’t tell me you’re actually looking forward to this.”
“Why, Noah Hebert, are you still mad at little ol’ me? It was just a bet.” She thickened her accent, partly out of habit and partly because she knew it would irk him.
She wasn’t disappointed.
He stopped, crossing his arms. “Define mad.”
She tapped her chin. “Pretty sure Webster calls it ‘very angry.’”
“Then no. I’m not very angry.” He picked up the pace again, dodging a woman in workout clothes walking a corgi, and didn’t wait as Elisa quick-stepped to keep up.
“Irate?”
“No.”
“Infuriated, then.” Man, he walked fast. She was out of breath, despite her somewhat frequent gym visits.
“Aren’t those both worse than very angry?”
Goading him was fun—it gave her the upper hand. She needed to find her flirting pattern with him. Maybe it was sarcastic banter. “Depends on who you ask.” She nearly ran into his back as Noah stopped and spun around.
“Listen.” His gaze seared right through her sunglasses and his tense posture radiated enough heat to rival the sun. “We have a job to do. And the sooner we do it, the better.”
She was losing that upper hand. Elisa found her best smile despite the sting of his words. “Did you know that when you’re mad, you get all stiff and straight like a cypress tree growing right out of the bayou?”
“I’m not mad, though, remember?” He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe as he studied her, seemingly completely unfazed.
Bless it, this wouldn’t do at all. Elisa blinked behind her sunglasses, praying he couldn’t read her eyes through the darkened lenses and interpret the sudden cacophony blaring inside her head. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to interpret it, herself. “Then what are you?”
He didn’t answer, just kept watching her, reminding her of the time that summer they’d had a staring contest on his grandfather’s old boat. The winner was awarded a kiss, and Elisa had never been so happy to lose a contest in her life.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. The spring sun overhead continued to warm her bare arms, but she’d heated up way before that. Ridiculous, but true. Maybe she could stay in denial with others, but it was much harder to pretend with herself.
She returned Noah’s stoic gaze, unable to move away from it and not even sure how willing she was.
Noah’s lips parted, and his gaze softened. Then a shadow flicked across his expression, removing all traces of compassion, and he clamped his mouth shut. “What am I? In a hurry, is what I am. And you should be, too.” He turned again, abruptly. “Chug a Mug is right up here. Good a place as any to get started.” Then he walked away.
Elisa pulled off her sunglasses and hesitated on the sidewalk, watching as the distance between them increased. She could call after him and remind him this was her town, that she knew good and well where the best coffee shop was. That she hadn’t been the one to leave and never look back, like he was doing right now. Or she could go after him, grab his arm, and demand to know what that look had meant, the one she’d felt clear down to her freshly painted toes peeking out of her gold sandals.
But she wouldn’t do any of those things. Elisa slowly slid her sunglasses back into place.
She was a good girl, and she’d stay calm.
Even if Noah had the potential to churn deep waters faster than any hurricane.