Chapter Thirteen
The intrusion snapped Sloane back to reality.
She stepped away from August. Away from temptation.
She gave not one damn if that decision made her a coward.
She’d been so close to drowning in August’s beautiful eyes and forgetting everything she’d told herself over the years. She was over him. Over. Him. Not that she’d ever had the chance to be under him—and wasn’t that a pity, she thought, as he stared at her with hot, glittering eyes. He was a man of few words, but in this instance, his thoughts were easy to read on his face. He was thinking about what could have been if they hadn’t been interrupted. So was she.
Or maybe she was just horny, and any good-looking guy would have gotten the same reaction from her.
Yeah, right, her wicked inner bitch who had no time for foolishness whispered. She shook her head and brought the people who’d walked into the building, courtesy of a front door that was apparently unlocked, into focus. Three people. Two women, one man. All of them with identical, suspicious, and—dare she say it—unwelcoming expressions on their faces.
They all looked old enough to be Sloane’s parents’ ages or older. The Black man and woman held hands. Her skin was a smooth sienna, proving once again that black don’t crack, with the man a few shades lighter. Her gray hair was styled into a stylish bob. She peered at August and Sloane through silver wire frames. Her tapping foot indicated she wanted answers, and she wanted them now. She’d been the one to speak. The man was a few inches taller than her with a paunch highlighted by his polo shirt tucked into his khakis and his belt pulled tight. His hair, cropped close, was a stately salt and pepper.
The other interloper looked to be Latina, with her honey-gold skin and dark wavy hair. She didn’t look any more welcoming than the other two.
“Excuse me, can I help you?” August said. His voice came out strong. Sure. Not like he was still thinking about the kiss that never was. Impressive, really. And a little insulting, but now was not the time to obsess about that.
The threesome didn’t look intimidated by the tall, buff pro athlete questioning them. They continued to sweep their gazes around the space. Like they had every right to be there. Ahh, to be old and unbothered. Sloane aspired to reach that state of mind someday.
“The real question is ‘Who are you?’” the Black lady finally said.
“I’m August Hodges, and I own this building. Co-own.”
That earned him a simultaneous sniff from the trio. Sloane was intrigued. Who were these people? “I’m Sloane Dell.”
This time the simultaneous sound from all three members of the Old Folks Triumvirate came in the form of a disbelieving “tuh.”
The guy stared at them hard, his bushy eyebrows doing all the talking. They were saying “yeah right.” He harrumphed. “We saw the way you were looking at each other. Making googly eyes.”
Guess he was tired of his eyebrows having all the fun. Sloane’s insides burned with embarrassment.
The Black lady slapped him on the arm. “Ben, really.”
He looked nonplussed. “The younger generations always think they invented sex.”
She nodded. “True.”
Strangers who were the same age as her parents talking about sex was only slightly less embarrassing than her parents talking about sex. Sloane cleared her throat. “How can we help you?”
“I’m Ben Franklin, and you can wipe those smirks off your faces. It’s a fine upstanding name. This is my wife, Cynthia. And this is our next-door neighbor, Rosa. We came to have a look around. Heard some banging and wanted to see what the folks who bought this place were up to.” The man started whistling, folding his hands behind his back, obviously trying to look unsuspicious, but accomplishing the exact opposite.
Sloane exchanged glances with August for the first time since the almost whatever . What is going on?
“Turning this place into a cupcake shop?” Rosa asked, as she swept her gaze all around the room.
August nodded. Sloane followed his lead. Keep it short and simple. Share no incriminating details. Though not spoken, this was a low-key interrogation.
“There’s a bakery a couple of blocks down,” Cynthia said.
Sloane nodded again. She’d passed the French bakery on her way here. But she knew her brother. He and his partners had undoubtedly done their due diligence before deciding to open the new Sugar Blitz location here and concluded there was room enough for both businesses.
“Whatcha got planned?” A seemingly simple question accompanied by more casual meandering that was anything but. “Painting the walls?”
Sloane exchanged another glance with August.
“Yes,” he said.
“Hmm,” all three said in unison.
“When do you plan on opening?” Cynthia asked.
“Two weeks.”
“This the furniture and artwork you plan on using?” Ben followed up.
Sloane nodded again. She wasn’t sure where the Three Musketeers were going with this interrogation, but the less ammunition they gave them, the better.
“Never seen you around before, but here you are making a lot of changes, I see.”
“Well, we won’t hold you up any longer,” the ringleader, Cynthia, said. She turned on her heel in a sharp move any drill sergeant would admire and led her two cadets out the door.
A tense, prolonged silence followed. Sloane searched for something to do with her hands. She finally settled on resting them on her hips.
“That was weird, right?” August said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Sloane briefly met his gaze. “So weird.”
She had a feeling they were talking about more than the visit from the Three Musketeers.