Chapter 5
Lark watched the man from the island take another sip of his espresso. He was all hard edges and quiet intensity, while she tended to fill silence whether anyone had asked her to or not. He seemed to measure every word before letting it escape his mouth.
She found herself wondering what he did when he wasn’t rescuing hapless women from islands. Then she wondered why she cared. She didn’t… even though her inner voice whispered otherwise. That inner voice was nothing but a troublemaker.
Still, as she spoke to her aunt and Cammie, her eyes would flick toward the brooding man. She couldn’t decide which was more impressive—the fact that he’d managed to remain intimidating while covered in coffee, or that he hadn’t actually yelled at her. Yet.
She couldn’t believe she’d done it again.
Somehow, in the span of two days, she’d managed to cause chaos in the life of the same man she’d previously inconvenienced in Bell Creek.
This time was worse. She’d dumped his espresso all over him.
She’d thought that by moving to a new town, she could leave Murphy and his damned law behind.
She glanced down at the coffee stains on his shirt. “I’m really sorry.”
His eyes followed her gaze to his shirt before lifting and settling on her. Dark and steady and annoyingly compelling. “You said that.”
“I know.”
“Several times.”
“Yup.”
“Then stop.”
She resisted the ingrained impulse to shut up and obey, a habit that had been deeply instilled in her since childhood.
Her parents had found her incessant chatter unbearable, and her desperate need to appease others had only made it worse.
It never worked anyway. There was never any pleasing the couple who’d given birth to her.
Even so, the compulsion to cater to the desires of others remained a strong influence.
The moment she understood that she had inadvertently created a sense of displeasure in another person, a deeply unsettling and persistent itch to resolve the issue would begin to trouble her.
The same feeling would niggle at her even if the person’s discontent was through no fault of her own.
She was a people pleaser through and through. And she hated it.
But in this instance, she knew she was entirely in the wrong, even if it had been an unfortunate accident. Would she ever be able to interact with this man without pissing him off?
“I can pay for the cleaning.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I absolutely do.”
“No.” His lips tightened into a thin line, an unspoken declaration that his mind was made up and the argument was over.
She refused to leave it at that and turned toward the counter before he could argue. “Muffin me, Cammie.”
The woman next to the espresso machine smiled. “On it.”
After bagging up a blueberry muffin, Cammie slid it across the counter. Lark picked it up and handed it to him. “Here. Peace offering.”
He stared at the bag. Then at her, a look of something unreadable crossed his complicated eyes as he gazed at her.
“Thanks,” he mumbled as he took the bag.
Their fingers brushed and something electric zipped up her arm.
She almost laughed out loud at her body’s cliched response to a simple touch.
It was then she realized she might be in trouble if a brush of fingers could elicit such a response.
“You’re welcome.”
He took another sip of his espresso and his expression softened by approximately one millimeter. Apparently, espresso was the key to his happiness. Good to know.
She fell into an easy conversation with her aunt and Cammie about her studio, the Liberty Bell installation, and the upcoming community festival.
The man, she noticed, had taken a seat at a nearby table and took the muffin out of the bag.
Lark watched in amazement as a single bite from him had devoured nearly half of the muffin.
She wondered what else that mouth could devour.
Her cheeks burned with a sudden warmth at her errant thoughts.
“Are you okay, sweetheart? You look flushed,” Marilyn asked, drawing all eyes to her, which did nothing to lessen the redness.
“I-I’m fine,” she rushed to assure her aunt, her voice sounding unconvincing even to her own ears.
“You’re working too hard,” Marilyn scolded. “You need to take better care of yourself.” She continued to reassure the only family member she’d ever had who truly cared about her well-being. But even while she talked, Lark could feel him. His eyes were on her. She tried not to notice, but failed.
Every time she glanced his way, she found him watching her with that same intense, unreadable expression.
It shouldn’t have bothered her. Instead, it made something strange happen beneath her skin.
A tingling sensation began somewhere between her shoulder blades and spread outward.
Her arms prickled. Her stomach fluttered.
Her pulse skipped. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was coming down with something like her aunt had worried about.
She’d met the man only twice. The first time, she’d made him go out of his way to rescue her from the middle of the creek. The second time, she’d poured espresso down his front. Clearly, her attraction to him was evidence of a defective brain.
She focused on Marilyn, continuing to explain her remaining plans for the Liberty Bell. “And then I think I’ll use copper pipes around the base.”
Marilyn nodded enthusiastically. “That would be lovely.”
Lark kept talking. But she remained acutely aware of the man sitting only a few feet away.
He didn’t say much. She was coming to learn he never did.
The man probably rationed words. She wondered what he did for a living.
His eyes seemed to miss nothing. She felt as though he could look straight into the deepest, most secretive places inside her, reading everything she’d never told another human being.
And in that very moment, an unexpected feeling arose within her, a deep desire for him to do just that.
She mentally told herself to stop. She had enough problems without adding a mysterious, grumpy, ridiculously handsome man to the list. Yet despite her inner scolding, she couldn’t stop those annoying tingles that erupted through her body every time their eyes met.
The feelings continued to take her by surprise.
Her feelings for the man she’d dated for two years were significantly less intense than what she felt now… for a stranger.
Thankfully, she’d discovered that relationship had been nothing but a political merger between two powerhouse families. Her parents had used her as a pawn, and she’d let it go on for far too long. She had already brought their relationship to an end before she’d been coerced to walk down the aisle.
Her sister now had that honor. A twenty-year age gap meant nothing in that social circle.
The Meadows had offered up their eighteen-year-old daughter as compensation for the disgrace their older daughter had caused.
For them, walking away from a loveless relationship was considered a mark of great shame.
Whatever. She was over it. She had moved on and would now prioritize living her own life.
Eventually, the man stood and threw his trash away. As if it were routine, Cammie slid a to-go cup across the counter to him as he passed. “See ya later,” she said as he grabbed it.
“Thanks.” He nodded to Marilyn, then to her as he made his way to the door. Lark watched him go, a dawning realization hitting her. She didn’t know his name.
She hurried after him. “Wait!”
He stopped. She nearly walked into him again. She stopped herself just in time.
“I’m beginning to think I should keep a six-foot safety zone around you,” he grumbled holding his cup farther away from his body to avoid another dousing.
“Probably,” she conceded. One corner of his mouth twitched and she smiled. “But before you go...” He looked at her. “I just realized I don’t know your name.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Hoot.”
Lark blinked. “Hoot?”
“Yup.”
She waited. He didn’t elaborate. “That’s your given name?”
“Yup,” he repeated.
Before Lark could ask the obvious question, Marilyn called from behind the counter, “Cormac Shibley. You know very well that is not your given name.” Hoot closed his eyes briefly. Marilyn marched toward them and poked a finger into his chest. “Don’t be impolite.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, his jaw hardening with something unspoken. “Miz Lenzer...”
“You know perfectly well you should give the poor girl your real name. At least extend my niece that courtesy.”
Lark looked between them. “Your name is Cormac?”
He nodded. Then, with a sigh and a clear reluctance, he finally muttered, “Cormac Shibley.”
Lark repeated it silently. Cormac Shibley. It suited him somehow. But Hoot... That was far more interesting. “So how did you get the nickname?”
His gaze sharpened. “No.”
She blinked, something she tended to do a lot around him. “No?”
“Only my friends are qualified to know that.”
Lark’s curiosity immediately went into overdrive. “So, in other words, it’s classified?”
“Something like that.”
“Does it involve owls?”
“No.”
“Did you once spend the night in a tree?”
“No.”
“Did you make an embarrassing noise?”
His eyebrow lifted. “No.”
“Then I’m going to keep guessing.”
“Go ahead.” He opened the door.
Lark grinned. “Guess I’ll just have to work hard to become your friend.”
That stopped him. For the first time, she caught him genuinely off guard. His expression shifted. First to surprise, then to amusement… barely. But it was there. “You might have your work cut out for you.”
“Good.” She smiled sweetly. “I relish a challenge,” she stated, her voice laced with a hint of mischief as she added, “Cormac,” knowing it would likely irk him.
She was right. His jaw tightened again before he shook his head. But there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he stepped outside.
The bell jingled above the door. Lark watched him walk away. Cormac Shibley. Hoot. She had absolutely no business being curious about him. Unfortunately, curiosity had always been one of her worst habits. And something told her this particular mystery was going to be impossible to resist.