Chapter 9
With the gala date looming, Lark’s dread intensified. Seeking to divert her attention from the gnawing unease, she set off for the island to work on the bell. It was a stroke of luck that a kindhearted stranger happened upon her vessel and subsequently brought it back to her.
But before she set off, she needed coffee… and maybe a muffin or two. Or maybe she should just buy a dozen muffins to get through the next couple of days.
Two days. Lark had two days until the gala.
Two days until she had to fly back to Washington, put on whatever ridiculous gown her mother had selected, smile at people who had spent years judging her, and pretend she was perfectly comfortable watching her eighteen-year-old sister parade around with a man Lark had once been expected to marry.
The dread had been building ever since she’d agreed to go. She’d tried ignoring it. That hadn’t worked.
She’d tried throwing herself into the store. That had resulted in three misplaced invoices, a broken display hook, and a sculpture she’d nearly glued to her own hand.
She hoped that the miniature Liberty Bell that was still waiting for her would settle her mind… and stomach. There was something therapeutic about taking thousands of ordinary pennies and turning them into something meaningful.
The bell above the door jingled as Lark stepped into Flour Power Bakery. “Hi, Cammie,” she greeted.
“Morning!”
Lark walked to the counter and ordered her usual coffee and a blueberry muffin. While Cammie worked on the order, Lark glanced around. And stopped. Hoot sat alone at a corner table, his back firmly against the wall. Of course. The man never seemed to sit anywhere without a strategic advantage.
He wasn’t doing anything particularly out of the ordinary.
Just drinking coffee. But even from across the bakery, she could see the alertness in him.
His gaze moved whenever the door opened.
He noticed people entering. Not consciously, perhaps, just automatically. It seemed to be like breathing to him.
Lark studied him. What exactly did this man do? She’d ask, but could admit to herself she was a little afraid of the answer.
She picked up her coffee and muffin, then she looked at Hoot again. He was alone, and she’d promised herself she’d become his friend. Besides, she needed to know about that nickname. It was becoming a personal mystery.
She grabbed her bags and walked toward his table. His gaze lifted immediately. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“I’d say you are but something tells me you wouldn’t listen.”
Lark smiled. That was probably true. “Good morning to you, too.”
She set the two bags on the floor beside his table. One was heavy enough to make her wince, since it was full of pennies. Thousands of them. The other contained the tools she’d need to work on the bell.
Hoot glanced down. “What are those?”
“Pennies.”
He looked at her. “All of them?”
“Most.”
“Why?”
“For the bell.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Right.”
Lark smiled. She pulled out the chair opposite him. He didn’t invite her to sit. She sat anyway. “So...”
Hoot took a sip of coffee. “So.”
“How’s your morning?”
“Fine.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep.”
Lark nodded thoughtfully. “You’re not very talkative.”
“Nope.”
“That’s okay.” She broke off a piece of her muffin and popped it into her mouth. “I can talk enough for both of us.”
He gave her a long look. “I’ve noticed.”
She smiled around her bite. “So… heading off to work?” she inquired eyeing his suit and tie. “What do you actually do?”
“Security.”
“Okay,” she replied, drawing out the word. “That tells me absolutely nothing.” She should have guessed he’d give her the most generic answer imaginable.
“That’s the idea.”
Security could mean anything. Mall cop. Bodyguard. Private investigator. Bouncer.
Something about him told her none of those were quite right.
Military? Possibly. Definitely possibly.
She laughed. “Okay. Are you military?”
His eyes flicked toward her. “Was.”
“Ah, we’re getting somewhere,” she teased, leaning forward. “I kinda figured.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“What gave it away?”
“You.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Very specific.”
“You sit like you’re expecting someone to attack.”
“I’m just sitting.”
“With your back to the wall.”
“Better view.”
“You watch the door.”
“People come through it. Ever hear of people watching?”
She ignored the snarky question. “You noticed the delivery guy’s hands before you noticed his face.”
Hoot stared at her. Lark grinned. “You’re not as mysterious as you think. Given that incredible, god-like physique, it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion.”
His mouth twitched. “You think I’ve got a god’s body?”
Lark rolled her eyes. “Duh. You undoubtedly have women falling all over themselves to get your attention simply by walking down the street.”
“And you?”
“I’m human, aren’t I?”
“Debatable,” he droned.
They were quiet a moment as they both took sips of their coffees. “What branch?” Lark finally asked. One full brow rose. “In the military,” she clarified. “What branch?”
“Navy.”
She nearly bounced in her chair. “I knew it.”
Hoot shook his head. “Sure you did,” he scoffed, his voice dripping with skepticism.
She broke off another bite of her muffin and pointed it at him. “Don’t tell me you were a SEAL.”
His expression barely changed, but she saw it. A slight tightening around his eyes. A tiny flare of surprise. She gasped. “You were?”
Hoot sighed. “You’re very observant. Maybe too observant,” he muttered under his breath.
“That’s amazing.”
“It’s a job.”
“It’s the Navy SEALs.”
“Was.”
“Still amazing,” she applauded. “Besides, I thought you guys always say ‘once a SEAL, always a SEAL.’ Or something like that.”
He shook his head, fighting another lip twitch. Someday, she’d get him to stop fighting his smiles.
Lark took another bite of muffin. “So, you gonna tell me how you got the name Hoot now?”
“Nope.”
“Because I’m not your friend yet.”
“Affirmative.”
She pouted. “And here I thought we’d had a breakthrough.”
“Nope. But feel free to think whatever you like.”
She grinned, and they talked some more. Or, more accurately, Lark talked. She told him about the store. The artists’ cooperative and her plans for the island and the bell.
He responded mostly with brief comments, and occasional questions, but she didn’t mind. She liked the quiet spaces between his words. They felt comfortable. Strangely comfortable.
By the time she finished her muffin and coffee, she realized she’d been sitting with him for nearly forty minutes. She stood. “I should get going.”
Hoot nodded. She bent to grab the bags. The penny bag caught on the leg of the table. There was a sharp ripping sound. Lark froze. “Oh, shit.”
The bottom of the bag gave way. Pennies exploded across the floor. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. They rolled beneath chairs. Across the floor. Under the counter. One hit the wall and bounced beneath a display case.
Lark stared. Then slowly looked toward the ceiling. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Cammie rushed over. “I’ve got a bag.”
Lark dropped to her knees. “I’ve got them.”
Coins rolled everywhere. She crawled beneath the table, grabbing handfuls and shoving them into the bag Cammie handed her. She scrambled under the tables and chairs, trying to gather them all.
Then she felt someone kneel beside her. Large fingers closed around a penny. Hoot, the man she had just called god-like was helping her. On his hands and knees. On the floor.
“You missed this one.”
Lark blinked. “You’re helping?”
“Obviously.”
They worked together. Her embarrassment faded beneath the absurdity of the situation. “This tracks,” she mumbled with a hint of self-mockery.
“What?”
“Murphy’s Law strikes again.” He glanced at her. She reached for the last coin. “There.” She held it up triumphantly.
Then she forgot where she was. She stood too fast. Her head struck the underside of the table with a sickening crack. “Ow!”
Pain exploded through her skull. She tried to rise again, more carefully this time, but staggered backward. The room tilted. The floor seemed to move beneath her. “Whoa.”
Hoot was there before she could fall. His arms caught her around the waist. “Easy.”
“I think...” She blinked. The bakery spun. “...I hit my head.”
“Yeah.” His voice was suddenly different. No teasing or grumpiness. Just something that sounded almost like concern. “Sit down.”
“I’m okay.”
“You whacked yourself pretty hard. You’re dizzy.”
“Maybe a little.”
He guided her toward the long, cushioned bench against the wall. “Lie down.”
Lark obeyed, and he held a pillow in place for her to lay her head on. Cammie appeared with a bag of ice. “Here.”
Hoot took it and pressed it gently against the growing bump on Lark’s head. “Hold still.”
She looked up at him. His stern face was inches away. His dark eyes searched hers. “How many fingers?”
He held up two. “Two.”
“Good.”
“I’d rather count muscles.” Her face instantly blazed as she realized what she’d said. Cammie laughed and Hoot’s lips gave that subtle twitch once more.
“Feel free,” he teased. Lark’s mouth almost dropped open. Was he teasing her? Could he tease? And furthermore… was that an invitation?
“I’m good.”
“Sure.”
She frowned. “You’re mocking me.”
“Maybe.” But his hand remained steady against the ice.
And suddenly Lark wasn’t thinking about the headache.
She was thinking about his arms around her.
His broad hands on her waist as he steadied her.
His concern. The fact that, for the first time since she could remember, someone other than Marilyn was taking care of her.
She swallowed. Thirty-one years. Thirty-one years of family expectations, criticism, judgment, and being told she was too much or not enough.
Only Marilyn had ever made her feel safe simply because she was Lark.
And now this man was doing it. A man she’d known for barely a week.
A man who was supposed to be grumpy and intimidating and impossible to get close to.
Yet here he was, holding ice against her head as though her well-being mattered. It felt... nice.
More than nice. Dangerously nice.
Lark looked into his eyes. Hoot’s expression softened. Just slightly.
“That’s quite a goose egg you’ve got there.”
Her heart gave an unexpected little flutter at the worry in his tone. She smiled faintly. “Sorry.”
He shook his head. “Stop apologizing.”
She almost laughed, but remembered that would probably hurt her head. “Can’t.”
“I’ve noticed.” His thumb shifted slightly against the edge of the ice pack, brushing against the skin of her forehead. Lark closed her eyes. For once, she didn’t mind being cared for. In fact... she could get used to it. And that thought scared her far more than the bump on her head.