Chapter 3
“Something smells good,” said Xander from the wing chair where I’d left him. He’d put on the socks and slippers, I noted. Casey was nearby, tired out from our walk, curled up and dozing in his bed by the fire.
“Here you go,” I said, easily balancing the tray in one hand while I gave Xander a steaming mug with the other. I was well practiced at serving. “Would you like some cream or sugar?”
“No, thank you,” he said. “For now, I think I’ll just have the coffee.”
I blinked. It was yet another thing he’d said that was a tad off.
“O-kay,” I said. Picking up my own mug, I put the tray aside and sat down in the other chair.
Xander took a sip, and his green eyes got bigger and brighter. “This coffee is delicious,” he said. “And so warm! Now I understand what all the fuss is about.”
“People make a fuss about the Sunny Side’s coffee?” I asked.
“If they don’t, they should,” he said. He took another sip.
I wasn’t sure what to make of any of that.
Suddenly, Casey jumped up and ran to the door, barking. I recognized the reaction.
“Excuse me a sec,” I said to Xander, putting my coffee down. “I think the mail is here.”
I got up, scurried after Casey, and grabbed the dog’s collar just before the front door opened. A burst of cold air blew in, along with our local mail carrier.
“Yo, yo, yo. Joey D is in the house,” announced Joseph DeMarco. Joey D to most of the neighborhood. “Or, you know,” he said, gesturing around. “The bed-and-breakfast house. As the case may be.”
Thanks to regular exposure to UV light, Joey’s skin had a deep tan all year round.
His dark hair was gelled perfectly into place, and his bulging, gym-sculpted muscles were practically exploding out of his uniform jacket.
Despite the brisk weather, he was wearing those mail carrier shorts.
And, as usual, he reeked of Drakkar Noir.
“Whoa, Hannah.” He took a step back and threw up his hands, as though my appearance was too much for him. “Move over, Cheetos,” he said with his big, doofy grin. “Because you are flamin’ hot today.”
“Hey, Joey,” I said with a polite smile.
Casey tried to lunge at him, but I held the dog back. “Down, boy,” I said. I was talking to the pup, but it was a message I really hoped Joey would get one of these days.
“Hello,” came a voice from over by the fireplace. Joey and I turned to see that Xander had gotten to his feet. He smiled and waved agreeably at the mail carrier. “I’m Xander.”
Joey narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the stranger, taking in the long, loose hair, the pale skin, the muscles. It was funny, really. Both men were equally big and buff. But while everything about Joey D was very obviously and carefully cultivated, Xander’s appearance came off as totally natural.
Joey’s gaze shot back to me. “You got a guest?”
“I do,” I said, not wanting to get into details. “Do you have my mail?”
He handed it over, almost reluctantly. “Your parents still gone?”
“’Til spring,” I said with a nod.
He glanced over at Xander again. “Well,” he said, puffing up his chest, “if you find yourself in need of protection—”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ve got Casey.”
As if on cue, Casey growled at him.
“So, see you tomorrow?” I said, trying to herd Joey back out the door. I knew from experience that the longer he stayed, the longer the smell of his cologne would linger in my lobby.
Joey started to go but paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You busy later today?”
“I am,” I said, glad I didn’t have to make something up. “I’m hosting a block association meeting.”
His eyes brightened. “Can Joey D come?”
I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to how Joey D liked to refer to himself in the third person.
“Well, the thing is,” I said, “the association is for local business owners. And since you don’t own a business…”
He thought about this. “Okay. Maybe next time then.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, wondering how Joey D planned to take over ownership of the US Postal Service within the next couple of weeks.
* * *
A few minutes later, Casey was back in his bed by the fireplace, and Xander and I were resettled in our respective wing chairs.
I sipped my coffee and tried to figure out how to pick up the conversation that had been put on pause by Joey’s arrival.
I had a lot of questions for my “guest,” but I didn’t want to come off like an interrogator.
“So, Xander,” I said finally, tucking one of my legs up under me. “I take it you’re not from around here?”
“No,” he said. “I’m from…overseas.”
Overseas?
Okay. That was starting to make a little more sense. While Xander spoke fluent English, and even understood some slang, maybe English wasn’t his first language. That would certainly explain some of his odd phrasings and bizarre replies. He didn’t have an accent I could detect, but…
“Where overseas?” I asked.
His eyes quickly clouded over, just like they had down at the beach when I’d asked him what had happened to him. He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “Oh, you know,” he said.
I didn’t know, but now my mind was racing.
Maybe Xander was some kind of undocumented immigrant?
Maybe that was why he didn’t want me to call 911?
Maybe he was seeking asylum here? Since he’d mentioned he was from somewhere “wet,” I racked my brain to come up with some country where there was a lot of rain and a lot of unrest, but geopolitics wasn’t exactly my area of expertise.
And of course, none of this explained how he’d ended up naked and unconscious on the Atlantic City shore. But since anti-immigrant sentiment was real, I figured anything was possible. Who knew what horrible things could have happened to Xander?
Suddenly, my heart expanded in my chest, and I felt fiercely protective. Putting my coffee down, I leaned forward and extended my hand, laying it on top of his. “You know you’re safe here,” I told him.
“Oh, I know,” he said with a smile. That smile. “I knew I was safe as soon as I saw you again.”
Obviously, he didn’t mean to say again. It was just another one of our lost-in-translation communication glitches. But as I smiled back at him, I had the weirdest sensation of déjà vu. I was almost positive that I did recognize him, that we had met somewhere before.
Our moment was cut short when, once more, the front door opened. As I pulled my hand back from Xander’s, Drew came through the doorway.
In addition to being my oldest and closest friend, Drew Witherspoon-Baldwin was the co-proprietor of Kneadful Things, the bakery next door.
He took care of the marketing while his husband, Garth, did the baking.
Drew carried a square white box tied up with string that undoubtedly contained one of Garth’s yummy creations for everyone to snack on during our block association meeting.
Oh, damn! Was it time for that meeting already?
Spotting me, Drew grinned and nodded. “Hiya, Han.” He sniffed, then wrinkled his nose. “Smells like the mail came.”
He pushed the door closed and passed the box from one hand to the other while he shrugged off his puffer jacket.
Underneath, his figure was slim, well-toned, and neatly dressed.
Despite co-owning a bakery that specialized in decadent indulgences, he took care of himself—always had—but not in the over-the-top, obsessive way of Joey D.
As he hung his jacket on the rack, he added, “Garth will be here in a bit with Millie.”
At the sound of the other dog’s name, Casey opened his eyes, perked up, and peered around excitedly. But once he discovered it was a false alarm and Millie wasn’t here yet, he sighed and went back to sleep.
Meanwhile, Drew walked over to where I was seated but stopped when he noticed I wasn’t alone. “Oh,” he said. His gaze darted between me and the stranger in the other wing chair. Although Xander and I were no longer touching, Drew was clearly picking up on something. “Am I interrupting?”
I popped up out of my chair. “Drew,” I said. “This is Xander.”
“Hello,” said Xander, giving Drew a friendly—almost courtly—nod.
“Well, hello,” said Drew, his dark eyes laughing.
“Excuse me a sec,” I said to Xander for the second time since we’d sat down. I grabbed Drew’s arm and started to drag him toward the kitchen. “Let’s go get some plates and forks for whatever’s in that box.”
* * *
“Who is Xander?” Drew asked with a big grin as soon as the kitchen door swung shut behind us. “And why is he dressed like your father?”
“Shh!” I said, even though I was pretty sure we were out of Xander’s earshot. “I found him on the beach.”
“Lucky you,” said Drew, his grin getting even bigger. “Most people just find seashells.”
Considering how he was teasing me, I was glad I’d left out the naked part.
“Shut up,” I said, making a face. “It’s not like that.”
“Hey, no judgments,” he said, putting the bakery box down on the counter. “If I weren’t a happily married man, I might’ve brought him home too.”
I grabbed a knife out of the wooden block on the countertop and sliced through the knotted white string. “Cut it out,” I said. “This could be serious.”
Drew crossed his arms and leaned his long, thin frame against the sink. “Love at first sight?” he asked skeptically, raising his dark, bushy brows.
I rolled my eyes at him and opened the lid of the box. I was temporarily distracted by the ooey-gooey monkey bread nestled inside. Garth’s monkey bread was heaven. “No,” I said without looking up at Drew. “What I mean is, I think he had a swimming accident. Or a boating accident. Or…something.”
“You think?” Now, my friend’s voice didn’t sound quite so amused. “You don’t know?”
“Hand me that cake stand, would you?” I asked, still avoiding eye contact as I pointed at the stand on the open shelf behind him.
After a beat, Drew turned and got the cake stand down. But when he handed it to me, he wouldn’t release his grip on it until I lifted my gaze to meet his.
“What’s going on, Hannah?” he asked. He wasn’t teasing anymore.
I sighed. “When I found Xander, he was unconscious,” I said.
I tugged the cake stand out of my friend’s grasp and set it down.
“He’d clearly been through something, but he didn’t want to talk about it.
And before you say anything,” I added quickly, “just remember, I didn’t want to talk about my incident either. ”
Drew frowned. “Did you call 911?”
I hesitated a moment. “He asked me not to.”
“Hannah—”
“Well, what was I supposed to do?” I demanded. “Just leave him lying there naked in the sand?”
Drew’s eyes went wide. “Naked?”
Realizing I’d let that slip, I shrugged. “That’s why he’s dressed like my father.”
I busied myself with taking the monkey bread out of the box and setting it onto the cake stand so I wouldn’t have to see the way my best friend was staring at me.
It didn’t matter though. I could practically feel the disapproval radiating out from his eyeballs and boring into me like twin laser beams, burning holes right through the layers of my winter clothes.
“Hannah Banana,” he said, using his nickname for me from our youth, “I know you mean well. But what if he doesn’t? What if he’s, I don’t know…some kind of online scammer—”
“We didn’t meet on the internet, Drew.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “But you know what I mean. The way you did meet sounds kind of sus. He could be one of those charming con artists who preys on lonely women—”
I looked up sharply at that. “Excuse me?”
Lucky for him, he had the good sense to hold his tongue.
“He’s not a con artist,” I insisted.
“Said every woman ever swindled out of her life savings,” muttered Drew.
So much for having good sense.
I started to move around the kitchen then, slamming doors and drawers as I collected dessert plates, forks, and napkins.
I loved Drew like a brother, but he was starting to get on my last nerve.
It was insulting enough that Joey D thought I couldn’t take care of myself, that I needed “protection.” But now, I was getting the same shit from my best friend?
“Xander’s not a con artist,” I repeated, louder. “And he’s not dangerous. He’s not going to hurt me.”
“And you know this how?” asked Drew.
I was about to give my BFF the same justification I’d given myself: I was good at reading people.
Except, if I was being completely honest, well…
this was more than that. This wasn’t about my intuition regarding people in general.
This was somehow about Xander specifically.
For some inexplicable yet undeniable reason, I trusted the guy down to my core.
So instead, I said, “I just…know.”
I knew how ridiculous that sounded—how ridiculous the whole story sounded, really—but I also knew it was the absolute truth.
Clearly, Drew wasn’t buying it. “Hannah,” he said. “Be reasonable.”
Okay. That was it.
“Reasonable?” I slammed everything I’d gathered down on the counter, and it was a wonder the plates didn’t crack.
“You want me to be reasonable?” I demanded.
“Okay, then let me see if I’ve got your reasoning straight.
When you thought I wanted to fuck this guy, it was fine.
Funny, even. But now that I tell you I’m trying to help him, you think it’s a terrible idea? ”
Drew twisted his mouth and scratched at his head, mussing up his dark, coarse hair. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and remorseful. “Well, when you put it like that,” he said, “I sound like a giant asshat.”
I’d known Drew long enough to recognize that as an apology. After letting him squirm another beat or two, I nodded my acceptance.
“I’ll carry the monkey bread,” I said, picking up the cake stand. “You take the rest.”
“Just so you know,” he said as he grabbed up the plates and whatnot and followed me out of the kitchen, “my concern here is partly selfish. If, God forbid, anything happens to you, your parents are going to kill me.”