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purchased a planner, complete with multiple tabs, pockets and lots of pages. This one was lipstick red, to match the store’s logo. Sure, some of it ended up on a computer eventually, but you couldn’t slip a computer into your back pocket.
    A shuffling noise at the back of the store brought her head up with a snap. Either they had supersized rats here in Chicago, or another person was in the store with her. Her fight-or-flight response bobbled back and forth as adrenaline juiced her like a thousand volts of electricity. Oddly enough, she landed on the side of running from a rat, but staying to fight a burglar for her store. A drawer swished open, then slammed shut. That negated the possibility of a rat, so Mira crept forward on tiptoe.
    On top of what must be the sales counter sat a crystal vase, filled with tall, sweet-smelling stock and roses. Probably a welcome-to-your-new-store present from Ivy. Thoughtful and pretty, the bouquet just might be her best weapon. After all, she couldn’t use a packing box in self-defense, which were the only other things Mira saw scattered throughout the store.
    Behind the back counter, a figure stood, his back and broad shoulders to Mira. This could be her best chance. Running the last few feet, she hefted the vase overhead before slamming it with all her might onto the intruder’s head. Flowers and water cascaded everywhere, and the man swayed, but didn’t crumple to the floor as she’d hoped. Undaunted, Mira lifted the vase again for a second thwack. At the last second he spun around and grabbed it from her. The outrage in his scowl was as frigid as all the lake-effect snow she’d been warned about.
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
    Oh no. Definitely not a burglar. Instead, she’d bashed in the skull of one of Ivy’s closest friends. Sam Lyons stood in front of her, soaking wet, with blood gushing from his head. All of Mira’s fear-based adrenaline melted from her system, leaving behind only a lead ball of guilt in her stomach. Mouth dry, she knew she’d have to stammer out a doozy of an apology, and cross her fingers that he wouldn’t press assault charges.
    Except...what gave him the right to be so mad? Apart from the whole streaming blood issue, of course. Although cuts on the head always seemed to bleed twice as much as anywhere else. As manager, she had every right to be here, baseball bat in hand, if necessary, to protect the place. Sam was the trespasser. How did he even get in—the front door had definitely been locked when she entered.
    “Why’d you clock me in the head? God, I know I forgot to pick you up at O’Hare, but I don’t think that gives you the right to inflict bodily harm.” He kept hold of the vase, as if worried she might snatch it back and hit him with it again. His other hand lifted to his head, gingerly assessing the damage she’d wrought.
    Wasn’t it obvious? Gosh, how badly had she scrambled his brains? She should scoot closer and see if the pupils of his brilliant blue eyes were enlarged. “I thought you were a burglar.”
    “You’d be in a world of hurt by now if I was a burglar. Some kid, keyed up on meth and looking for cash, isn’t going to be stopped by a bang on the head.”
    Now he was just being pissy. But with a bleeding head wound, she’d cut him a little slack. “You’re not a meth-head. I presume Ivy wouldn’t have roped you in to play chauffeur for me if you had a drug problem.”
    “I could be. You certainly didn’t know one way or the other when you barged in here instead of doing the sensible thing and calling the police. If you plan to make a habit of being stupidly brave instead of a smart coward, you should take some self-defense classes. Maybe aikido—there’s a studio just a few blocks away.”
    Mira refused to stand there and debate her choice to hit him on the head. Especially because a little voice in her head whispered that he was probably right. She should have gotten out and called the