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Becky.”
    “Fran!”
I protest, but she shakes her head firmly. “Fine.” I
pretend to surrender, but I stuff the bill in the tip jar instead.
“How’s she getting on?” I ask after her niece. “She
must be starting that new job now.”
    “Next
week, she can’t wait.” Franny smiles affectionately. “And
there’s a new guy, too.”
    “Do
we like him?”
    “We
do.” Franny nods. “This one might work out.”
    “Well,
let me know when they need an upgrade,” I wink. “I know
some great single-families . . .”
    Franny
laughs. “Ooh, that reminds me, I heard on the grapevine that
Liv Sullivan’s sister is thinking of moving to town. She just
lost her husband, poor thing, and wants to be close to Liv and the
grandkids.”
    “Makes
sense.” I nod. “Any update on Rich Hargreaves and, you
know?”
    Franny
leans in. “You didn’t hear it from me, but someone saw
him in Charlotte, talking to a divorce lawyer, I bet.”
    “How
do you find out all the gossip first?” I ask, impressed.
    Franny
winks. “I ply them with sugar, that’s the secret.”
    “Well,
keep it up.”
    She
heads back to work, and I make a mental note to call Liv—and
Richard, too. Town gossip isn’t just for fun; for me, it’s
a constant source of new clients. Births, deaths, and divorces: they
all mean real estate changing hands down the line, and nobody’s
better placed to help them through it than me.
    I
turn to find Will still watching me. “Well, have a good day,”
I say brightly, and head to the door.
    “Join
me?” he asks casually, nodding to the empty chair beside him.
    “I
don’t think that’s a good idea.” I pause, feeling
my cheeks flush.
    “Why’s
that?”
    I
shrug. “Just, you know, I don’t want you to get the wrong
idea.”
    “And
what would that be?” he asks, still smiling—clearly
enjoying my rejection for some reason.
    “That
I don’t think you’re slightly crazy for moving down here
to be with me without calling first?” I try to be delicate.
    He
laughs. “Only slightly?”
    “Fine.
Totally, all-out crazy,” I agree, then pause. “Look, not
to sound harsh or anything, but I want to be clear. I don’t do
relationships, they’re just not my style. So if you came here
expecting something . . .” I trail off, awkward,
but Will just lifts an eyebrow.
    “Good
to know,” he says. “And just for the record, I moved down
here because of you, not to be with you.”
    “There’s
a difference?” Now I’m really confused.
    “Maybe
not.” Will unfolds himself and gets up, tucking the newspaper
under one arm. “It depends.”
    “On
what?” I ask, my breath catching as he saunters closer. He
pauses, right beside me, close enough to see the flecks of gold in
his hazel eyes. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I’m suddenly hit
with the memory of kissing him, blazing in Technicolor in my mind.
Those hands on my body, that mouth seducing mine . . . 
    Maybe
Will can see it too, because he gives me knowing look.
    “On
how long you can resist me.”
    He
winks, then strolls past me out onto the street, leaving me flushed
and breathless in the doorway.
    Because
of my run, I tell myself. Just because of my run.
     
    Back
at my place, I jump in the shower then do a quick clean-up and throw
on a load of laundry to be ready for the week ahead. I love my
apartment; it’s part of a brand-new building they converted
from an old carriage house, set back just a few blocks from the town
square. Everything is brand-new, low maintenance, and stress-free,
just the way I like it. It barely takes ten minutes to run a duster
over the bookshelves and set the cycle to spin—leaving me way
too much time to replay my morning run-in with Will. I’m
jittery and on edge, and I haven’t even touched my coffee.
    That
guy is more powerful than a gallon of caffeine.
    I
shouldn’t be affected like this; I’ve turned down plenty
of guys, and had my fair share of rejection too. That’s why I
never take it too