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threw away the gloves, refilled her coffee and leaned back against the rear counter, studying him over the brim of her cup. His eyes were bloodshot. Which, annoyingly, just seemed to make the violet color stand out that much more. “Tie one on last night?”
    His jaw canted to one side. He shook his head and squinted as he sipped the steaming-hot coffee. “Should have. Couldn’t sleep, anyway. At least then it would’ve been worthwhile.”
    She smiled sweetly. “I slept like a baby.” On the couch. Plagued by dreams about him, only to wake with a crick in her neck that still made it hurt to turn her head too far to the left.
    “Were you always this much of a witch, Tab?”
    Despite everything, she felt a stab of some unidentified emotion. “Isn’t that how spinsters are supposed to act?”
    He leaned on his elbows and looked at her through his lashes. “Twenty-eight is spinsterhood now?”
    She sipped her coffee. It was to some old-fashioned folks around Weaver. But truthfully?
    She felt that stab again. Regret, perhaps. Maybe loss.
    It was hard to tell. When it came to Justin, things had started getting complicated long before they’d become adults. “Close enough to be a regular at Dee Crowder’s spinster poker night.”
    “‘Spinster’ sounds like you’re seventy-five and still pining for your first kiss.” He gave her that through-the-lashes look again. “And I know you don’t qualify there. Hell.” His lips twitched suddenly. “I remember when Caleb kissed you when we were freshmen in high school.”
    About the time when she’d wished Justin would have been interested in kissing her. But he’d never been interesting in kissing her for her . She’d always been a substitute on that score. A substitute he’d left behind the same way he’d left behind Weaver.
    “Doesn’t count,” she said promptly. “It was a practice kiss. He was afraid he’d mess up when he planted his first one on Kelly Rasmussen.”
    Justin’s head came up, his expression genuinely surprised. “I always figured you gave him the same response you gave me when we were nine. Without the broken nose.”
    It was nearly six. She figured Sloan McCray, one of the deputy sheriffs, would be showing his face soon before he went on duty. And frankly, she would be grateful for the interruption.
    She flipped on the radio and glanced over the stack of to-go cups she kept near the big brewer. “If he’d done it without permission in order to make Kelly jealous, I probably would have given him the same response.” She lifted her shoulder. “Apples and oranges, though.”
    “I didn’t kiss you to make Sierra jealous.”
    “And you didn’t sleep with me four years ago to make—what’s her name? Oh, right. Gillian.” The name was seared on her brain. “That wasn’t an attempt to get her to sit up and take notice of you?”
    “How many times do you want me to apologize for that?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe a few million.” She looked past him when the front door opened, making the little bell on top jingle softly. “Good morning, Deputy. Get you the usual?”
    “Yeah. Thanks, Tabby.” Sloan stepped up to the counter and handed her his insulated travel mug for the coffee. She turned and filled it while he greeted Justin. “How’s life in Boston?”
    “Cold,” Justin admitted. “Not as cold as here—” he glanced at Tabby “—but still cold. How’s your wife?”
    “Keeping me warm,” Sloan drawled. “Very warm.”
    “And the boy—Dillon, right?”
    “Growing like a weed,” Tabby said, turning to hand the deputy his coffee mug, along with one of the pastry boxes. “He and Abby came by last week. Dillon’s going to be a heartbreaker one of these days.”
    “Fortunately, I think we’ve got a few years yet before we have to worry about that.” He pulled out his wallet.
    She waggled her finger at him. “You know your money is no good here, Deputy.”
    “And you know I’m gonna argue.”
    “Justin’s half