Page 2 of Banter & Blushes #1

LUNA

T he visitor was attractive, in a trendy businessman sort of way.

He didn’t strike me as a tourist, with his wrinkle-free khakis, button-down shirt, and boat shoes.

A conservative outfit not at all like those most people wear around here.

Flip-flops, shorts, and T-shirts are the norm.

He piqued my interest, maybe because he wasn’t just a tourist and he certainly isn’t a local.

The male dating pool here is slim to none, so I probably overreacted to seeing a new handsome face. But there was something about him...

My lips tip into a smile as I stare out the front window, recalling the incident.

The guy was driving a Porsche, although I didn’t pick up on an entitled, elitist vibe.

When I addressed him and he stumbled over his words, even blushing in the process, he endeared himself to me.

He even mentioned his grandmother and her brownies. Swoon!

After hypochondriac Alfred—who constantly suffers from a range of symptoms—wandered into the store and pulled me over to the essential oils section, the stranger didn’t stick around. Did I read the newcomer’s flirting incorrectly? He could have gotten takeout, but he chose to eat here. Why?

The bells over the door tinkle. I glance up and cringe. It’s about time she showed up—in fact, I’m surprised she didn’t appear sooner.

“Who was your patron driving the fancy car?” she asks without preamble.

She flounces up to the register with a busybody smirk on her face.

Harmony Davidson owns the shop beside mine, offering a combination of tarot card reading, tacky seashell creations, and macramé plant hangers that she makes herself.

The aging hippie is wearing her ever-present slouchy overalls covered with various paint spatters.

I forgot to mention that she also sells her original seascape paintings at ridiculous prices, and I honestly wonder how many of them she’s sold in the twelve months we’ve been storefront neighbors.

“Good morning to you too, Harmony,” I say in a snarky voice.

We have an unusual relationship, one where she tries to constantly poke her nose in my business while I get frustrated at all the freely provided advice.

I basically acquired a second mother when I moved here—one with terrible advice.

During our brief time as acquaintances, Harmony insisted that essential oils are a flash in the pan, but they’re one of my best sellers.

She was sure homemade soy candles were nonstarters, yet tourists snap them up.

The only part of my business that she hasn’t advised me on is matchmaking, probably because she’s happily married.

The older woman waves her hand in a dismissive fashion and snorts.

“You didn’t get his name, did you?” She flops onto one of the café table chairs, as if settling in for one of her advisor sessions.

I secretly hope Alfred returns to purchase another essential oil for another perceived ailment.

Patting the tabletop, she says, “I have some insider information. If you brew me a chai, I’ll tell you who he is and what he’s doing here. ”

With no other clients in the shop, her invitation is simply too inviting to dismiss. Especially since I’m kicking myself for not getting his name.

“Coming right up!” I prepare the tea with the right mix of black tea, spices, and milk.

It’s one of my bestsellers, so I’m adept at brewing a cup quickly.

Fixing myself a cup of my special caffeine-free peppermint tea, I deliver both items to the table and join Harmony.

We sip the warm beverages for a few minutes in awkward silence, with me anxiously awaiting Harmony’s meddling, er, information.

Thunk! Harmony sets her empty cup down none-too-gracefully and rubs her hands together.

“His name is Cade Bainbridge. He’s that real estate guy we’ve been hearing rumors about.

Old man Sears is finally going to sell his beachfront property, and he’s hired a prestigious real estate firm out of Jacksonville to represent him.

” She leans in and in a conspiratorial whisper adds, “Of course, Hugo wants to get the best price possible, so he’s hoping Mr. Bainbridge can instigate a bidding war. ”

For weeks, rumors about this sale have been swirling about our tiny community.

Condominium real estate developers, high-end resort hotels, and even a billionaire hoping to build his own private beachfront estate have expressed interest in the property.

I’m not surprised Hugo hired a professional real estate agent to help him sell.

My heart takes a nosedive that Mr. Bainbridge is in town for only a short time.

Plus in my experience, hotshot businessmen never take an interest in me other than possibly for a summer fling.

And I’m certainly not interested in that .

Men seem to get the wrong impression about me. Mom says it’s because I dress like a gypsy, overshare when communicating, and dabble in matchmaking. Being named after the Roman goddess of the moon doesn’t help. I mean, who takes someone named Luna Zapatta seriously?

Cackling with glee, Harmony adds, “Maybe you can end your relationship dry spell. This guy is someone you should snap up!” The woman is always pushing some new guy at me.

The twenty-something busboy at the Crab House... The fifty-year-old man who purchased the Grab and Go... Even the recently divorced school principal...

Truthfully, Harmony is more enthusiastic about matchmaking than I am.

Pasting a not-interested expression on my face, I shrug and say, “I’ll probably never see him again.

He’ll be too busy procuring the best offer for Hugo’s property to come back for tea, pastries, or matchmaking.

” I also don’t see him purchasing essential oils, soy candles, or my popular line of crystal jewelry.

Maybe he’d like to read the latest bestseller?

“We need to get you out there, so Mr. Bainbridge notices you. I hear Hugo is holding a meet-and-greet coffee for all interested buyers some morning next week. Why don’t you and Zoe cater it?”

How does Harmony know all this?

I shake my head. “We’ve only catered the chamber of commerce monthly meetings, and no one there expects high-end pastries. These buyers are way out of our league.”

“Oh shoo! They’re just plain folk who like sugar and caffeine,” she says, waving her hand. “I’ll let Hugo know you and Zoe are available.”

Before I open my mouth to decline the gig, Harmony sprints off, moving faster than I’ve ever seen her move.

The door swooshes shut, leaving only her unique citrus scent in her wake.

She’s like a bulldog with a bone, so there’s no need to follow her and protest her meddling in my business and my love life yet again.

Sighing, I start to stew over what fiasco could happen during the catering gig at Hugo’s meeting.

Zoe and I have had our fair share of “unfortunate incidents.”

Despite my hesitation over the catering gig, my heart flips that I might see Mr. Bainbridge again. Because I’m very interested in seeing Cade Bainbridge again.

I put out the Back in a Few Minutes sign and stroll over to Zoe’s bakery.

After Mr. Bainbridge and Alfred, I haven’t seen a single rush of people interested in soy candles, books, or crystal jewelry.

Sighing, I remind myself to be patient since the tourist season is just getting into full swing.

I weathered the winter by breaking even, but I need tourists to flock to my shop in order to turn a profit.

On top of that, my matchmaking business is as hungry as a seagull waiting for a beachgoer to drop a French fry.

Zoe used to spend summers in Seabreeze Harbor with her spinster aunt, and she fell in love with the place.

Her romantic descriptions of the salty fresh air, soft white sand, and sunshine were enticing, considering I was used to bucking California traffic and smog.

When she inherited two storefronts on Main Street, and even though I’d be moving to the other side of the country, she convinced me that a new start was just what I needed.

My parents had just gone through an acrimonious divorce, my hours working as an escape room attendant had just been cut, and I was in limbo as to what to do next.

The inheritance seemed like a sign from above, so here I am.

My funk fades when I enter the bakery as aromas of cinnamon, vanilla, and baked goods attack my nose in the most delightful fashion.

My best friend is waiting on a customer looking for their next sugar fix, but Zoe looks up, a smile splits her face, and she gives me a friendly finger wave.

I wave back as I peruse the bakery case, my mouth watering at all the delicious selections.

I should probably end my campaign against sugary treats and offer some of these other tempting options in my shop.

Would that help bring in more customers?

While living in California, I embraced the vegan, GMO-free, sugar-free lifestyle.

When I moved here and became the proprietor of the only local specialty tea shop, I decided to sell only healthy baked goods.

That’s when Zoe created her line of fudgy black bean brownies, no-sugar-added vegan oatmeal cookies, and strawberries-and-cream energy balls, to name a few.

They’re all delicious, but the terms “sugar-free” or “no-sugar” get the same reaction as Cade Bainbridge had every time.

His snide comment echoes through my brain.

“No-sugar desserts? Isn’t that an oxymoron? ”

“Are you considering something other than a sugar-free treat?” Zoe teases from the other side of the bakery case.

“No, but I am considering offering some in my store,” I admit. “I need something to boost sales.”