Page 4

Chapter 4

Fleur

T hirty minutes into my training, and I’ve already inhaled three buttermilk biscuits smothered with tomato gravy. Mr. and Mrs. Northgate are the sweetest elderly couple running this multigenerational bed-and-breakfast. The Old Hillside B it’s the blond-haired man from the bank.

He stands there, muscular arms crossed over his chest—a rigid statue between the wind-whipped flowers and moving locals. Several tattoos climb one of his forearms, the dark ink matching the black attire he’s wearing.

He stares at me, and I hold his gaze, panic rising in my chest. I scramble for my keys in my purse, stepping back a few paces before bumping into my car.

A semitruck stops at the only crosswalk in town, obscuring my view, and when it finally passes, he’s gone.