Page 31 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Twenty

Tristan’s routine changed a lot over the next few weeks, and it all had to do with kissing Sophie. Or the opportunity to kiss Sophie.

When he’d first come to Boneyard Key, he’d tried to be professional.

He’d gone out of his way to avoid her ghost tour, and make sure his didn’t cross hers.

But these days he felt like a stalker, desperate for crumbs of her attention.

He’d never realized before how much effort it took to “accidentally” run into someone, but damn if it wasn’t worth it.

Every Friday and Saturday night, when her ghost tour ended and the guests finally broke off and wandered out into the night, there he’d be, lounging against the streetlight outside of Hallowed Grounds.

After that first night, he didn’t invite her into his place again, and she never invited him into hers.

He’d caught a glimpse of it once, a stolen glance over her shoulder when she’d pushed open her front door.

His mind’s eye retained a snapshot of walls painted a warm, dark color, with the glow of lamps from within.

The exact opposite of his sterile, white-and-glass-and-stainless-steel condo.

It looked cozy. It looked like home. Tristan found himself yearning for the other side of Sophie’s front door, even though he knew he’d never be allowed in.

Damn if the whole thing didn’t make him feel like a horny teenager. Tristan took a lot of cold showers after ghost tour nights, and not just because of the Florida humidity.

During the day, however, nothing between them had changed.

Sophie offered him little more than a scowl when he ran into her at Hallowed Grounds, and he understood right away that she wasn’t going to publicly acknowledge their after-hours kisses.

Tristan had never been someone’s dirty little secret before. It was intriguing. It was frustrating.

That wasn’t the only thing frustrating him these days.

As early summer had become midsummer, sliding into July, ticket sales soared and lowered like gently rolling hills.

He obviously hadn’t done the right kind of market research; while common knowledge indicated that Florida was a tourist destination, those tourists weren’t constant.

He’d assumed that he’d have busy, steady traffic for the entire summer—that was when people took vacations, right?

But when the heat of summer set in, the streets were empty and the place became, well, a ghost town.

Tristan didn’t even want to make that joke out loud.

In a place like this it would be low-hanging fruit.

It felt ridiculous, leading a tour of three people through town doing his whole top-hat-and-frock-coat schtick, but he reminded himself that it beat working in New York with his father. Probably saying things like blue chips and amortization and having no idea what he was talking about.

The other thing frustrating him? Right back to Sophie again.

“She doesn’t even have a website!” It had become a familiar refrain, one he raged in Eric’s direction at least once a week.

“You want me to build her one?” Eric sounded amused through Tristan’s earbuds.

“No!” He paced the living room; that third cup of coffee this morning probably hadn’t been the best idea.

“I’m just saying, to her, a successful marketing plan is leaving a few flyers at the Chamber of Commerce, on the corkboard at Hallowed Grounds, and maybe at Jimmy’s bait shack if she’s feeling spicy.

Leaving flyers at a bait shack is not a marketing plan! ”

It was possible that Eric responded, but Tristan was too wound up to hear anything he said.

“She doesn’t even have a catchy name! Ghouls Night Out—see, that’s a name people remember.

I don’t even think she’s named her business at all!

I hear Nick, over at Hallowed Grounds. ‘You should check out Sophie’s ghost tour on Friday night.

’ Another prong in her brilliant marketing plan. ”

“Okay, but what about this? She’s been doing pretty well with those flyers. Right? I keep track of the spreadsheets. She’s certainly keeping up with you.”

Tristan gave a groan of frustration. “Yeah. We’re outperforming her, but not by much.

” It didn’t make sense. His tours were packed on Friday and Saturday nights, but so were hers.

He had the website, the viral marketing.

He should be leaving her in the dust by now, but his margin wasn’t nearly as big as it should be.

“God, I’d love to get a look at her books.

See what her profit margin really is. Get a full picture, you know? ”

“I bet you would.” Eric was a master of innuendo, and Tristan had to laugh despite his frustration. “Friendly reminder, though?” Eric continued. “You don’t want to help her succeed. You’re trying to put her out of business, right?”

“Right.” He gusted out a sigh. It was hard to remember that sometimes.

After that course correction, they went back to going over projections, trying to estimate the state of the business by October first. It was something they did on a biweekly basis these days, and the closer they got to that dreaded date, the more solid the projections became.

And those projections weren’t looking good.

He’d put way too much faith in this Boneyard Key location, buoyed by those first few weeks when tourist traffic had been at its peak and he’d been playing to sold-out crowds.

They’d relied too much on the data from those original crowds, and not counted on the ebb and flow of tourist season in a Florida summer.

Frustrated, he stalked out of his condo and jogged down the stairs.

It had been a long morning, and it was only eight thirty.

He deserved a treat. A mocha latte at Hallowed Grounds should do it—nothing wrong with a fourth cup of coffee before nine.

Maybe he could run into Sophie, try and get her to smile.

That was always fun. Maybe he could talk her into setting up a website while he was at it.

Except the neon sign on the front window of the café—a big coffee cup with ghosts wafting from it instead of steam—was switched off for some reason.

As Tristan got closer, he noticed the inside of the café looked suspiciously dark.

It wasn’t until he tugged on the door—locked—that he noticed the sign taped to the front.

Closed. Gone Fishing.

Tristan blinked. Then he blinked again as he felt his brain leaking out his ears.

Was he losing his mind? “Gone fishing?” The words dropped unbidden, his mouth trying to make sense of what his brain was rejecting.

Who in the hell closes their café to go fishing?

Did no one in this town know how to run a business?

He tugged on the door again, just to piss himself off a little more, then turned to head back down the street. There was more than one coffee shop in this town.

The line at Spooky Brew was out the door.

Tristan’s place on the sidewalk was two people behind the person leaning against the door, propping it open.

He was just close enough for the cold, blessed air conditioning to whisper past his face.

He sighed and took out his phone; may as well check his email while he waited.

This was a lot of effort for a midmorning treat, and it wasn’t making him feel any better.

He’d moved up to first in line behind the door when there was a sigh from behind him. “Let me guess. Nick went fishing today?”

It took a moment for him to place the blond woman behind him. Blue eyes, ponytail…she was one of Sophie’s friends. He remembered her now, from the pizza place.

“Libby, right?” The line moved; it was his turn now to prop open the door. He set his back against the glass and put his phone back in his pocket, turning his attention to Libby. “Does he go fishing a lot?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes, in the summer. Especially when things aren’t busy.”

“Oh, yeah.” Tristan pointedly looked at the five people in front of them, then at the growing line behind them. “It’s totally dead around here.”

Libby ignored the pun, which was probably for the best. “What are you getting?”

“Why?” Was there a reason she needed to know his coffee order? Was she going to slip the barista a bribe to sabotage his drink?

Libby glanced around, then leaned in as though imparting a secret.

Tristan couldn’t help but lean in too, closing the loop.

“Don’t get a latte.” She continued before he could protest, because that was really what he was in the mood for.

“The cold brew is really good here, but Oliver never really learned to work the espresso machine.” Her nose wrinkled and her voice dropped even more.

“Avoid the lattes,” she whispered. “Trust me.”

“Oh.” He considered that. He’d gotten a hot cup of coffee here once or twice, but all his more elaborate orders had come from Hallowed Grounds. “Thanks.”

Libby’s eyes twinkled as she shot a secret smile in his direction. “Just a little locals tip for you.”

Something inside his chest softened at this, an unexpected gratitude that he was being brought into some inner circle. He didn’t really deserve it.

Once inside, he ordered the largest cold brew they had, and while he added far too much cream at the condiments counter, he listened to Libby place her order.

Cold brew with chocolate cold foam (damn, that was an option?

He’d have to try that next time.), a large black coffee, two scones, a lemon bar, and a blueberry muffin.

He sipped at his coffee, and when Libby’s order was ready, he took her bakery bag while she juggled both drinks.

“I’ve got this,” he said. “Where are you headed, and what army are you feeding with all this?”

She indicated out the door and to the right. “The office is just over there, next to Mystic Crystals. I never know what Nan is in the mood for, so I get a little bit of everything. It’s my job to make sure she eats in the morning.”