Page 4

CHAPTER 4

S tar couldn’t believe she almost face-planted while talking to Ethan. Was there any other way to embarrass herself in front of the man? Wait, no, she didn’t want an answer to that question. She decided to go to the deli first and grab dinner for later. After visiting with the deli staff, she had a coffee with Mrs. Harvey, the owner, bringing her up to date on her renovation projects. Once she was done, she returned to the Victorian with her food and stashed it in the small refrigerator. Then, she walked the three blocks to the hardware store without face-planting, thank you very much. The warm evening air wrapped around her, the slight breeze in the air refreshing.

As she entered the store, the scent of sawdust and paint thinner immediately hit her. The warm, slightly metallic tang of metal tools and freshly cut lumber mingled in the air, and she inhaled deeply, letting the familiar scent settle her nerves.

She glanced toward the front cashier station, scanning for any sign of Kyle. When she didn’t spot him, relief washed over her. She wasn’t in the mood to turn him down. Again. She’d lost count of how many times he’d asked her out, and she was running out of polite ways to decline. She’d instead started telling him she wasn’t interested. Firmly.

Grabbing a cart, she opened her phone and navigated to the notes section, where she’d jotted down her list of supplies. The hardware store had quickly become one of her favorite haunts, a haven of endless possibilities—minus Kyle’s relentless flirtations. She loved roaming the aisles, examining tools and materials, and researching items she didn’t recognize. Carpentry had always been an awe-inspiring art to her.

Her father could transform a simple slab of wood into something extraordinary. Crafting a house, a piece of furniture, or a shelving unit was his skill. Watching him work had been nothing short of miraculous. She’d inherited that same love for craftsmanship, though her skill set was still a work in progress.

Strolling down an aisle, she stopped in front of a display of caulking tubes, weighing the pros and cons of each. Her fingers hovered over a few before she finally decided to hold off. More research was needed before she committed.

She was keeping the original windows of her Victorian because modern replacements would dull the house's grandeur. The heating bill might make her wince during the winter, but the home's integrity came first. It was the same reason she refused to cover the floors with luxury vinyl planking. No, this house deserved better. It had stood for over a century and would stand for another if she had anything to do with it. The ornate crown molding, the intricate chair rails, and the plaster medallions surrounding the light fixtures could be restored. She just had to learn how.

She tapped open a new note on her phone and hit the dictation button, murmuring the names of the caulking tubes she’d been considering. As she rounded the corner toward the stain section, she continued muttering, detailing what she needed—weather-resistant, flexible, long-lasting. She wasn’t sure if there was a caulking product that could fully accommodate New York’s volatile seasons, but she was determined to find it.

That was until her cart collided with something solid.

Kyle.

She stopped mid-sentence as he turned and smiled at her, his dark brown hair flopping over his forehead. Some women might find that endearing. She didn’t.

“Well, hello,” he said smoothly.

Star lowered her phone and forced a polite smile. “Hello, Kyle. How are you today?”

“Well, I’m better now,” he said, his signature move—a lazy grin—firmly in place.

She barely resisted the urge to sigh.

“Excuse me, please,” she said, glancing around him. “I need to grab some varnish remover for the floors.”

Before she could maneuver around him, he reached out and placed a hand on her cart, stopping her in her tracks.

“That reminds me, Star,” he said, his tone laced with something far too familiar. “I know you were looking for a lighter stain for the floors. We just got a huge new display of stains in at least five different honey or cherry tones. I can take you over there.”

Her interest was immediately piqued—but not in Kyle escorting her.

He wasn’t a bad guy, and he was attractive in an okay kind of way. Maybe four inches taller than she was, decently built, and overall not unpleasant to look at. But he wasn’t Ethan. Over six feet of yummy muscles, a handsome face, beautiful eyes, and a smile that could melt the panties off her. Oh boy, she had a huge crush on Ethan.

Kyle could never measure up to that.

And she wished she could just tell him outright, “Sorry, Kyle, I have a completely unreasonable, borderline obsessive crush on the brooding, too-intelligent-for-his-own-good, secretly-soft-hearted tech genius next door”—but that would be rude. And she wasn’t a rude person.

Usually.

Instead, she gave him another polite smile as she shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m sure I can find the display by myself. It’s in the paint section, right?”

Kyle leaned in slightly, bracing his arms on her cart, his gaze lingering on her face.

“But I’d like to spend some time with you,” he said smoothly.

Oh, for the love of …

Star barely refrained from rolling her eyes. The Star Curse was real. If anyone was going to get hit on in a hardware store while standing just past the caulking tubes, it was her.

She cocked her head at him. “Aren’t you working?”

Kyle glanced around the store and shrugged. “There are only four or five people here. Pam’s at the cashier’s station.” He flashed what he probably thought was a charming smile. “How about I take you out to dinner tonight?”

Star closed her eyes for a moment, bracing herself and mentally reminding herself to be kind. When she opened them, she shook her head. “Thank you, Kyle, but I’m not interested.”

His smile didn’t falter. Instead, he leaned in slightly, that ever-present flop of dark brown hair falling into his eyes. “I think you are. I think you’re just trying to play hard to get.”

She let out a slow, measured breath and placed her phone in the upper compartment of the cart. Both hands gripped the handle firmly as she met his gaze. “I am not interested,” she repeated.

Kyle chuckled like she’d made a joke instead of a clear statement. “Are you dating anyone else?”

Lifting her chin, she offered a bright, unwavering smile, replying, “There is someone else, yes.”

Kyle’s expression shifted, his smile dimming slightly. “But are you dating him? Or is it like what we have? Are you still playing cat and mouse with him?”

Her patience thinned, but she forced herself to take another calming breath. “Kyle, I do not want to go out with you. I do not know how to make that more clear.”

He chuckled again, rocking back on his heels. “If you keep saying things like that, I’m gonna get a bruised ego.”

Star’s eyes popped open wide. “I don’t want to bruise your ego, Kyle, but I also don’t want to date you. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

“Hey, Kyle! Somebody needs help over in power tools!” Pam’s voice rang down the aisle, saving Star from yet another round of rejection.

Kyle turned his head and lifted a hand. “Got it!”

Before leaving, he threw her a wink and grinned. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

Star let out a long sigh as he strode off, shaking her head. Of course, he wouldn’t give up that easily.

Determined to make this trip as fast as possible, she headed toward the paint section. She grabbed the varnish remover she needed, placed it in the cart, and then made her way to the new stain display.

The towering pyramid of stacked pink cans stretched at least twelve feet high, arranged so symmetrically it looked more like an art installation than a hardware display. She moved closer, scanning the names and colors on the labels.

She pushed her cart to the end of the aisle, making sure it was out of the way, and stepped forward to examine the cans. She would probably take three different stains and do some test runs on sample wood. Two of them were already high on her list, but the third— that one —was close to the color she suspected had been on the original floors.

Underneath the mahogany stain she’d been stripping away, she’d found a red-tinted clear shellac. In certain spots where the stripper had only partially removed the varnish, the stain underneath gleamed like a deep, aged whiskey, warm and rich. If she could replicate that? Oh, it would be stunning.

She moved to the far side of the display just as she overheard voices in the next aisle.

Two men stood talking near her cart. She peered around the edge of the display to ensure the cart wasn’t in their way. Satisfied she wasn’t blocking anything, she returned to the stains and easily grabbed two cans in the colors she wanted. But the third one—the one she needed—was way up at the top.

Of course, it was.

Carefully, she inched forward, assessing her options. The logical choice would’ve been to grab a store employee. But no. Logical choices weren’t part of her DNA, and Kyle would be only too glad to help. Yeah, no.

Instead, she placed one foot on a lower can for leverage, then stepped onto the next tier up. Then, the next tier. She could almost reach it. Almost . The colored stain she needed was right there. Just a few more inches. She stretched further.

The can under her foot tilted.

Her world tipped sideways.

Then, the entire twelve-foot tower of cans collapsed like a beautifully organized avalanche of disaster.

She hit the ground with a solid thud as the cans rained down around her, clanking, rolling, and ricocheting off each other like pinballs in a very bad, very unfortunate game.

Silence.

Then, slowly, the two men from the next aisle leaned into view, staring down at her as if she’d spontaneously spawned out of the floor like some sort of hardware store demon.

Star blinked up at them, dazed, paint cans scattered around her like fallen soldiers. “Uh …” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. Did the cans hit you?”

One man shook his head. “Nope.”

The other frowned at her. “How long have you been there?”

Star pointed to the space she currently occupied, sprawled gracefully, as in not gracefully at all, in the middle of the mess. “Here?” She pointed to the place where she sat.

The first man nodded. “Yeah.”

She shrugged, adjusting her position slightly. Cans rolled as she bumped into them. “Maybe … five minutes? Maybe less?”

The second guy crossed his arms. “And what were you doing?”

She lifted her chin, brushing dust from her jeans. “Looking at stain colors.”

The men exchanged a glance, clearly deciding if that answer was sufficient.

Before either could say anything else, Kyle came barreling down the aisle.

“Oh my God! What happened?”

Star sighed. Again.

She rolled her shoulders and gave a helpless little shrug. “I don’t know. I was reaching for a can of stain and then … this.” She gestured around her at the carnage of cans.

Kyle surveyed the damage, then turned back to the other men. “Are you guys okay?”

They both nodded, wisely deciding that whatever the hell had just happened wasn’t worth further discussion. They left without another word.

With Kyle’s help, Star climbed out of the stain graveyard and returned to her cart. She picked up three of the cans, because, damn it, she’d earned them, and placed them in her cart before looking up at Kyle.

His brows lifted. “You sure you don’t want me to help you pick out the color you need?”

She deadpanned. “Kyle, we both know I should leave. You have a lot of work to do.”

Kyle chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“I'm sorry about your display,” Star added, wincing as she surveyed the absolute carnage of fallen cans around her.

Kyle frowned, scratching his head as he took in the mess. “No, no, that’s okay. Obviously, we didn’t set it up correctly. If it fell that easily, we need to reassess the setup. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

Star nodded. “I’m okay. I’m gonna go check out. And again, I’m sorry you have to clean this up.”

Kyle placed his hands on his hips and stared at the mountain of disarrayed cans. “I don’t understand how this could happen.”

Star shrugged, playing innocent. “Neither do I.”

Shaking her head, she pushed her cart toward the checkout, trying not to think about the fact that she still had to explain this to Ethan later. Because if there was one thing she knew for certain? Ethan would hear about it. It seemed he always found out. How? She had no idea. One day, she’d ask. But with the grapevine in their neighborhood, yeah … she knew how he found out.

As she reached the register, she picked up her phone, realizing for the first time that the dictation app was still running.

She quickly stopped the app, flipping her phone over as she fumbled for her credit card.

“Hey, Pam, can I take one of these hand baskets back to the house?” she asked as she handed over her card. “I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

Pam, a kind older woman with gray-streaked dark hair, nodded. “No problem. You should probably get someone to deliver that for you.”

Kyle, who had somehow materialized again, beamed. “I can do it!”

Star barely held back a groan. Forcing a polite smile, she shook her head quickly. “No, that’s quite all right. I can do it, and you have a mess …”

Kyle turned back toward the paint aisle. “Yeah, you’re right.” He trudged back, grabbing a can that had rolled to the front of the store. Pam laughed, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Sorry I couldn’t rescue you faster, earlier. I saw he had you cornered and manufactured a way to get you out of it.”

“Does he ever stop?” Star asked, already knowing the answer.

Pam shrugged. “He’s got a lot of staying power. Took Shelia Casson almost a year to get him to realize she wouldn’t go out with him.”

Star sighed dramatically. “Six more months, then. Oh, well.”

She grabbed her receipt, shoved it into the back of her phone case with her credit card, and hightailed it out of the store.

The trip back to her Victorian was uneventful, but lugging all the stains inside was a different story. She was very careful on the stairs. They were rotted in some places and needed to be replaced, so she took up one can at a time. Three trips later, she finally collapsed into one of the ancient recliners her great-uncle had left behind.

The chair was a beast and permanently stuck in the reclined position, making it a full-body workout just to get in and out of it. But once she was settled? Pure comfort.

She sank back, pulling her phone from her jeans pocket. Her fingers brushed over the receipt, but she ignored it for now. Instead, she opened her notes app to annotate her purchase against her ever-growing renovation spreadsheet.

Except … that wasn’t what popped up on her screen. Her dictation app was still wide open.

And the transcribed text from the men’s conversation in the aisle before her grand paint or rather stain display catastrophe was still there. So were Kyle’s attempts to get her to go out. She rolled her eyes and almost swiped away without looking at it—until a few key phrases caught her eye.

“Make an example. The others will fall in line.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Easy. Make sure he’s dead.”

“Make sure no one finds the body.”

Her stomach clenched.

Her breath caught.

Her hands shook as she slowly scrolled back to the top, carefully reading line by line through the conversation her phone had captured.

Oh no. Oh no .

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Were they? Could they be messing with her? But they didn’t know she was there. Oh my God … they were planning a hit. Like a mob hit!

Her fingers tightened around the phone, a horrible weight settling in her chest.

Who was “him”?

She didn’t know. But someone was about to be murdered. Her mind raced.

Why would they be talking about something like that in a hardware store of all places? She blinked. Where did someone talk about things like that? A back alley? A soundproof room? Somewhere no one would suspect the conversation was about whacking someone? Somewhere like a small hardware store. Oh. My. God.

Her phone felt like a lead weight in her palm as she closed the app and set it carefully on her thigh. Her gaze drifted toward Ethan’s house.

He worked in security, right? Some kind of computer security private contractor thing. She had no idea what that meant, but security was security—and right now, she needed someone who knew what to do with this information. She could call the cops. Her instincts screamed that she couldn’t ignore it. But what did she even have? A recorded conversation. Not even voices, just the transcript of the conversation. No names. Maybe a description of the men she thought were the ones who’d been recorded, but she wasn’t sure. It could’ve been two other men. Or a man and a woman. She was so focused on the stain she had no idea if they were the same people she’d heard earlier when she’d parked her cart out of the way.

Could she recognize them again?

Yes.

Would that help? Who knew? Not her. She had no idea. What do I do?

The same thing she’d done every time she got in trouble for the last six months. Her heart pounded as she grabbed her phone and dialed Ethan’s number.

Voicemail.

Crap .

She swallowed hard, waiting for the beep before launching into what was, quite possibly, the worst message she’d ever left in her life.

“Hi, Ethan. It’s me. Star. Um, so, I’m not in any trouble.”

She paused. Oh God, that sounded suspicious .

“I mean, I’m not in any danger!”

Nope. Worse . That made it sound like she totally was.

She winced.

“But when you can, like, when it’s convenient for you, could you call me? Or come over? Again, I’m not in any trouble!”

Her face burned even though there was no one to see it.

“I mean, like, I’m not! It’s just that my phone … well, it recorded this conversation I want you to hear. Or, uh, read because it was transcribed by my phone. Anyway, could you look at it, err … read it? Gah. You know what I mean.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Abort! Abort!

“But, anyway, yeah, when you can, could you come over? I’ll be here all day tomorrow working.” She exhaled sharply. “Okay, so, bye.”

Hanging up, she stared at her phone and then up at the cracked ceiling.

“Of all the hardware stores in all the world,” she muttered, “I had to walk into the one where some Mafia wannabe was planning a hit.” She lifted her hand, pinched her fingers, waved them in the air, and said, “I should’ve had the cannoli and stayed at the freaking deli.”