Could a man look any snarkier? “Right,” he drawled. “It’s Gus’s ghost knocking over the shelves. The sagging foundation has nothing to do with it. And he’s the one to blame for the flickering lights.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Redoing the faulty wiring is going to cost me a fortune.”
In an effort to tease him out of his dour mood, Hannah nudged him with her elbow. “You should call in one of those ghost-hunting crews. That’d bring publicity to your business.” When he gawked, she added, “You know what they say—all publicity is good publicity.”
“My family would absolutely flip out. Thanks to your story, all their friends know Gus was a UFO nut. Bring ghosts into the mix? I’d never hear the end of it.” He stooped and picked up a bobblehead alien with huge, glittering eyes. “Poor Gus deserves to rest in peace. The family text chain has been buzzing ever since the memorial. Seems your profile on Gus got picked up by theSeattle Times.”
She tamped down the urge to squee and pump a fist. “Yeah, I heard.”
“Congratulations. I’m guessing that’s helpful for your newspaper.”
“It’s a step in the right direction.” She sidled closer and gave him her winningest smile. “Sure I can’t talk you into an in-depth interview? You could drum up interest for your grand reopening.”
Xander harrumphed. “Nice try. Like I said the other day, when I have firm plans, I’ll let you know.”
Crossing her arms, she glared in mock sternness. “You holding out on me, Anagnos?”
“On you? Never.” He pulled his hood over his shiny curls. “I’ve been waiting for inspiration to strike, but my muse isn’t speaking to me.”
“Well, I’ve never been called a muse, but I’ve been told I’m amusing.” She linked her arm through his and couldn’t resist squeezing his biceps. “Come on, grumpy pants. Let’s go before the rain starts.”
And how did you get so muscly?Lifting boxes of junk must be a powerful workout.
“Should we drive?” He squinted up at the slate gray clouds scudding past.
She clucked her tongue. “The touristy part of town is all of five blocks. Afraid you’ll melt before we reach the end?”
“Pshaw. I’m as Northwestern as you Trappers Covians. Lead on, pretty tour guide.”
She guided him toward the shops lining Main Street, their springtime window displays glowing in the dim light of an overcast afternoon. “So, our goal is to soak in the town’s vibe.”
“And get to know the competition. Once I see what’s selling well, I’ll find holes in the market waiting to be filled.”
She bit her lip hard. Was that a deliberate tease, or was he that oblivious to his effect on her?
“Mercenary, aren’t you? How many of the Main Street shops have you visited?”
He flashed a sheepish grin. “Does Rossi Rentals count?”
“I suppose, but you’re hardly competing with them. Did Cheryl find you a somewhere to live?”
He tilted his head toward the shore. “Yeah. Not exactly a palace, but it’ll do for now. At least I can walk to work. Wouldn’t want to brave this traffic every day.”
A lone pickup rattled past, jostling over a pothole. The driver waved.
“Okay, Snarkmeister. Would you prefer Seattle traffic?”
He had the grace to laugh at her dig. “I’ll take seagulls over traffic snarls any day.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “You know that guy?”
“That’s Jesse del Toro. He has an organic herb farm east of town. Nice guy. Sells to local restaurants and at the farmers market.”
“Does a good business?”
She laughed. “Are you seriously thinking of starting a farm?”
“No, no, I just—” He untangled his arm from hers and stuffed his hands into his pockets— “I like gourmet shops. Tried running one in Seattle.”
“Tried?”
He shrugged, but his nonchalant expression didn’t fool her one bit. “It did okay for a while. And then it didn’t.”
