But the guystilldidn't move. Instead, he glanced past me and complained, "But nowhe'sin my way."
"He'll be gone in a minute," I said. "As soon as he points." I whirled yet again to face the demolition guy. "Soyoupoint, andI'llmake the mocha. Deal?"
He gave it some thought. Finally, with a shrug, he said, "Sure, why not?" And then, he did the unthinkable. He lifted his hand and pointed directly at – yup, you guessed it –myhouse.
Chapter 7
Bryce
When I stepped out onto the porch, I spotted the redhead two houses away. She was standing just off the sidewalk between two men. One was Wayne, the demolition guy, and the other was the guy I'd seen last week at her coffee truck – the customer she'd apparently pissed off.
Now,noneof them looked happy – her in particular. She didn'tsoundhappy either. From here, I couldn’t make out her words, but her tone was clear enough.
Oh, yeah. She was ticked, alright.
I paused to assess the situation.She wasn't in trouble.This much was obvious. More likely, she wasmakingtrouble. What kind, I had no idea, but I planned to find out.
I turned and called back into the house. "I'll be back in a few." And then, without stopping to grab my coat, I left the porch and moved toward them. The redhead was so caught up in whatever she was saying that she didn't register my approach.
But shedidturn to look when Wayne caught my eye and called out, "Sorry, I'm late. I'll be there in a minute."
The redhead gave a loud huff. "That's whatyouthink."
"If you're worried about the mocha," he told her, "I'll just grab it when I'm done."
What mocha?
I looked toward the coffee truck but saw nothing on the concession counter. I looked back to the redhead.Were they talking about the drink in her hand?
She glared up at Wayne. "I'm not worried about themocha. I'm worried about you and the wrecking ball."
Wrecking ball?
Wayne laughed. "I don't use wrecking balls. I use an excavator." He snorted with derision. "Get with the times, lady."
At this, the redhead squeezed the coffee cup so hard, it crumpled in her hand, causing the lid to pop off and land in the snow at her feet.
I glanced from her hand to her feet and back again. I saw no spilled liquid – or signs that the cup had been used for anything at all.So, the cup had been empty?
What wasthatabout?
I moved closer. "Is there a problem?"
The redhead whirled to face me."Youstay out of this."
Her eyes were flashing, and her cheeks were flushed as she vibrated with righteous indignation.
She looked so adorable, I wanted to laugh. But I was no idiot. Schooling my features into something thatwouldn'tget me slugged, I asked, "Stay out of what?"
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh, believe you me, we'll be talking." It sounded more like a threat than a promise, as if some of this wasmyfault.
Well, that was interesting.
The guy she'd pissed offlastweek looked to the redhead and said, "You know, you wouldn’t be so crabby if you'd just park your coffee truck on a better street."
She whirled to face him. "What?"
The guy hitched a thumb to his right. "One road over is Market Street.Thatone gets plenty of traffic. No wonder you're so crazy…no customers and all."
