Page 48 of Theirs to Treasure

A man—tall, broad, wearing jeans, a brown, workingman’s jacket, and a ball cap like mine—enters, strides to the counter and orders their largest black coffee.

Though he’s dressed right, an air of danger cloaks him, and it’s as if he has to pretend to fit in.

I shake my head. Clearly there’s nothing wrong with my imagination.

The situation with my family has me a little rattled is all.

When he turns, he sees me looking at him.

Quickly—but not fast enough—I look away.

Since I’ve been here, the place has filled up with vacationers and locals. Though there’s plenty of seating outside on the flagstone patio, there are no available tables in the shop.

He walks toward me, and quickly I grab my computer to stuff it into my backpack.

“Morning,” he greets casually.

Maybe he’s just being friendly. Still, I narrow my eyes at him. “Morning.” My response is clipped, as uninviting as I know how to make it.

“Mind if I join you?”

“I’m leaving. Give me a minute, and the table’s all yours.”

But he doesn’t wait.

Instead he slides into the chair across from me.

“Hawkeye,” he says.

“Is that a code or something?” This is completely absurd. “Like I’m supposed to saymoonbeamin response or something?”

He grins, disarming me. “It’s my name.”

“First or last?”

For a moment, he hesitates before replying. “Yes.”

This has gone on long enough.

Standing, I grab my backpack and turn to walk away. “Enjoy your coffee.”

“Thanks, Harper.”

The wind knocked out of me, I freeze and turn back around. “What do you want?”

“Making sure you’re okay. That you don’t need anything.”

Struggling to breathe, a hand on my chest, I nod. “I need one thing. To be left the hell alone.”

“Understood.”

“Go crawl back under whatever rock you came out from.”

Rather than taking offense, he grins.

I head for the door, only to hesitate as I reach for the knob.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I walk back to the table where he is still sitting, sipping his coffee, without a care in the world. “Who sent you?”