realization that Gracie was a Cassidy, too, on her mother’s side, and that she, too, had a charm.
Orphie grinned at me, nodding as if she had a secret. “Yeah, I can see it’s good from your smile.”
I felt a blush heat my cheeks, but before I could change the subject, a hand came down on my shoulder. At the same moment, Orphie tilted her head back, gazing up behind me. “Hey, darlin’,” a baritone voice rumbled.
“Speak of the devil,” I said, turning to look up at the best-looking man this side of the Brazos River. Will Flores. My heart skittered for just a moment at his smile. Meemaw’s matchmaking had hit a home run. Things were definitely good. He was a six-foot-one-inch modern-day rugged cowboy. Goatee, black suede cowboy hat, T-shirt that hung perfectly on his broad shoulders, jeans and Ropers. A tall drink of water, and the longer I knew him, the thirstier I got.
He leaned down and brushed my lips with a light kiss. From across the table, I heard Orphie draw in a breath. “Is this—?”
“Will Flores, meet Orphie Cates.” She closed her mouth again and I added, “Orphie, this is Will.”
Will took her hand in his, flashing a smile that lit up the dark complexion of his face. “Roommates in New York, right?”
“Right,” she said, catching my eye and giving a quick wink. Her approval.
He grabbed a cup of coffee from Gina at the counter, and then turned back to us. “The rumor mills are churning,” he said. “A designer died in your shop?”
“Technically, he died in the bathroom off the kitchen,” I said. “In my house, not the shop .” I added air quotes as I said shop, as if the semantics of where I worked versus where I lived made Beaulieu’s death better or worse. It didn’t. He’d died in my little farmhouse and that was horrible no matter how I looked at it.
I filled Will in on the details of the morning.
“Maybe he drank a lot of coffee,” Will said when I commented about Beaulieu rushing to the bathroom.
“But an overactive bladder doesn’t cause death.”
“Deputy McClaine seemed to think it was a heart attack or something like that,” Orphie said. “And I get the impression he has a pretty good handle on things.”
There it was again. The flirtation. I guess it went both ways. Sparks between the deputy and my old friend. I sure hadn’t seen that one coming.
He pulled up a chair and we chatted for a while, revisiting life in Manhattan. “I had to get away,” Orphie was telling Will. Which brought Orphie’s problem back front and center.
“Small-town life is a little simpler,” I said, pushing my worry away and not mentioning the murders I’d gotten wrapped up in since I’d been home.
“She had a few things waiting for her here,” Will interjected. The implication was clear. He’d been here waiting for me.
“People are more real in small towns,” Orphie said, as if it were a God-given fact.
“I don’t know about that. We have plenty of secrets.”
She angled her chin down, threading her thick black hair behind her ears. “Do tell.”
I dropped my voice to a whisper, leaning forward so only she and Will could hear. “Murder.”
Her brow furrowed and she rolled one hand in the air, prompting me to continue.
I filled her in on the darker side of life in Bliss in the time since I’d been back.
“Harlow’s quite the amateur detective,” Will said, a little edge slipping into his voice. He thought I needed to steer clear of murder, and I agreed, but I couldn’t help it if dead bodies wound up in my vicinity. I had to help the people I cared about. I was a doer, not a watcher.
“At least Beaulieu’s death wasn’t murder,” Orphie said, and just like that, my breath hitched. I glanced down, then around, a coil of nerves settling in my chest.
“Cassidy?” Will had leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. He looked at me as if he could read every last thought spiraling through my mind. “Don’t tell me . . .”
I smiled
Orphie grinned at me, nodding as if she had a secret. “Yeah, I can see it’s good from your smile.”
I felt a blush heat my cheeks, but before I could change the subject, a hand came down on my shoulder. At the same moment, Orphie tilted her head back, gazing up behind me. “Hey, darlin’,” a baritone voice rumbled.
“Speak of the devil,” I said, turning to look up at the best-looking man this side of the Brazos River. Will Flores. My heart skittered for just a moment at his smile. Meemaw’s matchmaking had hit a home run. Things were definitely good. He was a six-foot-one-inch modern-day rugged cowboy. Goatee, black suede cowboy hat, T-shirt that hung perfectly on his broad shoulders, jeans and Ropers. A tall drink of water, and the longer I knew him, the thirstier I got.
He leaned down and brushed my lips with a light kiss. From across the table, I heard Orphie draw in a breath. “Is this—?”
“Will Flores, meet Orphie Cates.” She closed her mouth again and I added, “Orphie, this is Will.”
Will took her hand in his, flashing a smile that lit up the dark complexion of his face. “Roommates in New York, right?”
“Right,” she said, catching my eye and giving a quick wink. Her approval.
He grabbed a cup of coffee from Gina at the counter, and then turned back to us. “The rumor mills are churning,” he said. “A designer died in your shop?”
“Technically, he died in the bathroom off the kitchen,” I said. “In my house, not the shop .” I added air quotes as I said shop, as if the semantics of where I worked versus where I lived made Beaulieu’s death better or worse. It didn’t. He’d died in my little farmhouse and that was horrible no matter how I looked at it.
I filled Will in on the details of the morning.
“Maybe he drank a lot of coffee,” Will said when I commented about Beaulieu rushing to the bathroom.
“But an overactive bladder doesn’t cause death.”
“Deputy McClaine seemed to think it was a heart attack or something like that,” Orphie said. “And I get the impression he has a pretty good handle on things.”
There it was again. The flirtation. I guess it went both ways. Sparks between the deputy and my old friend. I sure hadn’t seen that one coming.
He pulled up a chair and we chatted for a while, revisiting life in Manhattan. “I had to get away,” Orphie was telling Will. Which brought Orphie’s problem back front and center.
“Small-town life is a little simpler,” I said, pushing my worry away and not mentioning the murders I’d gotten wrapped up in since I’d been home.
“She had a few things waiting for her here,” Will interjected. The implication was clear. He’d been here waiting for me.
“People are more real in small towns,” Orphie said, as if it were a God-given fact.
“I don’t know about that. We have plenty of secrets.”
She angled her chin down, threading her thick black hair behind her ears. “Do tell.”
I dropped my voice to a whisper, leaning forward so only she and Will could hear. “Murder.”
Her brow furrowed and she rolled one hand in the air, prompting me to continue.
I filled her in on the darker side of life in Bliss in the time since I’d been back.
“Harlow’s quite the amateur detective,” Will said, a little edge slipping into his voice. He thought I needed to steer clear of murder, and I agreed, but I couldn’t help it if dead bodies wound up in my vicinity. I had to help the people I cared about. I was a doer, not a watcher.
“At least Beaulieu’s death wasn’t murder,” Orphie said, and just like that, my breath hitched. I glanced down, then around, a coil of nerves settling in my chest.
“Cassidy?” Will had leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. He looked at me as if he could read every last thought spiraling through my mind. “Don’t tell me . . .”
I smiled
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