A few snowflakes floated lazily out of the low, dense clouds. One block over, the Pacific Ocean carved into the harbor, which was surrounded by rugged, three-story-high bluffs teeming with the untouched forestland that was the Olympic Mountains. Around him, the oak-lined streets were strung with white lights, shining brightly through the morning gloom. Peaceful. Still.
A month ago, he’d been in the Middle East, elbows deep in a project to rebuild a water system for a war-torn land. Before that, he’d been in Haiti. And before that, Africa. And before that…Indonesia? Hell, it might have been another planet for all he remembered. It was all rolling together.
He went to places after disaster hit, whether man-made or natural, and he saw people at their very worst moments. Sometimes he changed lives, sometimes he improved them, but at some point over the past five years he’d become numb to it. So much so that when he’d gone to check out a new job site at the wrong place, only to have the right place blown to bits by a suicide bomber just before he got there, he’d finally realized something.
He didn’t always have to be the guy on the front line. He could design and plan water systems for devastated countries from anywhere. Hell, he could become a consultant instead. Five years of wading knee deep in crap, both figuratively and literally, was enough for anyone. He didn’t want to be in the right hellhole next time.
So he’d come home, with no idea what was next.
Polishing off his second bear claw, Ben sucked the sugar off his thumb. Turning to head toward his truck, he stopped short at the realization that someone stood watching him.
Aubrey. When he caught her eye, she said, “It is you,” and dropped the things in her hands.
Her tone of voice had suggested she’d just stepped in dog shit with her fancy high-heeled boots. This didn’t surprise Ben. She’d been two years behind him in school. In those years, he’d either been on the basketball court, trouble-seeking with Jack, or spending time with Hannah.
Aubrey had been the Hot Girl. He didn’t know why, but there’d always been an instinctive mistrust between them, as if they both recognized that they were two kindred souls—troubled souls. He remembered that when she’d first entered high school she’d had more than a few run-ins with the mean girls. Then she became a mean girl. Crouching down, he reached to help her with the stuff she’d dropped.
“I’ve got it,” she snapped, squatting next to him, pushing his hands away. “I’m fine.”
She certainly looked the part of fine. Her long blonde hair was loose and shiny, held back from her face by a pale blue knit cap. A matching scarf was wrapped around her neck and tucked into a white wool coat that covered her from her chin to a few inches above her knees. Leather boots met those knees, leaving some bare skin below the hem of her coat. She looked sophisticated and hot as hell. Certainly perfectly put together. In fact, she was always purposefully put together.
It made him want to ruffle her up. A crazy thought.
Even crazier, she smelled so good he wanted to just sniff her for about five days. Also, he wanted to know what she was wearing beneath that coat. “Where did you come from?” he asked, as no car had pulled up.
“The building.”
There were three storefronts in the building, one of the oldest in town—the flower shop, the bakery, and the bookstore. She hadn’t come out of the flower shop or the bakery, he knew that much. He glanced at the bookstore. “It’s not open yet.”
The windows were no longer boarded up, he realized, and through the glass panes, he could see that the old bookstore was now a new bookstore, as shiny and clean and pretty as the woman before him.
She scooped up a pen and a lipstick, and he grabbed a fallen notebook.
“That’s mine,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to take it, Aubrey,” he said, and then, with no idea of what came over him—maybe her flashing eyes—he held the notebook just out of her reach as he looked at it. It was small and, like Aubrey herself, neat and tidy. Just a regular pad of paper, spiral bound, opened to a page she’d written on.
“Give it to me, Ben.”
The notebook was nothing special, but clearly his holding on to it was making her uncomfortable. If it had been any other woman on the planet, he’d have handed it right over. But he didn’t.
She narrowed her sharp, hazel eyes at him as she waggled impatient fingers. “It’s just my grocery list.”
Grocery list his ass. It was a list of names, and there was a Ben on it. “Is this me?”
“Wow,” she said. “Egocentric much?”
“It says Ben.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She tried to snatch at it again, but if there was one thing that living in Third World countries did for you it was give you quick instincts.
“Look here,” he said, pointing to item number four. “Ben.”
“It’s Ben and Jerry’s. Ice cream,” she informed him. “Shorthand. Give me the damn notepad.”
Hmm. He might’ve been inclined to believe her, except there was that slight panic in her gaze, the one she hadn’t been able to hide quickly enough. Straightening, he skimmed the names and realized he recognized a few. “Cathy Wheaton,” he said, frowning. “Why do I remember that name?”
“You don’t.” Straightening as well, Aubrey tried to crawl up his body to reach the pad.
Ben wasn’t too ashamed to admit he liked that. A lot.
His jacket was open. Frustrated, she fisted a hand in the material of his shirt, right over his heart. “Damn it, Ben—”
“Wait…I remember,” he said, wincing, since she now had a few chest hairs in a tight grip. “Cathy…she was the grade in between us, right? A little skinny? Okay, a lot skinny. Nice girl.”
Keeping her hold of him, Aubrey went still as stone, and Ben watched her carefully. Yeah, he was right about Cathy, and he went back to the list. “Mrs. Cappernackle.” He looked at her again. “The librarian?”
With her free hand, Aubrey pulled her phone from her pocket and looked pointedly at the time.
He ignored this, because once his curiosity was piqued, he was like a dog with a bone, and his curiosity was definitely tweaked. “Sue Henderson.” He paused, thinking. Remembering. “Wasn’t she your neighbor when you were growing up? That bitchy DA who had you arrested when you put food coloring in her pool and turned it green?”
Aubrey’s eyes were fascinating. Hazel fire. “Give. Me. My. List.”
Oh, hell, no, this was just getting good—“Ouch!”
She’d twisted the grip she’d had on his shirt, yanking out the few hairs she’d fisted. She also got a better grip on the pad so that now they were tug-o-warring over it. “You could just tell me what this is about,” he said.
“It’s none of your business,” she said, fighting him. “That’s what it is.”
“But it is my business when you’re carrying around a list with my name on it.”
“You know what? Google the name Ben and see how many there are. Now let go!” she demanded, just as the door to the flower shop opened and a uniformed officer walked out.
Luke, with his impeccable timing, as always. Eyeing the tussle before him, he raised a brow. “What’s up, kids?”
“Officer,” Aubrey said, voice cool, eyes cooler, as she jerked the pad from Ben’s fingers. She shoved it into her purse, zipped it, and tugged it higher up on her shoulder. “This man”—she broke off to stab a finger in Ben’s direction, as if there were any question about which man she meant—“is bothering me.”