The bell over the door tinkled, and both Celia and Aubrey turned towards it to see who was coming in. Celia groaned and closed her eyes before offering the newcomer a glare. Aubrey bit her lip to hide a grin that might get her scalped bald. Mason Delacroix was the bane of Celia’s existence. He asked her out at least once a week. Aubrey had no idea why her friend kept turning him down. He was a firefighter, built like a Greek god, and had a Vin Diesel thing going on with his shaved head. If that wasn’t enough, his green eyes always had a twinkle of wicked mischief in them. The man was beyond good looking. Hell, if he wasn’t so into her best friend, she ’d ask him out herself.
Celia claimed that she didn’t want to settle down and that he was the marrying kind, but Aubrey just thought that meant she was being a pansy about it. She didn’t have to let it go far enough to be serious. Shag him and get it out of her system was Aubrey’s advice. Celia hadn’t taken the suggestion so far.
He arched a brow and grinned at Celia. “Don’t worry. I’m not here for you… this time.”
Her brown eyes narrowed to slits, and Aubrey thought she saw the barest flash of jealousy on the hairstylist’s face.
“Who are you here for then? And why couldn’t it wait until after she left my salon?”
“Seeing you is the bonus, honey. I need to speak to Ms. Mathison.”
Pursing her lips at him, Aubrey lifted her eyebrows. “Oh, do not put me in the middle of the little hard-to-get games you two play.”
But his face fell into serious lines. “I’ve gone over every inch of your shop with the Fire Marshall, and we have questions about why the alarm and sprinkler system didn’t go off because your building and system are up to fire code.”
“Oh.” She blinked, processing the abrupt change of topic. She’d been so focused on getting out of the fire that she hadn’t even thought about the sprinkler system—and now she felt completely stupid for not thinking about it. “Shit. That was an expensive system too. What the hell happened?”
“We think it was a malfunction. Nothing looked tampered with.” He nodded, total confidence radiating from his handsome face, and she finally got why everyone assumed he was a shoo-in to take over the fire department in the next few years. “However, Price wants to meet with you personally to take your report and go over the events of yesterday.”
Price Delacroix was the new Chief of Police and Mason’s older brother. He’d followed Mason to Cedarville a few months before. She hadn’t met him yet, but the buzz around town was that he was a hotshot ex-SWAT officer from L. A. and that he was as gorgeous as his brother. Not that she gave a flying rat’s ass what he looked like right now. She needed to get her livelihood back up and running. A malfunctioning fire system was a glitch she did not need—not to mention how that piece of news was going to go over with her insurance company.
A headache began to throb, and she rubbed a hand over her forehead. “All right then. You’ll be in touch about this later, won’t you?”
“Count on it.” His broad shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m sorry about all of this, Aubrey.”
“Thanks.” She sighed, shrugging to stretch the tight muscles in her neck and arms. At least Susan was okay—her mother would pick her up and take her home later that day. All she’d had was a mild concussion after she’d tripped over her combat boots and cracked her head on the counter, spilling glaze all over the stove and starting the fire.
Bean There, Done That wasn’t quite as lucky as the two of them. The police had taped off Aubrey’s shop until an officer could come take her statement. She was meeting him in half an hour. Apparently, that meant she was meeting with the chief himself. She winced. A part of her did not want to see the mess she knew would be inside. It had looked bad enough from the outside this morning. Her shop was the refuge she’d used to get over the heartache of her divorce. Seeing it damaged and broken was not something she relished, especially with this extra complication Mason just threw in her lap.
“Okay, honey. I need to go take care of this. Thank you, you’re a genius and my personal hair goddess.” She smacked a kiss on Celia’s cheek and handed her enough bills to pay for the new hairdo and a big tip. Grinning, Celia gave her a quick hug. “Take care, honey.”
“Thanks.” Aubrey tugged her purse strap over her shoulder and walked outside. Celia’s salon, Occam’s Razor, was on the opposite side of the park that made up the town square.
Aubrey jogged across the street, already fishing in her pocket for some change for Jericho. She couldn’t see him through the trees yet, but he was always there. He was as reliable as rain in the Pacific Northwest. And there he was, his scraggly hat coming into view. His boom box blasted out old ’70s rock today—a major improvement over yesterday’s ear grinding noise. He smiled when he spotted her. “Hey, Aubrey! Sorry about your shop.”
Sudden tears smarted her eyes, and she had to stare up at the sky for a minute to keep them from falling. How bad would it be in there? She swallowed and dropped the coins into his coffee can. “Mornin’, Jericho.”
“Are you all right?” Concern swam in his grey eyes, and he snatched off his hat to crumple it between his filthy hands. His hair stood up in ragged silver patches. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She folded her arms over her T-shirt and sniffled.
He laced his fingers together over his flat belly. “Well, I believe everything happens for a reason. There’s a logic to this happening.”
Her mouth dropped open, and for probably the first time in her life, she had no idea what to say. She sputtered for a long moment, just staring at the crazy man. “Who’s logic are we talking about?”
“The Man Upstairs of course.”
Shaking her head, she continued to stare as if he’d grown a second head. “You amaze me, Jericho. You’re sitting there on a park bench—homeless—and you’re talking about how everything is right with the world.”
“What do you believe in, Aubrey?” His silver gaze sharpened as he focused on her face. She felt pinned in place, a bug in a high school science lab.
Narrowing her eyes, she refused to feel uncomfortable. His religion was not her issue—and she didn’t have to agree with him. Besides, how many people got everything is sunshiny because of God speeches from hobos? It was unreal.
She was having one hell of a weird couple of days. “Are you trying to convert me, Jericho?”
He chuckled. “I asked what you believe in. I don’t need to covert anyone. My faith is what it is.”
“Okay. Fine.” She jammed her fists down on her hips. “What’s the reason my shop caught fire?”
“That’s easy.” A contented smile washed over his face and the intense moment was gone. He whistled a little tune.
His voice was just this side of dreamy when he said, “So you could meet your soul mate today.”
She rolled her eyes and spun away. Why was she debating with a nut ball? She was going to have to start questioning her own sanity. Soul mate? Riiiiight. She didn’t believe in soul mates. She’d given up on love a long time ago. Been there, done that. She’d named her shop that for a reason. It was her motto. Scott was the only man she’d ever imagined coming close to being a soul mate. And he’d made sure she didn’t have any illusions left after the divorce about how much she had lacked as a wife and life partner. Love? Soul mates? She snorted.
A big, muscular man leaned against the side of a Crown Victoria outside her shop. His gaze followed her as she left Jericho and walked over to meet him. That had to be Chief Delacroix. He looked too much like Mason to be anyone else. In a town as small as Cedarville, she could identify everyone who lived here on sight. And this man had never been in her coffee shop. A shame too. He certainly was pretty to look at—even better looking than Mason, and that was saying something.