Love on the Boardwalk (A Cinnamon Bay Romance Book 1) Read online

  Oookay, weird.

  He approached the front counter, fighting to keep his gaze on the menu and his feet from tripping, even when the three older ladies directly to his left were trying to bore through him with their eyes.

  There were whispers, he was sure, and positive he’d heard his grandfather’s name repeated—which was impossible—Mac tried to focus on the menu written in cursive. He caught a glimpse of a dark-haired woman zipping into the back room without giving him a clear look at her face.

  Curious.

  The slender, athletic man fiddling with an espresso machine came over to help the person at the front of the line.

  “I’ll have, ah—” Mac began hesitantly.

  “You know…” The first of the old ladies, wearing a tan beret over a head of copper-colored hair, sidled closer to him with a wink of her nonexistent eyelashes. Bracelets jingled when she reached out to clasp his wrist.

  Mac started at the contact.

  “You remind me of someone,” she said slowly.

  Her skin was soft and rubbed against him like aged paper. He fought to smile instead of what he really wanted to do—break the contact and crawl back into his artist cave with no one the wiser for his visit.

  He was a solitary creature by nature.

  “Do I? I get that a lot. It’s the hair.” He used his free hand to gesture toward the ebony strands. “It’s a common cut.”

  “No, no. Not just anyone. A staple here in Cinnamon Bay,” the lady continued.

  “You really are the spitting image of the man. God rest his soul.” This from the center hen—for what did they look like but little roosting hens all fluffed on their perch? —who raked him from head to toe with an all-seeing stare.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Mac hoped it was the right thing to say.

  The one still holding his wrist waved the comment away. “He’s been gone about four months. His wife longer than that. Lost her in childbirth, he did. Only the sister is left. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  He’d thought this would be an easy in and out for a cup of coffee. He’d severely underestimated small towns.

  He kept a grin pinned to his cheeks. “Macklin. Mac to my friends.”

  It might have been his imagination, but all three women settled in their seats, their expressions identical cat-in-the-canary-cage sly.

  “Macklin isn’t a very common name, now is it, Birdie?” The rosy-cheeked matron asked her companion.

  “No, not to my knowledge,” the second replied. “Although Elizabeth’s brother’s name was Macklin.”

  Mac started. They couldn’t possibly know his relation to his dead grandfather on first contact, right? It was ridiculous.

  “Sorry, ladies. I’m just here for a drink,” he soothed.

  “You know, Brewed with a View is known throughout the state for our specialty drink,” the farthest woman told him. “It’s called Café Amour, truly delicious. Historical, you might say.”

  The closest adjusted her bracelets. “Mystical, even.”

  “You ladies need to leave him alone. You’re going to scare away my customers.”

  Mac swiveled around to see the same man with mocha-colored skin wagging a finger at the old ladies as if he was scolding them, but he also noticed the twinkle of humor in the other man’s eyes. The familiarity between the man and the ladies all but proved his suspicion that the trio were more than likely regulars here.

  Their talk about his grandfather was unsettling, so Mac latched on to the lifesaver the man behind the counter offered up.

  “I need caffeine.” A glance down at the nametag pinned on a black t-shirt told him the fellow’s name was Kolby. “Please.”

  He received a wink for his politeness. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

  Another sweetheart? Maybe it was a southern thing.

  The farthest hen interrupted when Kolby turned to the coffee bar. “He wants to try the Café Amour.”

  Mac shook his head. “I don’t want anyone to go to any trouble—”

  “It’s nothing!” the woman insisted, interrupting him.

  Kolby fixed her with a hard look. “Trixie, it’s not on the menu anymore. Okay? I know you goaded Eva into making it earlier, but she isn’t going to be happy knowing you’re still trying to push it on customers. Drop it.”

  Trixie held her wrinkled hands in front of her, the perfect picture of Mrs. Clause innocence. “This is the last one, I promise.”

  Mac shifted from foot to foot and stared at his watch. He’d been on the road for a good five hours to start already, having divided his trip into multiple legs, and he was itching to get to his rental and shower. From there, he still had to settle in and do a couple work-related jobs before delving into his side project.

  Family history.

  “I really don’t want anyone to go to any trouble for me. Truly. A straight up coffee is acceptable,” he said.

  Trixie’s voice went hard. “Get Eva.”

  Kolby tilted his head, pursed his lips and huffed. His arms were at his sides, and he executed a perfect pouty pirouette before pushing into the back room.

  To get Eva, Mac assumed.

  It took seconds before the beauty he’d only glimpsed earlier was back in the room. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before offering him a hesitant half smile, her teeth nibbling on her lower lip.

  Holy knockout, Batman.

  The woman was a stunner, with eyes the color of a stormy summer sky. The apron she wore couldn’t disguise her figure: curves in all the right places, long, tanned arms and artist’s fingers.

  His throat went dry. Fingers clenched at his sides, and Mac felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

  She laced her fingers in front of her and graced him with a soft grin. “I’m going to guess you’ve been roped into asking for Café Amour.”

  Mac shrugged, anxiety twisting in his stomach. “I’m not sure what to get.”

  “Don’t let the sweet old lady persona get to you. They can be tricky. What do you need, stranger?”

  “Mac,” he said automatically.

  Her smile brightened, reaching her eyes, and a nuclear bomb beneath his sternum detonated. For a second, he’d forgotten where he was. What he was doing…why was he here, again?

  “Eva,” she replied. “It’s a pleasure. And I have a bit of the Café Amour leftover from when I was forced to make it this morning. I’d be happy to give you some, and whatever else you want. No charge on the first. Girl’s gotta make a living on the second.”

  “Thanks.” He inclined his head, trying not to stare at her rear when she turned toward the back. He failed miserably.

  “We’ve been relegated to the table,” Hattie said, casting her nose toward the window and grabbing his attention with her husky voice. “We aren’t allowed to get up for fear of making trouble.” She stressed the last two words.

  Eva rolled her eyes when she came back, her hands wrapped around a cup of something steaming. “I’m sorry, Hattie. You can get up from the table. You just aren’t allowed to grab my chalk or break a hip. Looking at you, Trixie.” Her gaze fell on Mac. “Long story.”

  “I’d love to hear it sometime.” He accepted the cup, inhaling deeply and recognizing the scents of orange, cinnamon. Perhaps a little allspice. Something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  “It’s a secret ingredient,” Eva said, reading his mind. “Sorry. Family thing. One that isn’t on the menu anymore for good reason.”

  Mac hazarded a sip, burning his tongue in the process, and loving every minute of it. Heat settled into his stomach. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling, the rest of the coffee shop fading away.

  When he finally opened them again, Eva was staring at him with her mouth moving, and her head cocked to the side.

  “What else did you want, Mac?”

  Oh, God. There were too many things. Her, namely, and she’d shot straight up to the top of the priority list.

  “Coffee?” It came out
more of a question than an answer.

  Reading his mind again, she moved over to a pot behind her and filled a to-go cup to the brim. He dug in his pocket for money, handing it over to her, their fingers touching when it exchanged hands. There was a spark of recognition. A quick zap of energy.

  “Thanks. It…it was nice to meet you.”

  “And you as well.”

  They passed one final smile between them before Mac forced his body toward the door.

  “What did you say your name was?” Hattie called after him.

  Mac stopped, his hand on the door handle. “Mac.”

  “Last name.”

  Okay, it was something to remember when he came into the café again, because he surely would be back. The staff was friendly—and arousing—but there were demanding little ladies ready to peck at him.

  “Sorry. Jenssen,” he replied.

  “You truly are the spitting image of old Macklin Parker,” Hattie began, sharing a look between her fellow ladies. “Too bad he just passed. Although I remember that Elizabeth, his sister, lives out on Cassia Street. She’d be in her seventies now.”

  Trixie and Birdie nodded in agreement. “Yes, I think you’re right. Quaint little yellow house with that bright Bermuda lime-green trim. Pretty place if you ignore the paint.”

  Mac’s ears perked up at the mention of the name. He might be curious, but he wasn’t going to let on to these three that he was. The conversation was getting a little too close to why he was in Cinnamon Bay, and it was making him a little too uncomfortable.

  He needed to get out of there, and fast.

  With a slight raise of his to-go cup, Mac peered back at Eva. “Thank you for the coffee. It’s some of the best I’ve ever had, and I’m sure I’ll be back.” Twisting a smidge, he glanced over at the old ladies. “Nice meeting you all but I have work I need to get done. You all have a nice day.”

  He was out the door before anyone could respond. Seemed he might have an aunt in town. Mac just wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  IN ALL HIS twenty-eight years, Mac had never considered himself an adventurous person. He knew what he wanted to do, he went for it, and there was little to no deviation from his pattern. His adoption was something he’d known about from a young age, although his parents made sure he was loved. They also made sure to never keep his history from him, what little they knew.

  It wasn’t until word came to him of his paternal grandfather’s death that he realized he wanted to know more. To stretch outside his comfort zone. To see if he could figure out why his grandfather allowed him to be adopted. Why he hadn’t wanted to raise Mac himself.

  Behind the wheel of the car, he tried to balance his cell phone with directions to his rental and the truly delicious cup of coffee without dropping either on his lap.

  The windows were down, and warm air streamed in smelling of salt and pine. It was a delicious combination. Cinnamon Bay was turning out to be a prettier place than he’d thought.

  He turned a corner and caught the green flash of a street sign. Looking for Seventh, where he was staying, seeing Cassia instead.

  The old woman’s closing statement repeated in his head. On a whim, he whipped the car around, bounding over the street corner, almost taking out a stop sign.

  Watch where you’re going, dummy!

  Mac kept his eyes on the lookout for a yellow house with Bermuda green trim, whatever that meant.

  He went up and down the street twice before pulling in front of a quaint one-story cottage with turquoise trim instead of green. The canary yellow was a bit garish at first, he admitted, but all in all the place was tidy. Adorable. Some may even say quaint.

  What was he doing?

  Twisting the key in the ignition, he stared at the house and tried to decide what he would say.

  Hi, nice to meet you. I happen to be your great-nephew.

  Yeah, it sounded ridiculous.

  Even so, he got out of the car fueled entirely by coffee and nerves. Both fluttered in his stomach like someone had unleashed the hounds.

  Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door and tried to come up with a good excuse if it turned out the house belonged to a family of four with a dog instead of a potential blood relation.

  A lock clicked, and he fixed an open and trusting grin on his face.

  Before a baseball bat slammed into his upper arm.

  Mac fell back on the front stoop with a grunt, only to see a screaming harpy with frizzy gray hair coming for him again.

  “If you try to steal my newspaper again, Henderson, then I am going to cave in your head! Get your own subscription.”

  “Hold on a minute!” Mac had to shout to be heard over the screaming, holding his arms up and trying to stop the bat from coming down on the softer parts of his anatomy. “I’m not Henderson!”

  He caught the bat a split second before she brought it up between his legs.

  The woman stared at him, one eyebrow raised, teeth bared in a growl. “No, you aren’t, are you?” she replied slowly.

  Inch by inch, the bat lowered until it tapped the cement.

  “You have approximately two point three five seconds to tell me who you are and to get off my property.” Despite her age, the woman reached out and grabbed her newspaper with her claw-like free hand, cradling it to her chest.

  Mac straightened and adjusted his shirt, feeling an ache in his arm. There was going to be a monster of a bruise there later. “This is going to sound crazy…”

  “I’m sure I’ve heard stranger.”

  “But I’m here to ask about my grandfather. His name was Macklin, which also happens to be my name. I think we might be related. Are you Elizabeth?”

  She raked him up and down with eyes that should be classified as weapons before shaking her head. “Impossible. My brother had a son who passed, but no grandkids. Ask anyone in Cinnamon Bay, and they’ll all tell you the same thing.”

  “Oh.” Mac didn’t know what to say, the knots in his stomach tying tighter. How many Macklin Parkers could there possibly be in Cinnamon Bay? Could the Hens have been wrong about the connection? “I’m sorry to bother you,” he continued softly. “These three ladies in town mentioned you were his sister. I just…I wanted to stop in and meet you.”

  The old woman narrowed her eyes and stared at him through coke-bottle glasses. No doubt seeing everything he tried to hide. The way she looked at him…Mac took a step in the opposite direction. He didn’t want her to go off on him again.

  “Three old ladies sent you here, huh?” she asked at last.

  He nodded, rubbing himself where the bat struck his skin. “You know them?”

  “Everyone knows those old sticky-beaks. Sorry, kid. I can’t help you.”

  Then she turned and headed inside, slamming the door firmly shut behind her, leaving him in no doubt whatsoever that this conversation was over.

  CHAPTER THREE

  EVA LOCKED THE front door of the coffee shop at the close of business and silently congratulated herself on a successful day. The customers had seemed to embrace the new menu – if she ignored the requests for Café Amour and the old ladies nagging her and making her whip up that one batch.

  She hadn’t wanted to drink it again, and she was a little surprised that the first person to come in just after was a handsome stranger, but that was a coincidence. She believed in coincidences, not magic.

  If she visited a new place, she’d head straight for the coffee shop too, the logical part of her brain reminded her, even if the slightly mystical part was surprised by the zing of attraction, she’d felt for him. Good to know that part of her hadn’t shut up shop completely.

  Still, all in all, it had been a successful day, and that put her in a good mood. She didn’t realize how anxious she’d been about the changes until the moment had passed.

  The walk home from the coffee shop took her along the boardwalk, which was quiet for this time of day. A few seagulls were having a party around a small pile of fri
es someone had dropped, and she waved to other shop owners as she wandered toward her home on Seventh street, with a wide smile on her face.

  She paused outside her mailbox to check the mail when an unfamiliar truck pulled up across the street in front of the old Williamses’ place.

  Eva knew their son was letting it out for short-term rentals, but so far, she hadn’t seen anyone in there. She was curious to see if she might have a new neighbor, so she lingered a little longer, sifting through the catalogs and mail she’d just pulled from the box.

  When Mac stepped out of the pickup, she hoped her mouth wasn’t hanging open too much.

  What were the odds of the hot new guy in town being her neighbor? Wait until her grandmother’s friends got wind of this news.

  “Hey,” she called out to him from across the street. She didn’t want to appear rude.

  He looked up at her, a scowl marring his handsome face.

  “Oh, hey.”

  He didn’t sound all that pleased to see her, certainly not like a man who had just fallen madly in love with her anyway. See, the magic wasn’t real, she thought. She was right, even if a part of her felt a twinge of sadness over that.

  “Are you moving in?”

  “Yeah, just for a little while.” He opened the back of the truck and pulled out two bags.

  “Well, I’m just over here if you need anything.” She tilted her head toward the house.

  “Thanks. I think I have everything I need,” he said, turning on his heel and heading into his house.

  In other words, he didn’t need her or her help.

  Still, there was no need to be rude about it. He’d seemed nicer today in the coffee shop and even a little bit interested, but maybe that was the old ladies getting in her head, affecting her judgment because that man had just dismissed her out of hand.

  He was not interested. The magic drink was not magical, and Eva was going to spend the night fantasizing about her latest book boyfriend instead, because book boyfriends never broke her heart or abandoned her, and they didn’t run hot and cold either, unlike some people.

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING didn’t fare much better for Mac. He’d managed a beer and shower, after which he felt a little more human and less on edge about his interaction with Elizabeth Parker. With a cooler head, he realized he had probably been exceptionally rude to the very pretty Eva from the coffee shop, and he regretted it.