Page 4 of Juan

“Success!” she said with a smile that didn’t feel quite genuine, but not far from it.

Miguel paused, two bags of ice slung over his shoulders. “Excellent. There’s a water supply around the corner. You can wash and prep it while I finish stocking the stand.”

And so the day began.

Filled with bad dad jokes and crazy-uncle vibes, Miguel kept Amber entertained while they set up, making it impossible for her to stay freaked out about the note. Once they opened, the steady stream of customers took over and forty-five minutes later, she conceded defeat and texted Juan to send reinforcements.

Amber: Help!

Juan: On my way. Will bring Dulcie

The relief she felt at his ready acceptance made it worth the “I told you so” look he’d no doubt shoot her when they arrived.

Not ten minutes passed before Juan and Dulcie showed up and started lugging ice, refilling urns, and helping to keep the supply of cups and garnish well-stocked. She reminded herself it was a good sign she and Miguel needed help this time around—more sales meant more money for the Hedy Experience. Although she didn’t fool herself that the lemonade was the only attraction. Juan and Dulcie, in their own ways, drew attention. And attention meant more customers.

She’d caught more than a few women eyeing Juan. With his dark hair, startlingly green eyes, and build that even Amber, in her celibate state, noticed (and in the recesses of her own mind admired), the lingering looks in his direction didn’t surprise her. The Falcons were a good-looking group, but Juan had that extra something that made a woman—and she supposed some men—think about dark nights, twisted sheets, and tangled limbs. Even in his black tee and cargo shorts.

Dulcie on the other hand, though also attractive, drew people in with his smile and his gentle, open presence. Both tall and broad, he looked as if he should be kind of scary, but his easy temperament and warm eyes created a dichotomy that made people curious enough to approach him. More than once, Amber had spotted him downtown chatting with random people who’d just struck up a conversation with him. She thought it might be kind of tiresome to have people feeling as if they could just talk to you whenever they liked, but true to nature, Dulcie never seemed to mind.

“Frick’n adorable,” Juan muttered as he walked by her, carrying two bags of ice. Startled by the hushed comment loud enough only for her ears, her gaze shot to his. Who was he talking about? He couldn’t be referring to her. But if not her, who? His green eyes locked with hers. Something flashed in them that she couldn’t decipher, then he blinked, gave a tiny shake of his head, and nodded toward her serving window.

An odd, weighted moment passed between them, leaving her feeling slightly unstable, as if a ripple of vertigo moved through her body. Then with a shake of her head, she turned away.

Leaning over the counter, she peered down at a girl of maybe four holding the hand of an older man wearing a “world’s best Grampa” T-shirt. Amber didn’t have to work hard to smile; the pair were adorable. “And what would you like?” she asked the little girl.

“Lemonade. This big,” she said, holding her hands as far apart as her little arms could go. “Please,” she added perfunctorily.

“Or just a regular,” her grandfather said, his expression sparkling with amusement.

His granddaughter’s eyes narrowed under her curly black fringe.

“It will taste this big, though,” Amber said, spreading her hands apart through the serving window.

Tiny suspicious eyes darted between her and the man, and Amber fought not to laugh when she gave a single, sharp nod. Like a general dismissing her soldiers after issuing an order.

“Behind you,” Juan said, setting a hand on her lower back as he passed by, having added the ice to their coolers. Her T-shirt had ridden up as she leaned over the counter, and his fingers landed on bare skin, their icy coolness sending a wave of chills up her chest.

She stilled. Had his hand lingered a few seconds longer than necessary? The question came out of nowhere, turning the wave of chills into a bloom of heat. She hadn’t avoided physical contact since arriving in Mystery Lake—a handshake, a hug, a kiss on the cheek, that sort of thing, had grown more common over the months. But Juan’s touch, brief and fleeting as it was, reminded her of just how many months, years, had passed since she’d been touched as a woman.

That thought sent another swirl of vertigo through her, and she quickly shut it down. Juan hadn’t meant it that way, nor was that something she was looking for. His hand hadn’t lingered, and her weird reaction had to be embarrassment. She shouldn’t be thinking those sorts of things about her friends.

“Make that three, please,” the man at the window said, bringing her back from the troubling thought that dipped into her mind.

“Coming right up,” she said with a forced smile.

Grabbing three pre-poured drinks, she added ice, then set them on the counter as she rang the order up. Miguel guffawed at something his customer said at the window beside hers, the joyful sound rattling something loose inside her head.

She didn’t die. The words of the note flitted into her mind. Whoever had sent it no doubt had a specific—and very different—message in mind, but she couldn’t help the abstract thoughts they conjured now. She hadn’t died, either. Anthony hadn’t succeeded in killing her.

Had her body, sparked by Juan’s unexpected touch, co-opted those three words, changed them, redefined them? Reminding her that no part of her was truly dead? If so, why now?

Not a question she wanted to grapple with—not now, likely not ever. Grabbing the card reader, she gave the man the total. Adding a generous tip, he tapped his card, then she handed him two of the drinks. Snagging the third, she added an extra garnish of mint, snapped the lid on, and leaned way over the counter to pass it to the little girl.

“Whoa there, Gumby,” Juan said, again setting a hand on her back as he passed, this time to steady her as her toes barely touched the ground. She glanced over her shoulder. Juan raised a brow but didn’t remove his hand.

Tiny fingers brushed hers, and she returned her attention to the little girl, who carefully took her drink with a huge smile. Juan’s warm, work-roughened palm pressed against her skin, providing a counterbalance she didn’t really need.

“Thank you,” the little girl said. Amber lifted her gaze to the smiling grandfather.