Page 13 of Falling for the Enemy

“You have an honest one, Ms. Collins.”

The send-off landed more like a challenge than a wish, and her lip twitched around her forced smile as she pushed out the door.

Maybe a hangover still gripped her, because her tolerance for small-town decorum was already dwindling. Or maybe Soren was to blame.

It was probably that. She’d blame him for the weather if she could. And had he not burst into her home last night and derailed her focus, she might not have stayed up so late trying to get that last chapter written.

Paper Moon was two doors down. The owner, Paige, already arranged a fall display of hand-pressed stationery and leather journals in the window. Deep taupes and burgundies caught the light in a whimsical display.

Jocelyn forced herself to ignore the new seasonal notebooks and focused instead on the sample of custom cardstock fanned across the counter, finding what she wanted immediately.

“That’s not for you.”

Jocelyn looked up from the counter as Paige appeared. “No? These look nice.”

Paige held up a finger. “I have something better. Let me grab it.” She slipped into the back and returned a second later with a cream card in her hand. “Check this out.”

The heavy linen parchment carried a subtle anchor embossed into the grain, the kind of paper that whispered quality without announcing it. Paige was right. It was perfect.

“Can you do fifty of these with custom text?” Jocelyn laid the sample on the counter, the paper thick and cool under her fingertips.

Paige pulled out her order pad. “What do you want them to say?”

“‘Reel Excited for Baby Hawthorne.’ Spelled like a fishing reel. And a small fish. A tasteful fish, Paige, nothing cheesy.”

Used to Jocelyn’s particular requests when it came to format design, Paige didn’t blink as she jotted down notes. “Font?”

“Something classic, with weight. Nothing babyish. If I see Comic Sans, I’ll set this building on fire and make it look like an accident.”

“Noted.” Paige scribbled on the notepad. “When do you need them?”

“Two weeks.”

“I can have them done in two days.”

“Really?”

“Easily. And if you email me your list, I can print the labels and even get them shipped for you.”

“This is exactly why you’re irreplaceable.”

By the time Jocelyn placed the stationery order and finished her coffee, her brain fog burned off completely. September sun pressed down on the harbor, drawing the smell of hot asphalt up from the streets in shimmering waves.

Jocelyn worked her way in and out of the stores lining the square until she found everything on her list. Her tote bulged with ribbon and tissue paper while shopping bags weighed down her arms. Her to-do list had shrunk considerably, and no one had pissed her off, so she regarded the outing as a success until she turned the corner onto Harbor Street and nearly tripped over Rufus, the ancient communal Labrador retriever whose ownership never got conclusively established.

He panted up at her with those aged brown eyes. A soggy tennis ball sat by his paw, and a donated bowl of water rested in the nearby shadows.

“You’re a hazard.” She awkwardly reached through her bags to scratch the old boy’s head. His coat was a patchy mixture of faded browns and incoming grey. “You never visit us anymore. Cordelia misses you.”

His long tongue rolled out of his mouth like a carpet, wafting a generation of bad breath in her direction.

“Phew! Next time I come into town, I’m bringing you a mint.”

His tail thumped once, a polite receipt of the promise, then he returned to rest his grey jaw by his ball.

Jocelyn cut through the alley between The Wilde Kettle and The Salty Pig. The scent of delicious sea breeze mixed with the bacon-scented air in a combination that smelled like a true good morning in Hideaway Bay. Even the potent fragrance of rosemary and herbs from Astrid’s apothecary couldn’t compete with the savory scent of fried pork.

The bell above the Wilde Kettle chimed, and Jocelyn’s eyes bulged in panic as Wren emerged from her aunt’s store.