“I can help you with Halloween, if you like,” said John, drying his hands on a tea towel.

Annie frowned. “Really?” The idea pulled her up short.

John shrugged.

“Yeah. I’ve been part of enough of my aunt’s Halloween extravaganzas to know how they work. I mean, I know you’ve got the Saltwater Nook almanac and all,” he said, nodding in the direction of Mari’s notebook on the coffee table. “But maybe some firsthand knowledge would be helpful.”

“I didn’t think you’d . . . Yes, thank you, that would be great!”

“I know what you think of me,” said John.

“Do you?”

“You think I’m just some money-grabbing bastard who wants to stick his old aunty in a home and be done with her.”

“I did think that to start with,” Annie confessed.

“And now?”

“Now I don’t know what to think. You’re a bit of an enigma: devil or angel, depending on who you talk to.”

“Small-town gossip.”

“No smoke without fire?”

“You know, it’s unfair to judge a person when you don’t have all the facts.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten me?”

“You strike me as a woman who likes to make up her own mind about people.”

There it was again: that arrogance that drove her half mad.

“You ask me not to judge your motives and yet you won’t help me to understand them.”

John laid the tea towel on the radiator and began to roll down his shirtsleeves.

“Perhaps you could try a little faith in the human condition,” he said, pulling on his knitted sweater and sending a small cloud of dust into the air like a halo around his head.

“Oh, I’m afraid I’ve been disappointed by the human condition too many times to rely on blind faith anymore.”

“What a pity,” said John, grabbing his coat. “I’ll be back to paint the ceiling when the plaster has dried out. Thank you for the tea.”

And he left. The tide of their conversation had turned so quickly that they were neck deep in another misunderstanding before Annie had the chance to think better of it.

Chapter 47

Having a grand opening turned out to have been the best start the café could have had. Annie opened the kiosk at eight each morning and then opened the café door at nine; her eight-o’clockers were not the type to sit and linger, they wanted to grab coffee and go. But many of her later customers wanted to ease into the morning, sitting at the long bench in the window and gazing out to sea either alone or with friends.