“He said I could have a lucky day with him,” I told Marco, not moving my eyes away from the chief. “I’m sure the chief only meant that I would get lucky in terms of paying less.”

Marco took a step closer to the chief. He was about six inches taller, built like a tank, and ticked off. He stepped in front of me. I think it was protectively reflexive. Romantic. Although, I told myself, I could slay my own dragons. Still! What a handsome tattooed prince I had!

“ ‘Lucky day’ is an inappropriate term to use with a woman, especially since you are the island’s temporary police chief.”

“I don’t need you telling me what’s appropriate and what’s not, Marco. You stay out of this.”

“No,” Marco said, his voice quiet but hard. “I won’t.”

“Is there anything else?” I asked the chief.

Chief Ass Burn glared at both of us, back and forth, then smirked, but he’d lost some of his confidence. “Not now. Maybe later.”

He left the bookstore. My employees, Tiala, Ricki, and Brenz, had watched the whole thing. They were right behind me, and I hadn’t even noticed. Also behind me were about six other people who lived in town, plus another three or four tourists.

“Chief Ass Burn is a piece of work,” Mr. Jamon croaked out, leaning on his cane with one hand while the other hand held a torrid bodice-ripper book.

We all nodded.

Marco had hardly moved, watching the chief leave.

“Hi, Marco.” My voice was shaky.

“Hi, Evie. I was looking for some new books.”

“I happen to sell books.”

He smiled. I smiled. He was a gentle, tough giant.

And a reader.

That was one of the most attractive things of all about my Marco. He was a book nerd.

Book nerds unite.

* * *

I thought about Chief Ass Burn later that night. He was a threat. He was a heavy, unattractive man with control issues. Probably a narcissist. Praise him or he hated you. He wanted to date me, but he hated me, too, because I had rejected him.

I was worried. Not for me but for my aunts and mom and their new business in the greenhouse.

Once again, I told them of my ratcheting-up concerns after work the next day. We cut flowers for their business, armfuls of roses, then stood near Alpaca Joe and Virginia Alpaca as they stared at the four of us as if they were part of the conversation. As Sundance was by my side, that furry friend, it felt like we were having a human–animal meeting. In the distance Mr. Bob and Trixie Goat stood on top of their blue home and studied us as if saying, “What in the world? Why weren’t we invited?”

“We’ll be fine, dear,” my mother said. She seemed sad. “No one will tell.”