“As if you need one. Your food speaks for itself—and from what I’ve observed, word of mouth generates plenty of business.”

“That it does.” He winked, then directed his next comment to the woman. “If you haven’t visited my truck yet, it’s on the wharf. Next to the gazebo.”

“I may stop by.”

“Please do. First order for newcomers is always on the house.” He continued toward Bren.

Zach frowned. Everyone in town knew about Charley’s welcome gift of a free lunch for new residents . . . but this woman hadn’t moved to Hope Harbor.

Had she?

What did Charley know that he didn’t?

She edged toward the exit, and Zach shifted gears. He could pick the town sage’s brain later. In the meantime, why not try to ferret out a few facts himself?

Unless his skittish customer disappeared out the door first.

He hiked up the corners of his mouth again. “One small skinny vanilla latte coming up—unless you want a different drink today?”

Hesitating, she gave the room one more survey . . . then slid her umbrella into the stand by the door. “No. That’s fine.”

She was staying.

First hurdle cleared.

“Can I have a name for the order?” He picked up a cup and a pen.

Silence.

He arched his eyebrows at her.

“Uh . . . Kat. With a K.” She eased away, toward a deserted table in the far corner.

Second hurdle cleared.

“Got it.” He jotted the name. “I’ll have this ready in a couple of minutes.”

She nodded and continued to the table—out of conversation range.

Blast.

Thwarted at the third hurdle.

He wasn’t going to find out anything else about her.

But what did it matter? Just because he was beginning to crave feminine companionship—and the pool of eligible women in town was limited—didn’t mean he should get any ideas about the first single, attractive woman who walked in.

Yeah, yeah, he’d noticed the empty fourth finger on her left hand.

He mixed the espresso and vanilla syrup together, positioned the steam nozzle below the surface of the milk until the liquid bubbled, then dipped deeper to create a whirlpool motion.

Charley wandered over while Bren prepared his café de olla, watching as Zach poured the milk into the espresso mixture, holding back the foam with a spoon to create a stylized K on top of the drink. “Beautiful. You have an artistic touch.”

“Nothing like yours.” He set the empty frothing pitcher aside and reached for a lid as he signaled to the woman in the corner. “I wish my coffee sold for a fraction of what your paintings bring in.”