All at once, the skies opened, and the woman hustled to take shelter under the small awning above the door. “Would you hold this for me?” She extended the tray.

Christi joined her under the protective cover and took the cardboard carrier.

The woman extracted her key from her purse, slid it into the lock, and pushed the door open. “Give me a minute to flip on the lights.”

Rather than stand in the doorway, Christi followed her in, stopping a few feet inside to survey the eclectic but tasteful interior. The shop appeared to be a combination art gallery and high-end handcraft boutique. A number of paintings were displayed on the walls, and shelves and cases contained jewelry, art glass, ceramics, leather goods, dried flower arrangements, woven items, candles, handmade greeting cards—and much more.

The owner rejoined her and took the tray. “I should have introduced myself sooner. Pardon my etiquette blunder, but I was more interested in getting out of the rain. Beth Adams. I’d shake your hand, but mine are occupied. We haven’t met, have we?”

“No. I only arrived last night. Christi Reece.”

“A pleasure to meet you. I know you aren’t interested in the job, but I have a caramel latte that will go to waste if you don’t drink it.” Beth touched the lid on one of the cups.

Caramel latte? Her favorite?

Strange coincidence—and doubly hard to resist.

“I have to admit that’s my favorite splurge coffee drink.”

“Then my order was inspired. I’ll have to thank Zach at The Perfect Blend for his suggestion.” Beth tilted her head toward the counter. “There are two stools back there. Shall we sit?” Without waiting for a reply, she toted the tray that direction.

Christi followed a few paces behind, slowing to scan the business cards in the holder beside the register. Clever name for a shop—and Eye of the Beholder fit. With its wide array of artsy merchandise, anyone should be able to find an object of beauty here to suit their taste.

“I like your shop.” She slid onto one of the stools behind the counter while Beth passed her a napkin.

“Thank you.” The owner split the paper bag to reveal two delicious-looking treats and fished a plastic knife from a drawer. After cutting the loaf cake into fourths, she broke the heart-shaped cookie in half. “All of the products are from Oregon, many of them local—like our pastries here. The cranberry nut cake is a Harbor Point Cranberry Farm specialty, and the shortbread is from Bayview Lavender Farm. Help yourself.” Beth sat and picked up a piece of the cranberry cake.

Since rain continued to pummel the sidewalk out front, her car was parked two blocks away on the wharf, and she did not want her cold to relapse, she might as well enjoy this brief delay in tackling the long drive south.