The guy from the taco stand ambled toward her, smiling. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you talking to Jack and wanted to welcome you to our charming town. I’m Charley Lopez—better known in Hope Harbor as the taco man.” He extended a hand as he inclined his head toward the white food trailer, where his first name was emblazoned in colorful letters above the now-closed serving window.

She rubbed her palm on her jeans and returned his warm clasp. “Thanks, but I’m just passing through.”

“Sorry to hear that. This is a wonderful, welcoming community. How long are you planning to stay?”

Excellent question.

If she could, she’d leave this minute. But fatigue was turning her mind—and her muscles—to mush after her marathon drive from Dallas. Before she hit the road again, she needed a cheap place to crash and a decent meal. Perhaps sleep and food would clear the muddle from her brain.

“I guess I’ll be here until tomorrow.”

“If you don’t have accommodations lined up yet, may I suggest the Gull Motel?” He motioned up the hill above the harbor. “Nothing fancy but clean and easy on the pocketbook. And if you want to take in a fantastic view while you’re here, I’d recommend Pelican Point lighthouse.” He swept a hand the other direction, toward the sea. “You can’t miss the road to the point. It’s a few minutes up Highway 101. On a clear day like this, you should be able to see for miles. It’s a terrific spot for thinking . . . or sorting through problems.”

Christi scrutinized him. His tone was conversational, but warmth and caring radiated from his insightful dark brown eyes. Almost as if he was aware she was searching for guidance.

Get a grip, Christi. You’re reading far too much into this exchange. The man is being friendly, nothing more.

She forced up the corners of her mouth. “Thanks for the recommendations.”

“My pleasure.” He lifted a brown bag like the kind Jack had been toting. This one was also emitting a heavenly aroma. “I have an extra order of tacos that could use a home. Can I convince you to take them off my hands?”

Her nose twitched as he swung the bag back and forth. Tempting—but the peanut butter crackers in the car would have to suffice for dinner. The balance in her bank account was in the danger zone, and takeout food could be expensive.

“Um . . . I have snacks in my car.”

A fan of lines appeared in the weathered skin at the corners of the man’s eyes. “Not as tasty as my tacos, I bet.”

No question about it, given the delectable aroma that had jump-started her salivary glands.

“How much are they?”

“First order is always on the house.”

She did a double take. “You give free tacos to everyone who passes through?”