“It looks good,” I said, touching the freshly painted trim. I wiped my hands surreptitiously on my jeans and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

Nathan inspected the new countertop and ran his fingers over it. “The firemen said it was faulty wiring and I wasn’t going to tell him that a crazy witch was actually responsible for the fire. Insurance covered the remodel. It’ll be a shame to leave. This place looks better than it did when I first bought it. Maybe I should send Dahlia a thank-you card.”

A lump rose in my throat at the thought of him leaving. He was the only friend I had in the city. “You’re leaving?”

Nathan nodded. “I’ve been here fifteen years, Carrie. My customers are starting to comment on how well I’ve aged. It’s one of the first signs that I need to go. That, and someone called offering to teach power yoga in the back room. Power yoga. I don’t think I have the strength to put in another decade here.”

“Where will you go?” I asked, willing myself to sound casual. “Back to Scotland?”

“No, not there. I haven’t given it much thought.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Why? Are you going to miss me?”

“Ha, ha.” I tried to change the subject. “What do we have to do to set up this meeting? Do we need coffee and doughnuts?”

He smiled, a little wickedly, in my opinion. “How’s your arm?”

I lifted it uncertainly. It was sore, but practically healed. “It’s okay. Why?”

“We need chairs.” He opened the storage room door and slid out a cart of folding chairs. “Get unfolding.”

“Yes, sir,” I said with a mock salute. “So, are they going to go ballistic when they realize I’m not a part of the club?”

“Maybe.” He dropped a chair into place. “If anyone gives you a hard time, send them to me.”

“Ooh, big man.”

“You have no idea.” The devilish grin that formed on his face eased some of the anxiety I felt. The comment, however, renewed the spark of another kind of tension I’d almost forgotten existed between us. I nearly dropped the chair I held.

The bells above the door jingled. They’d melted in the fire, so rather than merrily announcing the entrance of a customer, they sounded like the arrival of a satanic ice-cream truck.

Two men entered. Though they were dressed in casual clothes, they projected an aura of menace.

Nathan was unperturbed as he hurried to greet them. “Alex, Gary! Get rested up?”

They didn’t respond. They were too busy staring at me. I wondered if maybe I had said something under my breath.

Alex spoke first. He was tall and dark-skinned, with a shaved head. “What’s she doing here?”

Unfazed by the man’s gruff demeanor, Nathan motioned me forward. “This is Dr. Carrie Ames.”

“Hi.” I extended my hand, hoping it didn’t shake.

Alex didn’t take it. But Gary shook my hand readily.

“Pleased to meet you.” He had dark hair, olive skin and a Texan drawl. And he didn’t appear to hate me outright, which scored big points in my book.