The coffee poured out of the machine in a rich, dark flow, filling the store with its aroma. “Here you go, one double espresso.”
Luke walked over and perched on a stool at the counter. He downed a large gulp of the piping hot coffee, closed his eyes, and let out a satisfied sigh. “Ah, that hits the spot. You make a mean coffee, Tyler.”
Again, that disconcerting burst of satisfaction at his praise. Chloe ran up to show Luke her drawing, and Tyler took the opportunity to wipe the counter and settle herself down.
The door swung open, and Fiona from the bookshop across the street came in. She was one of their regular coffee customers, but she wasn’t one of Tyler’s favorite people. Fiona had a degree in English literature, a fact she dropped into conversation often, as if to emphasize she wasn’t only a bookseller. As she walked toward the counter, Chloe dashed back to her table, narrowly avoiding Fiona, and the woman darted a sour glance at the little girl. Last month, Chloe had damaged a couple of children’s books in Fiona’s bookshop, and even though Tyler had paid for them, it seemed the bookseller hadn’t yet forgiven the girl.
Still, a customer was a customer. Tyler put on cheerful voice as she said, “Hi, Fiona. Your usual soy milk cappuccino?”
“Yes, please.” Fiona stopped at the counter, looked at Luke, and did an almost comical double take.
Luke, having just taken a gulp of coffee, nodded at her. Fiona gaped at him, a crimson blush spotting her cheeks as her mouth flapped open and shut like a goldfish. “E-excuse m-me, but aren’t you Luke Maguire?”
Tyler glanced back at Luke as a resigned, hunted expression flickered across his face. “Yes, that’s me,” he admitted, slowly lowering his cup.
Fiona pushed forward, face flushed, eyes devouring him. “Oh, I can’t believe it! Luke Maguire, right here in Burronga. Luke Maguire!” Without warning, she grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down energetically. “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness. I think I’m going to faint. I’m Fiona Macintosh, by the way, and I’m a huge, huge fan of your work. Literature has always been my passion. In fact, I studied English Literature at your alma mater, Sydney University. This is such an honor. Oh, you have no idea.”
Tyler frowned. Fiona was gushing like a fire hydrant. Was Luke more famous than he’d let on? She turned to him. “Someone knows who you are.”
Luke toyed with his coffee cup, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah, it appears Fiona has read my book.”
“You mean the Kingsley Jacobs book?”
“Kingsley Jeffers,” Fiona hissed at Tyler. “The book’s called Kingsley Jeffers’s Journey.” She swiveled back to Luke, her tone returning to oily. “It’s a masterpiece. Pure genius. I’ve read all your earlier works, too. Your short stories—marvelous.”
“So Luke’s book is a bit of a hit, is it?” Tyler directed her question to Fiona.
The woman gaped at Tyler. “A bit of a hit? It’s been a New York Times bestseller for weeks. Luke’s been on The Today Show, the one in the U.S.,” she emphasized. “He’s been voted one of the best young writers in Australia. I’d say he’s more than a bit of a hit.”
Tyler swallowed down the retort rising to her lips, but her blood pressure remained high. As annoyed as she was with Fiona, she was also miffed with Luke. In the car, she’d assumed he was a struggling, obscure writer, and he hadn’t bothered to set her straight. Not because he was too modest—in her limited experience, she already knew Luke had more than enough self-assurance. So why? Because he enjoyed snickering at her ignorance behind her back? She shot a frown in his direction, but his expression was shuttered, as if he didn’t want to talk about himself.
As Tyler returned to the espresso machine, Fiona plumped herself on the stool next to Luke, looking like she wouldn’t budge all day.
“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you working on the sequel to Kingsley Jeffers’s Journey? I’m dying to know what happens to him. I read somewhere that your next book is due out very soon. I can’t wait. Do you know when it’ll be published?”
Luke stared down at his empty cup. “I’m sorry, but I never discuss my current work-in-progress. It’s just how I am.”
“Oh, of course. I totally understand how the author’s mind works. I’ve done a bit of writing myself, you know.” Fiona preened the tips of her hair. “I wrote a piece of fiction involving Ada Lovelace while I was completing my master’s degree in literature.” Tyler rolled her eyes, but Fiona forged on, unchecked. “It was shortlisted in a competition, and one of the judges said it was good enough for publication.” She tilted her head. “I wonder if perhaps you mightoh no, I couldn’t possibly impose on you”
Luke pushed to his feet, digging into the pocket of his jeans. “How much do I owe you for the coffee?” he asked Tyler with a hint of desperation.
“Nothing. I told you it’s on the house.”
“Oh, right. Thanks. I’d better be on my way. I’ve got a few things to buy.” He began to edge past Fiona, but she touched him on the arm, forestalling him.
“Mr. Maguire”
“Please, call me Luke,” he said stiffly.
Fiona gave him a syrupy smirk. “Luke, are you staying in town?”
“For a few weeks.”
“Oh, perfect! I own the bookstore across the street, and I was wondering if you could do a reading there one night. It would be such an honor. You have so many fans here in Burronga.”
The trapped expression on Luke’s face intensified. “I don’t really have the time to spare—”
“Oh, not even half an hour? I promise it won’t be more than that. After all, you’ve done readings in New York and San Francisco and Sydney. This is practically your hometown. Can’t you see your way at all?” Fiona simpered at him until she was practically bug-eyed.
“Well”
Before he could continue, Fiona clapped her hands. “Excellent! I knew you’d say yes. How about next Thursday at six?”
Luke backed away, hunting for his car keys. “I’ve got some errands to run right now. Why don’t I give you a call later?”
“Fantastic!” Fiona produced a business card from her purse and pressed it into Luke’s hand, her fingers clinging to him for way too long. “Here are all my details,” she breathed. “Call me anytime.”
Nodding and pulling himself free, he glanced toward Tyler. “Thanks for the coffee. See you later.”
“Fantastic meeting you! Looking forward to your reading!” Fiona continued to coo after him even as he made a fast exit out the store.
Tyler watched as he jumped into his car and pulled off like he’d just robbed a bank. She didn’t blame him. Fiona in full bore was about as stoppable as a tornado.
“Oh, isn’t he something else?” Fiona grabbed a paper napkin and fanned herself. “Luke Maguire, mmm, the thinking woman’s crumpet.”
Not just “thinking” women, Tyler thought. He was any woman’s crumpet. Pity Fiona was one of them. There was something off-putting about the woman’s flushed cheeks and sly leer. But hang on; hadn’t she herself been admiring Luke’s butt not five minutes ago? Damn, she was just as bad as Fiona. Holding her silence, Tyler pushed the takeaway cappuccino toward the other woman.
Fiona seemed in no rush to get back to her bookstore. “Did you see that Range Rover he was driving?” she said, leaning her elbow on the counter as she sipped her coffee. “He’s not short of money.”
“Oh?” On the ride into town, Tyler had been too engrossed with other things to notice Luke’s car, but now she recalled its shiny paintwork, plush interior, and unmistakable new-call smell. That Range Rover must have cost a bomb.
“He’s sold millions of books, and his advance for the sequel is six figures. That’s a lot of money,” Fiona added, as if Tyler needed clarification.
Tyler pressed her lips together. Not because of Fiona’s presumption, but because the idea of Luke being a wealthy man jarred with her. She liked it better when she’d thought he was a hard-up writer. Having money changed things. She didn’t know why; it just did.
“I didn’t realize he was so famous,” Tyler said.
“Well, maybe you should try reading something more challenging once in a while. I have a list of recommended books if you’re ever interested.”
Tyler drew in a breath. “More challenging?”
Fiona turned red. “Oh, I just meant you probably don’t have much time to read what with your child and your jewelry making and everything,” she hurriedly said. “I didn’t mean to imply your reading tastes are inferior. Goodness me, my bookstore caters to all preferences. I simply meant that Luke Maguire’s work is probably very different from what you’re used to, that’s all.”
Fiona’s clumsy apology was as limp as week-old lettuce, but Tyler didn’t feel like continuing the argument. Truth was, when she did have time to read, she preferred paranormal romances, where she could forget her everyday worries.
“I take it there aren’t any vampires or werewolves in this Kingston Jeffers’s Journey book of Luke’s?” she asked.