Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(14)

A command rather than an invitation. But she found herself obeying. Setting her weekend bag on the floor, she took the bench opposite his. As she straightened, she noticed his gaze moving over her in a quick, efficient sweep. She was dressed in slim jeans, a white T-shirt, and a cropped black jacket.

“You look different,” he said.

“It’s my hair.” Self-consciously, Maggie combed her fingers through a few long, straight locks. “I flat-iron it whenever I go to visit my family. Otherwise my brothers make fun of it, tug it…I’m the only one in the family with curly hair. I’m just praying it doesn’t rain. As soon as it gets wet—” She made a gesture that mimicked an explosion.

“I like it both ways.” The compliment was delivered with a grave sincerity that Maggie found a thousand times more charming than flirtatiousness.

“Thank you. How’s Holly?”

“Still talking. More all the time.” He paused. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you the other day. What you did for Holly…”

“Oh, it was nothing. I mean, I didn’t really do anything.”

“It meant a lot to us.” His gaze locked on hers. “What are you and your family doing this weekend?”

“We’re just going to hang out. Cook, eat, drink…my parents have a big old house in Edgemoor, and about a million grandchildren. I have seven brothers and sisters.”

“You’re the youngest,” he said.

“Second youngest.” She gave a disconcerted laugh. “Close enough. How did you guess?”

“You’re outgoing. You smile a lot.”

“What are you? Oldest? Middle?”

“Oldest.”

Maggie studied him frankly. “Which means you like to make the rules, you’re dependable…but sometimes you can be a know-it-all.”

“I’m right most of the time,” he admitted modestly.

A laugh rustled in her throat.

“Why did you open a toy store on the island?” he asked.

“It was sort of a natural segue. I used to paint children’s furniture. That was how I met my husband. He had an unfinished furniture factory where I bought some of my stuff—little table-and-chair sets, bed frames—but after we got married I stopped painting for a while, because of his…you know, the cancer. And when I started working again, I wanted to try something different. Something fun.”

When she saw that he was about to ask something else, possibly about Eddie, she forestalled him by asking quickly, “What do you do?”

“I have a coffee-roasting business.”

“Like a home-based business, or—”

“I’ve got two partners, and a facility in Friday Harbor. We have a big industrial roaster that can produce about a hundred pounds per hour. We have about a half-dozen roast profiles we sell under our own name, but we’ve also come up with a few different lines for outlets on the island as well as Seattle, Lynnwood…and a restaurant in Bellingham, actually.”

“Really? What’s the name?”

“A vegetarian place called Garden Variety.”

“I love that place! But I’ve never tried the coffee.”

“Why not?”

“I gave it up a few years ago, after reading an article that said it wasn’t good for you.”

“It’s practically a health tonic,” Mark said indignantly. “Full of antioxidants and phytochemicals. It reduces your risk of certain kinds of cancer. Did you know that the word ‘coffee’ comes from an Arabic phrase that translates to ‘wine of the bean’?”

“I didn’t know that,” Maggie said, smiling. “You take your coffee seriously, don’t you?”

“Every morning,” he replied, “I run to the coffeemaker like a soldier returning to a lost love after the war.”

Maggie grinned, thinking what a wonderful voice he had, low but penetrating. “When did you start drinking it?”

“High school. I was studying for an exam. I tried my first cup of coffee because I thought it would help me stay awake.”

“What do you like most about it? The taste? The caffeine?”

“I like starting the day with news and Jamaica Blue Mountain. I like having a cup in the afternoon while complaining about the Mariners or the Seahawks. I like knowing that in one cup of coffee, you’re getting flavors from places most of us will never see. The Tanzanian foothills of Kilimanjaro…the Indonesian islands…Colombia, Ethiopia, Brazil, Cameroon…I like it that a truck driver can have just as good a cup of coffee as a millionaire. But most of all I like the ritual. It brings friends together, it’s the perfect ending to dinner…and on occasion it can tempt a beautiful woman to come up to your apartment.”

“That has nothing to do with coffee. You could tempt a woman with a glass of tap water.” An instant later, eyes widening, Maggie covered her mouth with her hand. “I don’t know why I said that,” she said through the screen of her fingers, mortified and marveling.

Their gazes met for an electric moment. And then a smile touched his lips, and Maggie felt her heart give a hard extra thump.

Mark shook his head to indicate that it was no problem. “I was forewarned.” He gestured to their surroundings. “Transportation makes you lose your inhibitions.”