The Tessa Randolph Collection, Books 1-3 by Paula Lester (best ereader for comics .txt) 📗

of dry kitchen heat smack her in the face. Going through the front was much nicer. More human.

Frank’s Bar and Grill was the quintessential neighborhood spot. Its log construction and hand-carved wooden bar were both rugged and quaint. Frank had inherited the place from his father, which made it easier for him to turn a profit—he didn’t have a mortgage, so the overhead was limited to payroll, maintenance, and supplies.

Still, Frank was a decent businessman. The place was always bustling. There were pool tables and dart boards. Big flatscreen TVs lined the walls beside the bar. And he served both domestic and craft brews on draught, so the place drew in crowds of all variety.

Tessa stopped in the doorway to look around and get her bearings. A large folding sign in the small lobby proclaimed the place to be closed for a special event. At the bottom, it said RIP Chet Sanborn. She peeked through the doorway. Several people were bunched around the bar, but it wasn’t nearly as busy as a normal Friday night. Plus, it was quieter, more subdued, than the weekend crowd would be.

Mary Sanborn stood near the back of the room, near a long table loaded with food, talking to an older couple. She held two elementary-age kids to her sides, but the children’s eyes darted around as though they wanted to run off and get into some mischief.

“Well, well. Look who’s here.”

Tessa winced and turned to face Frank.

Crud!

She’d really thought he wouldn’t be there. But there he was—all six feet and four inches of him, looking as handsome as ever. He wore black pants and a shirt that looked tailored for him, but Tessa knew he bought them off the rack at Maverick’s Big & Tall on Main Street. He was lucky to be proportioned just right for non-tailored clothes, even if he did have to go to the ritzy shop.

Frank’s grandparents had come over from Sicily, and he had distinctly Italian features, including thick, curly black hair and olive skin. He grinned, and her heart did a strange little dance. Traitor!

“Yeah,” she said meekly. “I came for Mr. Sanborn’s wake. He was my neighbor. Remember?”

She purposely removed her gaze from Frank’s appealing physique and placed it back on the wake-goers. She cursed herself for ending with a question, as if she wanted to talk to Frank—as if she wanted him to remember anything about their relationship.

“I, uh, yeah. I remember.”

Tessa didn’t see Chet’s spirit anywhere. If he did show, she thought he’d be hanging around near Mary or the children.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Frank didn’t sound sorry. “But I’m glad to see you.” He stepped closer.

Alarm bells started going off in Tessa’s mind. What’s he doing? He was within what most Americans would consider their personal space bubble. She stepped back an equivalent amount of space and narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You know, it’s been weird around here without you.” Another step forward. “Weird not having you hang out at my apartment too. I miss you.”

Tessa stepped back again but jumped as her spine hit the maitre d’s lectern.

Trapped.

For a second, she wavered. Maybe being pursued by a handsome man who missed her wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe Frank had learned his lesson and would treat her more like Tessa’s dad had treated her mom if she took him back and less like a king treats the chamber maid.

“I miss you, baby.”

That word. It snapped her wholeheartedly back to reality. Tessa shook her head to clear it out. No way. Frank had missed his chance. He might be feeling nostalgic and acting charming now, but she knew from experience he’d be back to his old ways in no time flat.

She considered using some of the skills she’d learned in the jujitsu class she took the previous summer to get Frank out of her space. But it was one class, and she barely remembered it. She decided to take a more civilized approach. “Aw, that’s a nice thing to say, Frankie. Hey, does that mean you’ve got that check ready—you know, the one you owe me with all that back pay?”

Irritation flitted across his face.

Bingo. She’d been right. Frank hadn’t changed, and he wasn’t going to. He was the same old user he’d always been.

He stepped back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t owe you a red cent.” He turned and nodded toward the expediting window. “It looks like Louie needs me at the kitchen. Gotta run.”

As Tessa watched him hightail it to the kitchen, she sighed in relief. It felt like she’d dodged a major bad choice. There was no doubt in her mind she was better off without Frank.

After taking a minute to gather herself, Tessa stepped into the restaurant’s main room. Mary and the kids were getting food at the buffet.

Another scan of the room for Chet’s spirit turned up nothing. But her gaze did land on someone she knew. Ricardo Vidale. He sat on a barstool, back to the bar as he drank a beer and surveyed the room. His toupee looked the best she’d ever seen it, as though he’d washed and combed it for the wake. He spotted Tessa before she could dart into the crowd and waved her over.

Reluctantly, Tessa approached him, forcing a smile onto her face. “Hey, there. How are you?”

He lifted the beer. “Just fine now that I have this in my hand.”

Tessa thought she might need something too—if this conversation wasn’t quick.

He looked her up and down, creepy as always. “It’s good to see you in here again, even if you aren’t serving my burger.”

“With an extra pickle!”

He smiled, and she thought he really shouldn’t.

“It does feel kind of weird to be in here and not rushing around taking orders.”

“How about I buy you a beer?” Ricardo suggested. “You know, for old time’s sake. Or, how about for Chet. That jerk can’t drink anymore, so we might as well have one or two for him.”

Tessa opened her