Free Blame It on Paradise by Crystal Hubbard Page B

stuff. That got me thinking. Most of the knuckleheads are gone, but you’re still here. Why?” She answered herself. “You’re after the recipes for my muffins, that’s why! You’ve had my muffins every day since you got here, and you seemed awfully fidgety when you were at my place yesterday. You would have stolen them right out of my kitchen, wouldn’t you, if I had turned my back long—”
    “For God’s sake, Levora, this is only my third day here, and they’re good muffins,” Jack interjected. He’d devoured three of Levora’s muffins—the coconut-lime, lemon-ginger and kiwi-banana—between rounds on the floor and in the lagoon with Lina. “I didn’t know that I should have asked your permission before I ate them. They come to my cottage every day. I thought they were part of the owner’s hospitality.”
    Levora stared into his eyes. “You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”
    “Yes. My name—my real name—is Jackson DeVoy. I work out of Boston.” He looked at his watch again and swore under his breath.
    Levora’s forehead wrinkled in suspicion. “Are you with Iggy’s Bread of the World?”
    “Whose bread of the what?”
    “Iggy’s. My daughter’s up in school in Massachusetts. Iggy’s is the only baking company in Boston I can think of that would be interested in my recipes. Or even good enough to duplicate them.”
    Jack started walking toward the Marchand Building. “I’m not here for your recipes, although I can truly understand why someone would try to steal them. I’m not in the food industry.”
    Levora grabbed his briefcase, stopping him once more. “My business partner would never sell my recipes without my consent, Jack. Remember that when you’re in your important meeting at the Marchand factory. I don’t appreciate some big-headed American lawyer trying to wrangle a deal behind my back.”
    Jack tried to tug his briefcase from her grip. “I’m not here to steal your muffins, Levora. I promise.”
    “You wouldn’t lie to me about this, would you?”
    “No,” issued from between his gritted teeth.
    “But you’re a lawyer,” she argued, tightening her hold.
    “I’m really good at what I do, Levora. I don’t have to lie to get what I want.”
    “Well, then…okay.” She still sounded unsure. But to Jack’s relief, she released his briefcase.
    He gave her a quick smile and fell into a brisk stride. A moment later, Levora caught the tail of his jacket, pulling him up short. “If I ever wanted to sell my recipes, and I’m not saying I do, mind you, could you represent me?”
    “Levora, I promise I’ll do anything you want if you’ll just let me go. Deal?”
    The instant she freed him, he raced off.
    Levora formed a megaphone with her hands and hollered after him. “I’m holding you to your promise, Jack!”
    * * *
    Lina shook beads of water from a bouquet of fresh Dickson roses before placing the heavy mauve blossoms in the straw basket slung over her left arm. She thanked the florist before leaving his stall and merging into the flow of foot traffic passing through the marketplace. Stalls and kiosks filled with fresh produce, baked goods, handmade crafts, clothing and souvenirs lined the center of Main Street in the town center. A slow-moving river of pedestrians ambled in opposite directions on either side of the outdoor market, which competed for tourist dollars with the shops, cafes and restaurants in the permanent structures lining Main Street.
    Lina was ready to leave the town center to stop by Levora’s when, through the swarm of tourists, she spied her newest favorite face at an outdoor café. Jack sat alone at a small wrought-iron table, a notebook computer opened before him. He sat back in his chair and looked off to one side as he spoke into a cell phone the size of a credit card. His tie had been loosened, his top button undone and he looked like he was wilting within his gray wool suit. But for the staccato movements of his lips as he spoke into the