Free 02_The Hero Next Door by Irene Hannon Page A

after my tea guests leave. We’ll also build in some beach time and do other fun things, if you want to. The last part’s your choice. The first part isn’t.”
    She saw the sudden stubborn jut of his jaw and braced herself. She’d expected him to balk—and she was prepared.
    “What if I don’t want to do any of that?”
    She closed the distance between them and folded her arms across her chest. “Then I am going to shadow you twenty-four-seven.”
    His mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”
    “Just what I said. I’m going to stick so close to you that you won’t be able to breathe without smelling my shampoo.”
    “You can’t do that. You have to run this tea place.”
    “I have an assistant. And Edith will fill in for me if necessary.”
    His eyes narrowed, assessing her. She didn’t blink—but she hoped he wouldn’t call her bluff. The truth was, she did have to run the tearoom. While she could get Edith to help out for a day or two if Brian balked and she had to actually implement her plan, she was counting on him getting so sick of her hovering that he’d fall in line within the first twenty-four hours.
    When the rigid line of his shoulders eased a fraction, she knew she’d won.
    “This stinks.”
    “We’ve had that conversation before.” Relief coursed throughher, and she stepped aside, motioning him into the room. “Get started in here. And be downstairs at noon for lunch.”
    He folded his arms across his chest and didn’t move.
    Heather shrugged. “Start when you like. But I want this place cleaned up by the end of the day. The dust mop and vacuum are in the hall closet.”
    With that, she walked down the hall and descended the steps, hoping she appeared strong and in control.
    But on the inside she was a quivering mass of nerves.
    Because if the tough love she’d just applied didn’t do the trick, she had no idea what to try next.
     
     
    Eight hours later, Heather was feeling better about things. She’d heard the vacuum rev up around noon, and Brian had shown up for lunch. He hadn’t deigned to talk with her as he’d wolfed down a turkey sandwich, but he’d been there. The last tea guests had departed, and he’d come when she’d called him. Julie had had to dash off for a dentist appointment, so Heather had dispatched Brian to bus the remaining tables in the twin parlors.
    As she wiped off the stainless-steel prep station in the middle of the kitchen, he pushed through the swinging door, carrying a tray with a dozen teacups and saucers on it.
    “You can put that here, Brian.” She indicated the prep station and turned toward the sink.
    Silence met her instruction, and she looked over her shoulder. As she watched, he held the tray out and very deliberately dropped it to the floor. The delicate teacups and saucers, each one of a kind from the collection she and her mother had amassed, shattered on the tile floor.
    “Oops.” He gave her a defiant smirk.
    Shock reverberated through Heather, followed by a shaft of pain. Closing the distance between them, she dropped to one knee, picked up one of the larger shards and cradled it in herhand. It was the edge of the gilded scalloped cup given to her and her mother by one of their regular customers, an older woman who had become a close friend. Purchased for them in a tiny Cotswold antique store during a trip to England, it had been her way of saying thank-you for the many pleasant hours she’d spent at The Devon Rose. Every cup had a story like that, which Heather often told to her patrons as she served them.
    Now a dozen of them were gone.
    Tears blinded her, fueled by grief and anger. Such destructive behavior was outside her realm of experience.
    “Go upstairs.” She choked out the words.
    Silence.
    “I said go upstairs. ”
    “Aunt Heather, I…”
    She lifted her face, and Brian stopped speaking. For the first time since his arrival, he looked uncertain. And more like the little boy she’d once caught stealing a cookie