Santa Barbara for their business. Some were towed into the maintenance hangar for work needed, and others simply used the airport as a fuel stop and moved on.
But as they typically did every morning before their day began, the staff and crew gathered at the counter of the Sunshine Café, mooching coffee from Charlene, standing around for the early-morning gossip session.
Mel, who was usually first into the airport, stood in the middle of it now, sucking down caffeine, humming an old Ratt song, which was coming from the ever-faithful boom box. Dimi was nowhere in sight, as usual. The woman was going to be late to her own funeral.
Ritchie was the front lineman today, and Kellan the rear, both inhaling donuts along with Danny and Ernest. Ritchie was talking, using his hands, his big gestures matching the grin on his face. “…And then I said, if you won’t dress like a Victoria’s Secret model, then don’t expect me to act like a soap opera guy—”
Kellan laughed. “Oh, yeah, I bet that got you laid.”
“Hey, I was just being honest.” Ritchie looked at the others. “It’s best to be honest. Right?”
The ones with a penis vehemently shook their heads.
Mel sighed. “More donuts,” she said to Char. “We need more donuts.”
“Got ’em.” Charlene came forward to plop down a tray, and it was like feeding piranhas, hands moved that fast. Mel managed to fight her way in and get a cinnamon twist, and had just taken a heavenly bite when Al nudged her. “So what’s up with that Bo guy?”
Mel choked on a bite. “Um…What do you mean?”
“Just wondering why he’s hanging around.”
Everyone looked at her, interested. Of course they were, it was her own business, which made it front-page news.
Where the hell was Dimi? Mel thought frantically. Dimi would lick the sugar off her fingers or something and suitably distract attention away from this issue. Mel glanced at Ernest, the only person here who’d been around when Eddie and Bo had shown up the first time all those years ago, but he was looking right back at her, no expression.
Was it possible Ernest didn’t remember Bo? “Bo’s an old acquaintance,” she finally said, hoping they’d all leave it at that. “And I’m letting him use some office space.”
“What’s the story with you two?” Danny asked, perceptive as always.
“No story,” she said. “There’s no story.”
The entire staff shot her a collective gaze that told her she’d have to do better. But until she heard back about the deed—and how it was falsified—she wasn’t saying a word.
“Is this guy hassling you or something?” This from Kellan, with all the toughness his twenty-one years afforded him. He set down his donut and puffed up a bit. “Cuz I can talk to him for ya.”
“Me, too,” Ritchie said, now also resembling a puffer fish.
Silly. Stupidly male.
But they meant it. Everyone else nodded, too, and Mel’s throat went tight. These guys, her friends, her family, would do anything for her. Anything except the one thing she needed: turn back time. “No one’s hassling me,” she said. “He’s just…visiting.” She tried to smile reassuringly but suddenly the whole thing felt like a big, fat elephant sitting on her shoulder.
“You sure?” Danny asked her quietly, watching her with those steady eyes. “Because I have a weird feeling you’re not telling us everything.”
If he only knew…But they weren’t going to let it go. Of course they weren’t going to let it go, that would have been easy. So what could she say? Look guys, he’s saying Sally screwed us years ago and I never knew it. He’s holding the deed and none of us are safe. She couldn’t say those things, not until she knew for sure. Should she say that he was a friend? Or how about an ex? “He’s an ex,” she tried.
“Of Dimi’s?” Char asked in surprise, because of course Mel wouldn’t have an ex.
Yeah, they’d buy Bo being Dimi’s ex, since Dimi had dated just about every single guy in California. And also in Nevada. And Arizona. Why not Australia, too?
Beside her, Danny went utterly, unhappily still. And damn it, she just couldn’t do it.
“Actually, he’s my ex,” she said on a pained sigh.
Charlene’s jaw dropped. “Yours? But…”
“But you never even date,” Al finished for his wife.
“Hey, I do so, just…just not very often.”
“So what happened?” Char asked. “Because damn, girl, he’s hot.” She caught Al’s long look. “Well, he is.”
“We didn’t work out, that’s all. He…” Mel wracked her brain for a plausible reason to have dumped Bo, and caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Her heart kicked hard.
Bo himself.
Was he also enjoying her discomfort? Oh, yeah, no doubt. “He, uh, had this habit.”
“Drugs?” Charlene whispered, horrified.
Mel couldn’t see Bo’s face, but felt the heat of his silent challenge. She squirmed but reminded herself that really, this was all his fault. “He hummed during sex.”
Silence.
“I could have lived with that,” Charlene finally said.
“Yeah, Mel, that’s not nearly a good enough reason to dump a guy,” Ritchie told her.
Bo came to a stop right behind Mel, and everyone’s eyes widened. Cornered, she pretended not to see him, and did as she always did with her back to the wall—came out swinging. “He also had a teeny, tiny—”
Bo cleared his throat. She knew he’d leaned in close because she could smell him, some complicated mix of soap and man, and then he said silkily in her ear, “You want to start telling secrets now? Really?”
No. No, she didn’t. Unable to pretend any longer, she turned. Damn it, Char was right. He was hot. Very hot. He stood there wearing a pair of faded-to-perfection Levi’s and a soft-looking chambray blue button-down, opened over a white tee. Same boots as yesterday. Her heart bumped involuntarily against her ribs, both irritating and a little embarrassing. He still hadn’t shaved, which created the thought before she could stop it: what would that rough jaw feel like scraping over her skin?
She didn’t care! she reminded herself. He was the equivalent of the big bad wolf, here to blow down her house of straw. His hair, wavy to just past his collar, was doing its own thing today, which meant a long lock fell over his forehead. She supposed most would say the color of the strands was brown but there was blond and red in it, too. A lion’s pelt. She figured Bo would enjoy that analogy. He certainly had the watchful ways for such a comparison, and a graceful, easy way of moving that utterly belied how in control he was at all times. His eyes, as they landed on hers, were clear and fathomless as the sea, giving nothing away, except maybe
