Once Upon a Marriage by Tara Taylor Quinn

have anyway. She was a stickler for cleaning up her own messes.
    He’d be fourth in line. Nancy could wait on him. Eva would be on the counter by then, making the drinks. And she’d have the flush out of her face enough to smile and say hello.
    Maybe even go out front and talk with him for a few. Like old times. A week ago. A month ago. When he’d been a person she was compelled to spend time with, enjoyed talking to, a person who was easy for her to talk to, not like now, when first and foremost he was...a man.
    â€œMarie.” She was bent over, staring at the floor, corralling cream into the paper towel, when she heard Elliott’s voice above her head. Glancing up, she saw his face, almost right on top of hers.
    Only Elliott would have been able to lean over quite that far. For him it wasn’t even a stretch.
    Absurd thought. She smiled. “Yeah?”
    â€œWe need to talk. Liam and Gabrielle are waiting upstairs as soon as you’re free to get away.”
    They were in the middle of their Saturday morning rush. “Is it an emergency?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œCan you give me an hour or so?” She mopped cream, glancing up at him.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œThanks.” Marie didn’t look at him again. Didn’t need another rush of the wonderful feeling that swept over her when his eyes connected with hers. Didn’t need any more complications, period. She threw away the paper towel. Cleaned the area with disinfectant to make certain there’d be no residual sour smell greeting them in the near future. And stood, with her back to the room, to survey the list of tickets waiting to be filled.
    Making coffee was something she was good at. Something she enjoyed. It wasn’t about measured grounds, water and pushing a button for her. Every cup started with freshly ground beans, in varying amounts, with fresh accents, added individually...
    Coffee was art to her. And the fact that her coffee made her a decent living was testimony to the fact that she knew what she was doing. She had no idea how full the shop was. What tables were occupied. What seats were available. The shop’s bell rang, indicating another customer had entered. Or exited. She had no idea if there were any tables that needed to be cleaned. She’d been avoiding more eye contact with Elliott.
    He’d been number four in line. His dark roast with a shot of espresso had come through. Long enough ago that he should be upstairs.
    She turned.
    Surveyed the room.
    He was at the small round table to the right of counter. With easy access to the door. And a view of both the room and the street outside.
    And she was glad.
    Â 

CHAPTER NINE
    M ARIE   COULDN ’ T   GET   away long enough for a meet up in Liam’s apartment. Watching her blond ponytail swing with the fluid swiftness of her movements, positioning herself in between her employees, moving around them, handing them what they needed before they had a chance to ask for it, Elliott tried not to be impressed.
    But he was.
    She didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t lose her smile—even when someone brought a half gone cup of coffee and demanded a remake. She provided it cheerfully. Along with a coupon for a free coffee at a later visit.
    There were no vacant seats in the shop. And the door just kept opening. New customers ordering. Those without seats taking their coffee to go. Elliott watched it all. And he watched the people outside the shop, as well.
    His perp was male. He knew that much now. Which allowed him to eliminate a lot of suspects. Unless there was more than one perp. Or the perp had a female accomplice.
    Where there should have been peace and quiet, steady focus, there was frustration, and it was eating at him. It wasn’t really his job to catch the bad guys. Just to protect his clients from them. Or ferret them out and turn over his information to the proper authorities. He’d never felt so helpless in his