“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ben said trying to be polite.
“So are you new to town or just passing through?” asked Betty Jean. “Married, single, divorced? Please say you’re moving to town and that you’re not married. We need a new hottie to take our minds off the fact that Luke Powers is now taken.”
Ben shook his head. “Excuse me?”
Viola and Gus smiled at one another like they were used to this.
“Luke Powers used to be Whispering Bay’s most eligible bachelor but now he and the blonde at the counter, that’s Sarah by the way, are living together and in love”—Betty Jean made air quote marks on the word love—“so that takes Luke off the market.” She sighed heavily. “My first allegiance is to Zeke Grant. That’s our town’s chief of police. He’ll always be number one in my heart, but he’s married and about to be a father again so that kills off a little of the fantasy.”
Ben couldn’t help but stare at Betty Jean.
“It seems like every time we get a hot new stud in this town, he gets snatched up right away. You look a little stiff in that suit, but I’ll bet once you get out of it—”
“Ok-ay! That’s enough, Betty Jean,” Viola said, laughing with embarrassment. “I think this poor man gets the picture.”
“No need to get all snippy with me, Viola Pantini,” Betty Jean huffed. “Just because you’re the president of the chapter doesn’t mean you’re the boss of me.”
Pantini? The name startled him. Ben took a sip of his coffee and discreetly eyed Viola, going over her features in more detail. The only other Pantini he’d ever met was a tall, willowy redhead, and although both women had blue eyes, that was where the similarity ended. He supposed they could be related through marriage.
When was the last time he’d thought of Jenna Pantini?
Just about any time he saw a redhead, that’s when.
Funny, how after all these years he’d still get disappointed when he’d spot a tall redhead from behind and catch up to her, only to discover that it wasn’t Jenna. Florida was a big state. The odds of ever running into her again were probably zero. He could easily look her up and find her. The firm had some top-notch investigators. But what was the point? They’d had their chance, and he’d blown it. Besides, she was probably married with a couple of kids by now.
“I guess this is my cue to apologize to you,” Betty Jean said sounding not the least bit contrite. “Some people around here”—she looked at Viola when she said that—“think that just because you’re retired means your sex drive has shriveled up, but that’s exactly the sort of prejudice we Gray Flamingos are trying to fight.”
Viola rolled her eyes.
“No need to apologize,” Ben said. “I have no problem with being sexually objectified.”
Betty Jean threw her head back and laughed. “You might just become my favorite after all!”
“Do I detect a Boston accent?” Ben asked, liking Betty Jean more with every minute. She was a character, all right.
Betty Jean smirked. “You better believe it, buddy. Boston born and bred, although I’ve lived in Florida for a few years now.”
“Ben!” A woman holding a plate in her hand called out his name. She spotted him and came over to his table. “I figured that must be you since you’re the only person in here I don’t know. Here’s your Cuban sandwich!” she chirped cheerfully. She was young, with dark curly hair and glasses. Pretty, too, in a nerdy kind of way. “I’m Lucy. If you need anything just let me or Sarah know.”
“Thanks,” he said.
She hovered by the table, as if waiting for something.
He automatically pulled out his wallet.
“Oh, I don’t want a tip. I just want to see if you like the sandwich.”
That seemed a little odd. He took a bite of the sandwich, prepared to say it was perfectly fine no matter what it tasted like. The bread was fresh, and the sandwich was authentic—pork, ham, Swiss cheese, pickles and mustard. A perfect Cuban. “This is good,” he said, meaning it. “Thanks.”
Lucy beamed. “It was my idea to include that on the menu today, and I always appreciate feedback.”
If this sandwich was any indication, then The Bistro by the Beach might just turn out to be a staple during his stay here in Whispering Bay. Lucy sauntered off, making small talk with the customers at the other tables on her way back to the counter.
“So your name is Ben, huh?” Gus asked, his eyes narrowed. “And you’re a lawyer?”
Here we go.
Ben nodded and took another bite of the sandwich. Any second now the obligatory questions would start to roll. Was he that Ben Harrison? The one from the tabloids? Were he and Tiffany engaged? How did it feel to date a Playboy Bunny? Was he ashamed of himself for depriving Arthur Clendenin’s children of half their inheritance?