Ghost Business

One

This guy was way overdressed for an oyster bar.

Sophie squinted in his direction as she hoisted herself onto one of the barstools at The Haunt. The bar made a big L on the left-hand side of the restaurant. Sophie sat at one end, and while she pretended to study the menu she could recite like the Pledge of Allegiance, she kept stealing glances at the guy sitting at the hinge of the L. His blond hair was rumpled, but his light blue dress shirt was immaculate, though the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was most of the way through a platter of oysters on the half shell, and midway through the pint of beer next to it. While she watched, Tony approached the stranger from his place behind the bar.

"All good, man?"

The stranger nodded emphatically. "Incredible. You just catch these oysters today or what?" He had the kind of smile that made his eyes practically disappear, wide and sincere.

Tony snorted but was obviously pleased by the attention. "Yeah, I'm totally a fisherman." His words were dismissive, but he lingered, keeping his attention on the new guy while he put away a load of beer mugs. "How's your stay so far? See any ghosts yet?"

Now it was the blond stranger's turn to snort. "Yeah, right. Loads."

Was that sarcasm? Sophie raised her eyebrows as Tony froze. "Really?"

The stranger barked out a laugh, turning his attention back to the food in front of him. "Wouldn't that be something. Like, if ghosts were actually real."

"Yeah . . ." Tony drew out the word as he put the last of the mugs away. "That sure would be something." He tossed a glance Sophie's way as he went to return the dish rack to the kitchen, and she eyed the new guy again. She'd never seen him before, and he was obviously new around here, even though he carried himself with the ease of a local. But tourists visiting Boneyard Key were usually here for the ghosts. Most haunted small town in Florida and all that. If he wasn't here for that, what was he doing here?

"How about you, Soph?" Sophie jerked her eyes away from the blond stranger and looked instead at Tony, who stood in front of her with one eyebrow raised. "You ordering anything tonight, or do you just want to flirt with the cute guy over there?"

Heat rushed into her cheeks as she shushed him. "I'm not flirting!" She chastised him in a loud whisper, trying to speak softer than the satellite radio station playing yacht rock through the speakers over their heads. She'd heard their whole conversation, so surely the guy down the bar could hear them too.

"Not yet, you're not." Laughter danced in his dark eyes as he nodded toward the menu. "You want your usual?"

She should order something new tonight, just to spite Tony. But he knew her better than that. She'd seen him put glue in Courtney Royer's hair in the second grade, and he hadn't ratted her out when she'd taken a bite out of a green crayon to see what it tasted like. So instead she sighed and set down the menu that she'd barely bothered to look at. "Chef salad, no tomatoes. Diet Coke."

A smile played around Tony's mouth as he set her glass down, Diet Coke already poured and fizzing around its ice, onto a coaster in front of her. "Coming right up. Go say hi to him. He's from out of town."

Sophie shushed him again. She wasn't the kind of girl who stared at strangers in bars. And she sure as hell didn't flirt with them. But she couldn't help it; as soon as Tony was gone, her gaze wandered back toward the blond stranger.

Who was looking right back at her.

Their gazes colliding was practically tangible, and Sophie wasn't ready for it. She ducked her head immediately, wide eyes dropping down to the bar. Suddenly very interested in the weathered woodgrain in front of her, she took a long pull off her Diet Coke. The cold drink did nothing to quell the fire blazing in her cheeks.

When she looked up, he was gone. No, not gone. Worse. He'd moved closer, sliding his platter of oysters down the bar with him.

"Did I hear you order a salad?" Mr. Blond Business Casual shook his head in mock censure. "A salad? When you can get oysters?" He shook a few drops of Tabasco onto one in illustration and tilted his head back to slurp it down. Sophie tried to not watch the way his throat worked when he swallowed. Slurping down an oyster shouldn't be sexy.

She gave a small shake of her head. "I'm not one for oysters, sadly." And it was sad. She used to love them. Especially lightly steamed and on the half shell, the way this guy took them. But it had only taken one bad oyster, followed by an even worse night sleeping on the cold bathroom floor, for her to swear them off entirely.

"You're missing out." He slurped down another one, laying the empty shell on his plate and giving a happy sigh. "Damn, Florida seafood's the best, isn't it?"

Now, that Sophie could agree with. "They do it right here." She could put away a basket of fried shrimp like nobody's business. But Friday nights were tour nights, and she liked to eat light. A platter of fried shrimp would make her want to go home and crawl into bed, not lead a walking tour of Boneyard Key.

"You live around here?" He took a sip from his glass of beer as he gave her his full attention. His eyes were startlingly light, but it was too dark in here to tell if they were blue or green. The pupils stood out in stark contrast, dark bullet points of attention aimed right at Sophie.

"I do." Another sip of Diet Coke, wetting down her suddenly very dry mouth. "How could you tell?" She wasn't good at this. At being the center of attention. In front of a crowd, answering questions about Boneyard Key and the ghosts that lived there? She could handle that, no problem. But one-on-one, being asked personal questions? People didn't usually want to know much about her.

He nodded toward the bar, at the menu that she'd stashed between the napkin holder and ketchup bottle. "You barely looked at the menu. And he asked if you wanted your usual."

"Ah." The flames in Sophie's cheeks traveled to the back of her neck, setting up prickles there. If he'd heard that, he'd heard Tony make fun of her for staring . . . God, what a mess.

"I'm pretty good at sussing out these kinds of things." He shot her a conspiratorial smile as he wiped his hands carefully on a napkin before extending one of them. "I'm Tristan."

"Sophie." His hand was warm, his nails neatly manicured. Her heart gave a little flip at the way his smile widened, eyes crinkling at the edges. She'd put that smile on his face. Suddenly she wanted to keep it there.

"Are you here on vacation?" she asked. "Because if you are, I have to say you're a little overdressed." Despite his sleeves being rolled up-probably to avoid any errant oyster juice on his cuffs-he looked like he was just coming from a board meeting, not settling in to watch the steel drum band's first set.

His laugh was easy, not too loud, and not at all self-conscious. This was a guy who laughed a lot. "You got me," he said. "I'm new to Florida. Back home, khakis are as casual as I get." He gestured down to his pants with a rueful smile. "But I see I have to seriously up my leisure game here. Any recommendations?"

"Well . . ." Sophie smiled a thanks to Tony as he set her chef salad in front of her, then unwrapped her utensils and put her napkin in her lap. "Unless you're into Hawaiian shirts, something without a collar is a good place to start. We have several fine T-shirt establishments for all your casual-wear needs."

"That's an excellent start." He reached for another oyster as she started on her salad. "Is there a particular one you'd recommend?"

She shook her head. "You want to know a secret?"

"Of course I do." His eyes sparked as he leaned toward her, and she leaned in right back.

"Okay, you didn't hear it from me. This is a locals-only thing." His eyebrows went up in amused anticipation, and she couldn't help but smile back. "They all sell the same crap."

"What?" He leaned back in feigned shocked surprise. "Are you telling me that souvenir shops in Florida do not offer uniquely crafted, fine artisanal goods?"

"It's true." Sophie forked up a bite of lettuce and hard-boiled egg.

"And where can I find said shops?"

She nodded toward the door. "Go outside, stand in the street, and throw a rock. You're guaranteed to hit one."

He snorted. "You haven't seen me throw. I'd probably break a window and spend the night in the clink."

"The clink?" Sophie blinked. "Are you my great-aunt Alice? Who uses that term?"

Tristan laughed again, and wow. He had a laugh that Sophie could really get used to. "Sorry," he said. "I've got an old-fashioned soul."

"Hmm." She rested her cheek in her hand, studying him. "I can relate to that." With as much time as she spent with her head in the past? She could absolutely relate to that.

Tristan mirrored her pose: elbow on the bar, leaning his cheek on his hand, studying her right back. This kind of thing didn't happen to Sophie. Guys never flirted with her. They flirted with her best friend, Libby, with her blond ponytail, long legs, and sunny smile. Their eyes usually skidded right over short, bespectacled Sophie, who was a tiny, dark-haired nerd in contrast.

But Libby wasn't here, not tonight. And Tristan was still smiling at her.

"You want another round, kids?" Tony showed up at the worst time, and as much as Sophie appreciated his dedication to service, she wished he'd be a little more of a slacker. As a personal favor.

"Sure. Not the oysters, though." Tristan laid a hand on his ridiculously flat stomach. "Not sure I could do another round of those. But I'll take another beer. That lager that you have on draft, that's fantastic. How about you, Sophie? Can I buy you another drink?" He looked pointedly at her Diet Coke, which was down to watery ice. "Or maybe your first drink?"

She would love that. Telling him no had just become the worst part of her night. "I can't." It was flattering, right? The way Tristan's face fell a little at her rejection? That was the only consolation she had here. "Believe me, I wish I could. But I have to get to work." She was running late, by the looks of the band. They'd just finished setting up, and their first set went on at seven fifteen sharp. Her tour started at seven thirty; she'd lingered longer than usual.

"Work?" His eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "You've got to be kidding. On a Friday night? Here?"

Okay, that made her bristle. "Not all of us are on vacation, you know." She slid her debit card to Tony, who took it with only a slight roll of his eyes. Yeah. He was bristling too.

"Point taken, sorry." Tristan at least had the grace to look shamefaced, and Sophie's ire cooled as quickly as it had come on. "What do you do? Let me guess. You sing with the band?" He nodded toward the steel drums.

Only in her worst nightmares. "I'm not nearly that talented," she said with a laugh. "No, I give ghost tours."

He blinked. "You do what?"

"Ghost tours," she repeated. "Every Friday night. Saturday nights too, this time of year when there's more tourist traffic. I don't know how familiar you are with Boneyard Key, but we're the most haunted small town in Florida."

"I'd heard something about that."

There was tension in his nod, an unease in his voice, but Sophie brushed it aside as she warmed up to her favorite topic. She was used to skeptics. Sometimes she could even win them over. "It sounds like a gimmick, I know. Have you ever been on a ghost tour before?"

"I . . ." He shifted on his barstool and took a sip of the beer that Tony had just delivered. "Yeah," he finally said. "A few, here and there."

"Oh, good!" Relief swept through her. That saved time, for sure. "Then you know what they're about. Mine's a little walking tour of mostly the downtown area. You get a history lesson, well, a couple of history lessons. The regular and the haunted kind, you know?"

"Yeah." But something weird had happened to Tristan's face while she'd been talking. His smile was gone, and those eyes that crinkled so enticingly now looked glazed over. Now he drummed his fingers lightly on the bar, fidgeted with his balled-up napkin.

That hadn't taken long. She'd bored the crap out of him in record time. Maybe she should have led with her day job. I work from home, doing medical transcriptions. It's repetitive and sucks out my will to live most of the time, but it pays the bills. It was a solid job, though. A career. Guys respected things like that. Running a ghost tour was frivolous in comparison. A silly way to make a living. Part of a living.

Sophie could take a hint. "Anyway." She signed the slip Tony had left by her elbow and tucked her card away. "I have a group waiting, so I need to get going." She hopped off the barstool as gracefully as she could, but from that height it was really more of a controlled fall. "It was nice to meet you, Tristan." Her words hung in the air between them, fading away to the sounds of Crosby, Stills & Nash from the speakers above. Sophie fought back a sigh of defeat. "I hope you have a nice stay here." She didn't wait for him to respond. She just tossed him a wave and turned to go.

The steel drum band started up their set, the beginning of another Friday night party at The Haunt. But it was time for Sophie to go to work. She couldn't dwell on the cute tourist she left at the bar and her failed attempt at flirting. She had a full group tonight, which was why she'd splurged on dinner out before the tour.

But it was still all she could do to not smack herself in the forehead on the way out the door. She was a disaster. No wonder she was single.