Read Online Feta Attraction by Susannah Hardy - Free Book Online

to this adorable bed-and-breakfast I know in Vermont, and he invited me to come to Greece this winter. I’m hoping he might propose. Unless I propose myself . . .”
    Hmmm, I could think of one rather large impediment to their getting married. Namely me. And was he planning to keep Inky at the house in Greece? We’d all be one big happy family, wouldn’t we? Maybe we could get our own reality show. “Did he say where he’d found it?”
    â€œNo, just that it was in the house somewhere. ‘Hidden in plain sight,’ was what he said.”
    That wasn’t much help. “What was the business he had to take care of?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. But it did seem to be bothering him, if you want to know the truth.”
    â€œDo you have any idea where he might be? Did he mention going away somewhere?”
    â€œI don’t know where he is. I assumed it had something to do with the thing he found. I miss him,” he said.
    I fished around in my purse and came up with a business card. I peeled off a sticky mint and an errant hair that had attached themselves to it and handed the card to Inky.
    â€œCall me if you hear anything.”
    â€œI will. Say, I’m not busy. Want a tattoo? I’ll give you a discount since we’re practically family and all.”
    â€œI’ll think about it, Inky.”
    â€œYou do that. Bye-bye!” He waved as I exited the store with a merry tinkling of the door chimes.
    I retraced my steps toward home. The aroma of the Express-o Bean, though, pulled me in like a tractor beam and I was powerless to resist. “Large cappuccino, extra shot of espresso, shot of vanilla, shot of caramel, extra foam.”
    â€œFor here or to go?” The barista was a tiny waif I hadn’t seen before, most likely a student from the community college in Canton or Watertown, with blue hair worn super short in back and long over one heavily lined eye.
    I considered. “To go.”
    â€œComin’ up,” she said. I’d expected her to be surly, but in fact she was quite friendly. The girl performed some kind of magic gestures and produced a good-sized paper cup with a travel lid and a small cardboard sleeve to serve as a handhold.
    â€œTaste it,” she urged.
    I slurped some up through the little hole in the top. It was exceptional. “Perfect.” I smiled at her.
    â€œThree fifty.” She smiled back.
    I handed her a twenty. She rang it in and reached into the register for change. I glanced down and saw the tip cup on the counter—“TIPS NEEDED TO BUY BOOKS FOR CLARKSON NEXT SEMESTER—PLEASE HELP. THANKS! VANESSA.”
    â€œAre you Vanessa?” I asked.
    â€œSure am.” I had to stop judging people by how they looked. A very high math SAT score was required to get into Clarkson University. I was impressed.
    I dropped the change from the twenty into her cup. I remembered all too well what it had been like to be poor and on scholarship. If she was working here for the summer instead of tanning on her daddy’s boat, she needed the money.
    â€œGood luck at Clarkson, Vanessa. Come see me at the Bonaparte House if you want to wait tables next summer. I’ve got a full staff right now, but I’ll put you on full-time next summer. You’ll make a lot more in tips than you will here, though you can keep this job in the mornings if you can handle both.”
    â€œWow, thanks.” She beamed.
    I carried my steaming cup back outside and headed up the gentle hill on LeRay Street toward Riverfront Park. The park was on the site of one of the huge wooden hotels that had dotted the coast at the turn of the century, every one of which had burned to the ground despite being located right on the water.
    I climbed the steps to the pavilion and exited on the other side, passed a few rusty metal trays on poles with grates that served as barbecue grills, sidestepped a few protruding rocks, and