The woman gestured for Cindy to come closer. Try as she might, Cindy couldn’t see a truck near the woman.

  “Red, red, red,” Teddy chanted, reaching toward the old lady.

  Did she have a red truck in her lap? Cindy paused in front of the card table, uncertainty tickling her earlobes, the way it did when a client wasn’t being totally honest.

  “Give me the shoe.” The woman extended a hand.

  Cindy handed over Teddy’s shoe, and then bent, squinting at the pink page hanging from the woman’s table. Was it…did that say…Love Advice???

  Cindy stood so quickly her lower back twinged in protest.

  “We can start with the boy’s shoe,” the old woman said in a voice as high and clear as a bluebird’s. “But he has years yet.”

  “Decades,” Cindy deadpanned, not exactly clear on what would come after Teddy’s shoe was discussed. Was this a sales pitch? The lady didn’t look like she was selling time shares. She looked like someone’s grandmother—gray hair beneath a red scarf, a round pink face, and a slash of red lipstick where her mouth should be.

  “Sit.” There was a stern tone to the old woman’s voice that made Cindy obey like a well trained Labrador. Red lipstick curled upward, kind of like the Cheshire Cat’s floating grin on a pink oval. “This one will marry his childhood sweetheart.”

  “I’m going to find out who you’ve been kissing in pre-school, my friend,” Cindy said to Teddy, taking back his sneaker.

  He kicked his feet and giggled. “Girls are yucky!”

  “And now for yours, my dear.”

  Cindy squinted at her pink pinstriped Keds.

  “Your satin slippers, love.” The old woman pointed toward Cindy’s vintage heels on top of the stroller.

  “Oh.” Cindy handed them over. “Is this the shoe repair booth?” Finally, something was going right today.

  The woman didn’t answer. She removed the pumps from the bag and held one up. “It’s the shoe.”

  Ah, she was nutty. Cindy glanced about for the nearest form of help, just in case she’d need reinforcements to reclaim her treasures.

  “This shoe will lead you to true love.” The old woman stroked one shoe and sighed. “You won’t recognize it, of course. But in the end, the shoe will triumph…. Well, the buckles will triumph. The clock is ticking already.” She cocked her head. “Listen. Your prince is coming.”

  Somewhere nearby, a clock tower chimed the hour. The same bells she’d heard earlier during the shoe incident with Mr. Sexy Voice.

  “Red,” Teddy said reverently. And then he yawned.

  Cindy reached for her shoes, somewhat nervously, and was relieved when they were safely in the plastic bag.

  “That will be forty dollars.” The red slash of lipstick curled up in a smile.

  “Forty?” Cindy should have bypassed the old woman and headed straight for the person selling red toy trucks.

  “I didn’t charge you for the boy.”

  “Truck!” Teddy cried.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “What’s she doing here?” Eddie said as he shook Mack’s hand outside the coffee shop. “That’s my kid.” He hurried off.

  The blond woman in 3B, the one who’d been the cause of Mack’s broken phone, was pushing one of those jogging strollers with a red-headed little boy away from the Love Advice table.

  This was Eddie’s soon-to-be ex-wife? No wonder she had Eddie clean house. She couldn’t do it, being practically blind.

  Briefly, Mack considered rejecting the case. But only briefly.

  The kid waved hands as Eddie neared, clearly pleased to see his daddy. And then the little dude kicked so hard one shoe flew off.

  And 3B? She crossed her arms and scowled at Eddie.

  Disappointment filed a grievance in Mack’s gut. He moved on to the shoe repair shop. The bell over the door clanged as he entered. The smell of leather and oil were like the smells of home. “Grandpa King? What’s up today?”

  “Nothin’s cookin’ if you ain’t been lookin’.” Laughing, Grandpa King turned from his workbench to greet Mack. It was hard to believe a man so small and slight had contributed to Mack’s gene pool.

  A cowboy boot was mounted on a cast iron cobbler’s last, its sole half removed.

  “Looks like you’re busy, Grandpa.”

  “I could use a hand.” His grin invited Mack to put off drawing up the paperwork for Eddie Tremaine and play hooky. Grandpa King could afford to play hooky. He’d started the family law firm, brought in his son-in-law, Mack Prince Sr., and then retired to run his father’s shoe store. He’d never had a heart attack and would probably outlive his father.

  “I need to get a new phone and then head into the office.”

  “Manipulating the law is not what you should be doing on a Saturday.”

  “You’d rather I make an honest living repairing shoes on my day off?”

  Grandpa’s grin created more wrinkles in his already smile-wrinkled face. “I would, wouldn’t you?”

  “Well, maybe for a little while.” Mack sat at the smaller workbench and began to remove the worn heel tips on a pair of racy red high heels. He bet the owner of those shoes was someone he might want to meet, if the owner looked like the woman in 3B. He refused to think of her as Mrs. Tremaine.

  Down, Prince. That path only leads to trouble.

  “Grandpa, didn’t you meet Grandma King at a farmer’s market?”

  “It was the street fair back then.” He shaped a leather sole on his work bench. “A woman at a booth, at the fair, told me to slow down and look around. I thought she was nuts, but I turned and bumped into your grandmother, knocked her off her feet. One of her shoes came off.” He glanced up toward a wooden shoe box on a shelf above him. “She wore those shoes the day we were married. She taught me a lot about slowing down and enjoying life.”

  “History repeating itself,” Mack murmured. He wasn’t much for believing in fate or coincidence. “Don’t tell me the woman in the booth, at the fair, was the same lady as the one out there with the Love Advice sign.”

  Grandpa chuckled. “I sense Cupid’s arrow has finally struck my grandson.”

  A buzzer sounded in the back.

  “That’ll be Hank with my delivery.” The old man moved with measured steps toward a curtain separating the storage room from the front of the business. At eighty, he was finally slowing down. “Can you watch the shop while I sign for my delivery, Mack?”

  “Sure.”

  A few minutes later, the bell over the front door rang and who should enter but Mack’s new neighbor with her son, who was sucking on a sippy cup with eyes half closed.

  3B’s bright blond hair was still in its utilitarian pony tail. It fell in a thick mass over her shoulder. Her baby blue T-shirt matched the color of her eyes.

  Despite her vision challenges, she strode confidently in and parallel parked the stroller next to the counter. “Hi. I know this is probably an impossible request, but I’m looking for a replacement buckle for my vintage shoes.” She brought out the heels, setting them on the table as if they were made of porcelain.

  Mack met her gaze. She didn’t seem to recognize him. “Uh, 3B, right?” He sure didn’t want to tell her his name now that he knew who she was.

  “You’re my neighbor.” She smiled and it was like a punch to Mack’s gut.

  She was pretty. Really pretty. But there was more to her than that. She didn’t carry a cane to indicate she had a disability. Or have a guide dog. That took guts. Nothing was going to hold this woman back. How he envied her casual and steady approach to life. She seemed to hold onto it easily, as if the upheaval of her impending divorce was a blessing.

  Mack relaxed just standing across the counter from her. He wanted to ask her out for lunch or coffee. But as soon as she learned he was representing her husband in the divorce, she’d hate him.

  “The lady in red showed me where your shop was.” Her cheeks bloomed a soft pink. “How long has King’s been here?”

  “Sixty years. My Grandpa runs it now.” Mack handed her a claim slip. “Name and phone number is fine.”

  “Could you…uhm…just write 3B?” A deeper shade spread across her features, an indication that she was embarrassed by her disability.

  “Of course. No worries.”

  The kid had conked out. His sippy cup had fallen to his lap and was dripping onto his pants. 3B probably couldn’t see it. Mack came around the counter and moved the cup to a holder.

  The curtain to the back room slid noisily along its rod. “That’s what an old man likes to see.” Grandpa tottered in from the back. “A pretty lady. What are we doing for you?”

  She explained her dilemma. Grandpa assured her he’d find something.

  Mack hurried to hold the door for her.

  She hesitated next to him and then hesitated with her smile. “See you around 3A.” And then she left.

  He hadn’t been on the receiving end of a sucker punch since the seventh grade. He watched her walk away, taking his time to collect himself.

  “You should ask her out,” Grandpa said. “Pretty lady. Nice kid. Good taste in shoes. She’s a keeper.”

  “I’m representing her husband in their divorce.” Oh, this was not going to be pretty.

  “You could still ask her….” Grandpa tsked. “If you become a cobbler.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Where is your mommy, Teddy?” It was after six and getting dark. Anna wasn’t answering her cell. Cindy needed a break and not just from her nephew. Mr. Sexy Voice hadn’t been far from her thoughts all day.

  She’d let Teddy play drummer with her pots and pans, while she wondered when Mr. Sexy Voice would get home. She’d played peek-a-boo while she wondered what Mr. Sexy Voice liked for dinner. She’d chased Teddy through her apartment, wondering if Mr. Sexy Voice gave foot massages.

  It wasn’t Teddy’s fault that she was tired and pre-occupied. Her nephew deserved an upbeat, happy aunt. It was just that aunts were supposed to have fun with their nephews and then actually return them, weren’t they?

  Cindy was starting to wonder if Anna was coming back tonight.

  She tried Anna’s number one more time with no success. “That’s it, Teddy. We’re going for a run before it gets completely dark or starts raining again.”

  Soon she was pushing Teddy through the park, up hills and down, on paths through thick foliage and beneath bridges. The terrain was new, but the pea-graveled path was wide and clear.

  She loved it in Brody Falls. Everything was going to be all right. She had her first client and was opening her office on Monday. The divorce rate was at its peak. And private practice promised to be civilized and safe.

  It began to sprinkle. She headed back the way they’d come.

  Soon she began to hear footsteps, but every time she looked back, she saw no one. The world was a shadowy blur. She picked up her pace, again and again, until she was practically speed-walking and her quads threatened to cramp. She withdrew her mace from her fanny pack, ready to protect Teddy at all costs.

  The bells chimed the half-hour.

  “Stop,” Teddy whined. “Stop, stop, stop.” He began kicking. One of his shoes flew off.

  Someone came up behind them. Fast.

  Cindy screamed, whirled, and sprayed the large figure with mace.

  And then she ran all the way home, leaving Teddy’s shoe behind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Coming up behind 3B without announcing himself was stupid.

  Mack’s eyes stung. He took his water bottle and poured the cool liquid over his burning, watering eyes. He counted backwards from one hundred. He steadied his breathing. He told himself accidents happen.

  But that didn’t stop his eyes from puffing up or his head from pounding.

  He’d seen 3B ahead about half a mile back and thought she’d be safer waking with an adult companion, this close to night. But she started rushing off and he’d had trouble catching up without running. And then, just as he was about to catch up, he’d seen the kid’s shoe fly off, and she’d turned and maced him.

  On the one hand, it was his fault. He should have said something like, “Your kid dropped his shoe.” Or, “Passing to your right, 3B.” Instead, he’d been watching the powerful movement of her legs.

  Grandpa King would have said that was a sin and he got what he deserved.

  Dad would have filed a lawsuit in the morning.

  Mack was neither of those men.

  When he could shapes again, Mack stumbled toward home and tripped over the kid’s shoe.

  The Mack Prince of a couple months ago, the heartless divorce lawyer who worked all hours of the day and night, he would have left the shoe and avoided 3B forevermore.

  But the Mack Prince of today felt the need to apologize for scaring her. He didn’t want anything bad to keep 3B down.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The realtor who’d helped Cindy find an apartment in a safe part of town had another thing coming. First thing in the morning Cindy was calling her and giving her a piece of her mind.

  Cindy dried Teddy off from their rain-capped stroll, and put him down on her bed. He was unaffected by their scare, and rolled over, closing his eyes. She changed into dry clothes—pajama pants, a Pooh-bear T-shirt, and fuzzy pink slippers.

  The room was a little stuffy, so Cindy opened the bedroom window a few inches. As soon as she let it go, it fell back down and latched. She propped it up with an aspirin bottle.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “It’s about time, Anna.” Still jittery with adrenaline, Cindy was itching for a fight with someone. How could Anna leave Teddy all day? This was followed almost immediately by a guilty thought—that Anna might need more than some time alone. She might need professional help.

  But it wasn’t her step-sister. It was a man. A tall man. Mr. Sexy voice? The man from 3A?

  Whoever it was, he wore jogging clothes and handed her Teddy’s sneaker. “Sorry for scaring you.”

  That voice!

  He turned to go.

  “Wait,” Cindy whispered, trying not to wake Teddy. “Did I…I maced you?” Thoughts raced through her head like a large flock of blackbirds swooping for a place on a very short wire. Was he a pervert? Or a hero? She hoped the latter. “You scared me.”

  “I know. I saw you and tried to catch up.”

  “And I heard you and tried to run away.”

  “By the time I caught up, I was out of breath.”

  It took a special kind of man to show his face after he’d been maced.

  Her heart softened. “I am so, so sorry. I was raised in New York City. Even though I’ve been in California for years, old habits—like going on the offensive—die hard.” Cindy wished she could see his face clearly. How much pain was he in? Tentatively, impulsively, she reached out and laid her palm on his cheek. It was warm and damp. “Can I help?” A trip to the urgent care clinic? “I read somewhere that milk works well in reducing the effect of mace. If you come inside—”

  “You’ve done enough for one day,” he said with humor in his voice, covering her hand with his. Then he pulled her palm to his lips, kissed it, and let it fall between them. “Good night, 3B.”

  Cindy closed the door and leaned against it, heart pounding.

  Someone knocked on the door again.

  “You came back.” Cindy flung it open, but it was only Anna.

  After she and Teddy left, Cindy did the dishes. She was dying of curiosity to know what 3A looked like. Tall, blue-black hair, and humble. Were his eyes as dark as his hair? Was his smile as warm as his touch? Her new glasses wouldn’t be ready until Monday.

  And his name! She still didn’t even know his name.

  It didn’t matter. He could be a Beufort or a Marvin, and she wouldn’t care.

  Lucifer meowed from the bedroom.

  “What’s wrong, kitty?”

  Movement near the window caught her eye. The sill shifted up and down.

  Had Lucifer slipped out?

  Cindy’s heart leapt up her throat. Cats were notorious for trying to find their way back to their old neighborhoods if they were let outdoors too soon.

  Cindy rushed over, raised the window higher and poked her head outside. “Here, kitty-kitty.” Her elbow knocked the bottle of pain reliever to the floor. She couldn’t see a thing. The night was as black as ink, even the shadows melded into the shadows as the wind whispered through the tree branches.

  Maybe Lucifer would come to her if she stepped out on the fire escape.

  Cindy swung her legs over the window ledge and stepped onto the metal landing. It’d stopped raining. She hoped Lucifer had gone no further than the fire escape. She could use a little luck.

  “Here, kitty-kitty-kitty.”

  The window slammed closed behind her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mack sat on his leather couch with a milk compress over his eyes.

  3B had been the cause of his broken phone. She’d maced him. And he still couldn’t get her out of his head.

  He was just starting to feel better when he heard a noise on the fire escape. Cats sometimes used the metal system, so he didn’t immediately do more than register there’d been a sound.

  But then there was another noise, like a whisper, followed by a loud thud.

  Burglar. The familiar heat of righteousness filled his chest.

  Mack charged over to the window, eager to defend his home, his building, his new neighbor.

  He flung open the window and said, “Hold it right there.”

  He’d been right to hurry. A shadow slunk beneath 3B’s window. Mack may not have been able to escort her on her stroll earlier, but he could protect her now.

  “3A?” came a tentative voice.

  The bell tower over at St. Anthony’s struck the hour. Moonlight spilled through the clouds to shine on her thick blond hair.

  Mack sighed. “What are you doing out here?”