Debts Read Free

plump lady in her late forties. There’s a momentary lull in customers and as one small business owner to another, they quickly settle into a surprisingly frank discussion of expenses and income, foot traffic and profit margins.
    “I owned a store in Fredericksburg, Texas,” Marianne says in her soft Southern drawl. “That’s a lovely little town. But, I tell you, Hamilton beats the pants off Fredericksburg. You should think about it. Tennessee’s not that far from Florida.”
    Natasha laughs at the suggestion, but even as she does, a tiny idea begins to grow. Hamilton would never be her kind of place, but Natasha is always open to possibilities and opening a second tea shop, expanding her brand, holds some undeniable possibilities. She’ll never close Steeped in St. Petersburg. That’s her baby, her proudest achievement. But opening a sister store … That’s possible. Natasha feels a sudden surge of excitement. When she returns to Florida, she’ll research the market to see if the area could support a tea shop. In some ways, it’s amazing that the thought never occurred to her. She’d have a much stronger reason for regular visits; though, of course, she’ll have to find a decent manager and those, she knows from experience, are very hard to find.
    A couple tourists enter the shop, cooing over the display of wine glasses painted to look like giant flowers.
    Feeling both inspired and bemused at the idea of franchising Steeped, Natashacompliments Marianne on the attractive window display—the woman does have an eye for color—and as a way of showing thanks, mentions she’ll be back to buy those wine glasses after her meeting ends. She feels the weight of the tourists’ eyes as they glance at her and then the glasses on the shelf. The door closes behind her on what is an almost-guaranteed sale.

Chapter Five
    There are no customers browsing or getting inked when Natasha enters Emmett’s tattoo parlor. As the lienholder, that isn’t good news. As an ex-girlfriend trying to keep in touch with her man, it’s great.
    The shop, with its polished cement floors, blood-red walls covered in framed flash, and wide, leather-covered chairs, is grittily urban, but strangely peaceful. The ceiling fans turn slowly, creating the slightest breeze, a mere whisper of cool air brushing against her skin. The storewide sound system plays a thumping Latino rap. She only ever sees Emmett at the store, and there’s a weird Pavlovian response that happens when she enters it—a complete association of the parlor, and its sharp Lysol smell, with being together again. Her breath catches to be here again, blood surging faster in time with the beat of the song.
    Emmett looks up as soon as she walks in, and even though the light’s dim and he’s at the far end of the shop, she sees how his expression stays flat, not exactly jumping for joy at seeing her again after nearly a year. But she can’t stop her heart from leaping gladly at his craggy, handsome face nor her stomach from dropping with disappointed mortification that it still hasn’t come back, that glad spark he used to get when he saw her.
    Walking slowly, letting her floor-length silk dress flutter around her long, slim legs, head held high, eyes boring straight into Emmett, daring him to look away from her, she enters the shop as if she owns it. Which, technically, she does.
    She lets her hips sway ever so slightly. The dress shows off a nice amount of cleavage;she looks hot and she knows it. Emmett knows it too. He’s looking at her. He’d need to be dead not to look.
    “Hey,” she says softly.
    “Natasha.” He nods. His voice is neutral, but oh sweet Lord, her name on his lips does something to her insides that nothing else does. Damn it, what is it about him? She swallows thickly. He could sell tickets just to enter the store and have him say your name. He’d make a fortune.
    “How are things?” she asks. “How are you?” She wants to know about everyone he