He was certainly no boy and no angel himself, not with those wide, I-work-out shoulders, mussed black hair-sans the bleach overlay-and dark stubble. This man didn’t wear her first lover’s steel earrings, but instead a black eye patch covered one of his brown eyes.

Finn’s eyes.

She took a step back.

A smile flitted over his face. Finn’s smile. The uncovered eye didn’t betray a flicker of emotion or familiarity, though. “Is it Girl Scout cookie season too?”

He didn’t recognize her! The man who had been Finn, the pirate that was this Finn, didn’t realize she was the grown-up girl next door. To him, apparently, ten years was distant history.

Okay.

That was good, easier, fine. She could at least pretend the same. It wouldn’t be hard anyway, since he seemed so different than she expected.

Who was she kidding? Second only to prison convict, she’d have bet the farm that Finn would turn pirate.

She gestured behind her. “There’s a package on the street with this address,” she said, in the tones of a polite stranger. “It’s blocking my car.”

His eyebrows shot up and he moved out the door and past her, leaving his scent in the air. The Finn she remembered had smelled like Irish Spring. This Finn smelled shower-fresh too, but with a subtler scent that tickled her nose. Following him out to the street, she rubbed it. As her hand came down, her fingers brushed the nametag pinned to her apron.

BAILEY

(Yes, like George!)

Damn Finn. He knew exactly who she was. Even if she didn’t look exactly as she had at eighteen, he wouldn’t have forgotten her name.

She snatched the dopey hat off her head and combed her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. He wasn’t looking at her, though. Instead he strode straight to the carton, ripped the invoice from its plastic, and unfolded the thin sheet.