“Lavender’s a lovely scent,” said Sinclair, wrinkling her nose in his direction. She didn’t detect lavender, just Hunter, and it was strangely familiar.

“I prefer spice or musk.”

“Is your masculinity at stake?”

“I may have to pump some iron later just to even things up.”

“Are you a body builder?”

Even under a suit, Hunter was clearly fit.

“A few free weights,” he answered. “You?”

“Uh, no. I’m more of a yoga girl.”

“Yoga’s good.”

“Keeps me limber.”

“Okay, not touching that one.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“My grandfather would agree with you on that point.”

A new cashier arrived, opening up the other till, and the lineup split into two. Sinclair breathed a sigh of relief. One problem handled.

Then she heard Chantal’s laughter above the din and glanced at the tall blonde, who wore a cotton-candy-pink poof-skirted minidress and a pair of four-inch gold heels. She was laughing with some of the customers, her bright lips and impossibly thick eyelashes giving her the air of a glamorous movie star.

With Hunter here, Sinclair felt an unexpected pang of self-consciousness at the contrast between her and Chantal. Quickly, though, she reminded herself that her two-piece taupe suit and matching pumps were appropriate and professional. She also reminded herself that she’d never aspired to be a squealing, air-kissing bombshell.

She tucked her straight, sensibly cut hair behind her ears.

“So what happened at the spa?” asked Hunter.

“Unfortunately, it was a no go.”

“Really?” He frowned with concern. “What was the problem?”

“Some kind of conflict with their supplier.”

“Did you-”

“Sorry. Can you hang on?” she asked him, noticing a disagreement brewing between the new cashier and a customer. She quickly left Hunter and moved to step in.

It turned out the customer had been quoted a wrong price by her beautician. Sinclair quickly honored the quote and threw in an extra tube of lipstick.