Chapter 9

He’s just finished eating when he heard someone say, “Good afternoon, Mr. Graham.”

Turning, he looked up at the man standing there. He was tall, probably six-one or six-two Noah thought, with short chestnut-brown hair and high cheekbones. His eyes were amber, bordering on copper. If he had to guess, he’d put him at around thirty, give or take a year.

“Do I know you?” Noah asked. He was quite certain he didn’t and yet there was something about the man that was vaguely familiar.

“No, we’ve never met. However, I have seen you both here and in town. My name is Arik Dalca.” There was a hint of an accent when Arik spoke, although Noah couldn’t figure out what it was.

“You bought the old bakery!”

“Indeed. May I?” Arik gestured toward a rock close to where Noah sat.

Noah nodded, replying with a grin, “I don’t own them.” As soon as Arik was settled, Noah said, “You know the burning question around town is what you’re doing with the building.”