Craig perused the newest selection of hair tonics beneath the glass. He wasn’t one to rush the decision. While he hadn’t yet found a cure for his baldness, he continued to test the latest concoctions. Her gaze strayed once more to her boss, whose sinewy, suit-clad body was propped against the counter, arms folded across his chest as he conversed with Reverend Monroe. Late-afternoon light glinted off his dark hair, slicked away from his face in a dashing style. How he managed to appear neat and unruffled no matter how many customers came in or how stuffy the place got she couldn’t fathom. Snatches of their conversation drifted over. When the reverend asked how Quinn was settling in, she was surprised to hear him admit he wasn’t having much luck with the locals and that he felt like an outsider. Considering his status in Boston, his troubles here must be particularly difficult to cope with. “Give it some time,”
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