Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed this story! This is my first attempt at an AU, and while the source material may seem like a strange match for The Mentalist, I appreciate everyone taking a chance on it! Onward...

Chapter 2

It was a rare occurrence for Patrick Jane to be at a loss for words; he almost always had a pithy comment or witty remark at the ready. But as he stood there in the middle of the bustling shop, he was, for a moment, struck dumb. The woman behind the counter regarded him expectantly, briefly looking down to busy herself wiping crumbs off the counter, then returned her wide eyes upward to his. For a second or two, which to him felt much longer, he simply stood there, taking in her clear-eyed gaze and the faint smile that played at her lips. He quickly recovered, and while this momentary lapse of composure was probably (and, hopefully, he thought) imperceptible to her, he immediately felt flustered and foolish. What the hell was wrong with him?

"What can I get for you?" her voice calm but efficient.

Patrick nodded towards the half-empty pastry case. "Well, I was hoping for one of your blueberry muffins, but it looks like you're all out."

She responded with an apologetic shrug. "Yeah, sorry about that. We're usually out of those by 8:30."

"Hmm… well then perhaps that's an indication you should make more of them," Patrick's voice was full of its usual bravado. Thank god he hadn't totally lost sense of his faculties.

"Or maybe it means you should get here earlier," she replied in a cool, even tone without missing beat. The tall redheaded woman working the espresso machine nearby stifled a giggle, and the two women exchanged an amused look.

For a split second Jane couldn't tell if her remark was meant to be snarky or flirtatious (he was hoping the latter). Her arched eyebrow and playful smirk suggested that it was probably a mixture of the two.

"So, what would you recommend then, seeing as I can't have what I really want?" His eyes settled on her pale face once more, giving him another opportunity to study her delicate, pale features, as well as to gauge her reaction to his innuendo-laden remark.

He was relieved when she gave a little laugh, shook her head, then responded in a matter of fact tone, "Well, I'm partial to the bear claws myself, but the raspberry scones Grace just took out of the oven are always amazing."

"Then I'll have one of those." Patrick removed his wallet from his vest pocket as she grabbed a tissue paper, took the scone out of the case, and placed it on a plate. "And I'd like a cup of Earl Grey tea, please. Milk at the bottom of the cup first, then add the water- hot as you can make it- and keep the bag or diffuser out, if you will."

She gave him a somewhat incredulous look then glanced back at her coworker. "Did you catch all that, Grace?"

"I got it, boss," Grace responded with a wide smile.

Patrick handed her the cash and watched as she punched keys on the register and counted out his change. Most of her dark wavy hair was pulled back in a functional ponytail at the nape of her neck, but a few stray locks fell around her face, which she impatiently tucked behind her ears. As she closed the register drawer, he realized that he was practically ogling her, and he casually looked away lest she catch him in the act. He didn't want her to think he was some sort of lecherous creep.

"Here you are," the tall redhead interrupted his thoughts, setting his cup and saucer down on the counter in front of him. He thanked her, accepted his change (which he promptly put in the tip jar) and scanned the room to find a place to sit. The sunny café was filled with customers most of whom were seated on mismatched chairs around large oak tables or on high stools at the counter by the picture windows that overlooked the street. He spotted a seating area with a couch by the wood-burning stove in the corner and made his way towards it. He sank into the worn leather and began preparing his tea, settling in to watch the goings on around him.

Having spent much of his life traveling from place to place, out of habit Jane immediately began scoping out the place, looking for clues or information that might provide him some insight into this little community he was hoping to ingratiate himself into. Most of the customers seemed to be regulars there for their usual coffee klatches with friends and neighbors. There was a lot of talking across tables and people welcoming one another with waves or hellos as people entered the shop. The entire atmosphere struck him as typical of many of the small towns he had been in the past- close-knit and genuinely friendly.

His eyes kept returning to the front counter, however, where the brunette with the emerald green eyes was casually chatting with her coworker. The early lunch rush seemed to be over and the two women were talking amiably and laughing together as they worked.

Something about her was utterly fascinating to him. It wasn't just that she was beautiful, although she certainly was. Their brief exchange had revealed her to be (in his quick estimation) intelligent, confident, and quick-witted. She hadn't been put off by his cheeky line, nor had she been taken in by it the way a more naïve woman may have been. And she could clearly hold her own in the repartee department. All of these were qualities he found absolutely captivating in a woman and made him eager to speak with her again.

He got up and strolled back to the counter, where the line of waiting customers had subsided and the two women were enjoying a coffee break. She saw him approaching and smiled.

"So, the tea and scone met your approval I presume?"

"Yes, very nice, thank you. My compliments to the baker." He nodded toward Grace, who was now making her way back to the kitchen with an empty tray from the pastry case that needed restocking. He turned back to the brunette. "So, I take it you are Ms… Minelli? The owner of this fine establishment?"

She laughed lightly. "No, I'm Teresa. Teresa Lisbon. Minelli is the owner. I'm just managing the place for him."

"Managing?" Patrick, always the wordsmith, raised his eyebrows at her use of the present progressive. She noticed his quizzical expression.

"Virgil's on a sabbatical of sorts- sailing around the world." She pointed to the collection of a dozen or so postcards taped to the front of the register, and he leaned in to take a closer look. Amongst the postcards from far-flung places like Tierra del Fuego and Jakarta was a grainy snapshot he presumed to be of Minelli himself, an older, slightly graying man smiling broadly and posing in front of an impressive-looking sailboat.

Jane turned his attention back towards Teresa as she continued. "He needed someone to run the place while he's gone and that's me."

"Looks like he's living the dream," Jane responded with genuine admiration. "My name's Patrick. Patrick Jane." He extended his hand to hers.

"Nice to meet you, Patrick Jane," she replied as they shook then released hands. "So, what about you? Are you just passing through for the day or are you here on vacation?"

"I'm staying with some friends who live just outside of town. I'm sort of between jobs at the moment and looking for a place to hang my hat. So what about you? How long have you lived here?"

Teresa regarded him somewhat suspiciously. "What makes you ask that?"

"Well, your accent-it isn't regional. It's more… Midwestern, perhaps?"

She shook her head slightly at his conjecture. "Nope, sorry to disappoint you. I was born and raised in the valley, just sixty miles from here, over the coast range."

"Really? Hmm. With the cadence of your speech and the sound of your vowels, I could have sworn you were from the Midwest… Chicago maybe?"

Teresa's eyes widened with surprise. "Both my parents were from Chicago."

"Ah, there it is!" Jane responded, nodding with satisfaction.

She shook her head slightly in astonishment. "I guess I inherited more from them than I realized. You've got a good ear."

"Meh, it comes with the territory," Jane replied, trying his best to sound modest.

"And what territory would that be?"

"Oh, I've lived all over," he answered simply. He was hesitant to explain his carnie background to her at the moment. People usually responded to that information with various levels of skepticism or worse, outright hostility and he had no interest in spoiling this, their very first meeting.

"I guess you could say I had a rather unconventional childhood… moved around a lot."

"Like an army brat?"

Jane chucked softly. "Yes, just like that. Except completely different."

She didn't seem to mind his vague response. She just nodded slightly, then grabbed a bin off a nearby cart to begin bussing tables.

Jane caught up with her, sipped the last remnants of his tea and placed the cup and saucer gently into the bin she was holding. He glanced out the nearby window. "So, do you happen to know the person who owns that building across the street, the one with the vacant storefront?"

"Um… I think it's one of Bret Stiles' properties. He owns about half of downtown," she replied, then paused. Jane could tell her curiosity was piqued and he readied himself in anticipation for the question he knew was coming next. "So, what is it that you do, exactly?" she inquired.

There it was. He took a deep breath and replied evenly, "I'm a psychic."

Jane noticed right away the corner of her mouth quirk slightly upward and tiny frown lines begin to appear on her forehead. Not a totally unexpected reaction; it was one he had seen numerous times before.

"A psychic? You mean like communicating with the dead… predicting the future… reading people's minds? That kind of thing?"

"That's right."

Yep, this woman is a skeptic, Jane thought to himself. No doubt about it. Moreover, the mood between them had suddenly shifted ever so slightly. Her face had hardened a bit and there was an edge in her voice that wasn't there before. For some reason, this bothered him greatly. He was just about to ask her about it when Grace's voice interrupted them.

"Hey boss, there's a phone call for you. It's the bean roaster- he's got a question about next week's order."

"Thanks, Grace, I'll be right there." Teresa turned back to Jane. "Excuse me."

She walked away to attend to her work, and Jane decided it was time to take his leave as well. As he strode toward the doorway and glanced back at her, he decided he would definitely be back to see her again, sooner rather than later.

He was bound and determined to improve her opinion of him.

XXX

At just past four o'clock later that afternoon Teresa bid farewell to the final customers of the day, turned the sign hanging in the doorway to the Sorry, We're Closed side, and locked the door. Her body was weary and her feet ached, but the day's steady stream of business had made the time fly by. She plunked herself down on the stool near the register and began totaling up the day's receipts.

A few minutes later Grace emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a red checkered dishcloth.

"All finished up back there?" Teresa inquired.

"Yep. The dishes are all washed and everything's wiped down, ready for the morning. How about you?"

Teresa finished the final notation in the record book with the flourish of her pen and closed it. "All done." She hopped down from her perch.

"We have a few rolls left from this morning," Grace said, trying to sound casual. "I thought I might bring them down to the firehouse, see if the guys there want them."

Teresa cast a knowing smirk over to her younger coworker. "You mean to see if Rigsby wants one?"

A blush started to rise over Grace's cheeks. "They're not just for Wayne," she protested weakly.

Teresa laughed softly. "It's fine, Grace. Go ahead. It's probably better you deliver them yourself anyway." She paused, tilting her head to the side. "It's kind of pathetic when he comes around here at the end of the day, skulking around like a giant Labrador begging for scraps from the dinner table."

"He doesn't do that!" Grace objected, again somewhat feebly. She threw the dishtowel at Teresa, who caught it just before it smacked her in the face. The two women laughed heartily.

A contented smile lingered on Teresa's face as Grace reached under the counter and gathered her things to get ready to leave. In the short time Teresa had been in Cannon River the two of them had become good friends, close even. This was unusual for her as someone who didn't really have a lot of close friendships in her life. In Portland, where she had been living up until just eight months earlier, she was always too busy with her work to have any real social life outside of the occasional outings with coworkers. This had always suited her just fine, but now she wondered why she had chosen to live without it for so long.

"Speaking of men…" Grace leaned up against the counter. "What's the story with that guy this morning? You know - the blonde one with curly hair, wearing the suit,"

"Oh, him. Yeah, you'll love this," Teresa started. She mirrored her friend's stance and leaned in a bit before continuing. "Apparently he just arrived in town and is thinking of opening up a shop across the street… He's a psychic." Her voice was thick with sarcasm.

"Really?"

"Yep, that's what he said," Teresa replied. "Although if you ask me, he seems more like a modern-day snake oil salesman than any kind of spiritual medium."

Grace paused, a thoughtful expression washing over her face. "Well, I know you tend to be a little wary about these things, but he could be the real deal. I know you didn't get to know Kristina very well, but she had a real gift and she helped a lot of people in this town."

Teresa hesitated before responding. While she didn't share her friend's beliefs in the supernatural, she certainly didn't want to say something that would make it seem as though she was disrespecting them.

"I'm sure your friend Kristina was genuine and had good intentions. But this guy, Jane? Seems a little too slick to be totally on the level."

The two women walked out of the shop and paused on the stoop as Teresa deadbolted the door. "So, you want to meet over at the pub later? Have some crab cakes and beer on their patio?"

"Aww, I wish I could, but I'm teaching my programing class over at the community center tonight," Grace replied with genuine disappointment. "How about later this week instead?"

"Sounds like a plan. 'Night." Teresa replied with a small wave and the two friends parted ways.

She turned up the street and began her trek home, hiking along the switchback road that zigzagged up the hill toward her house. She breathed in deeply with each stride, inhaling the cool, damp air as she walked. The sun was still high in the sky, but the temperature was already starting to drop slightly, and she wrapped her cardigan sweater tightly around her body as she continued onward.

As she walked, she thought back on her conversation with Grace about this so-called psychic they had met, reflecting on her younger friend's open-minded and sunny disposition, so trusting and eager to see the best in people. It stood in stark contrast to her own more skeptical nature. Not that she considered herself to be a total cynic- she had just seen and experienced enough to know that she trusted her gut instincts and first impressions of people.

This guy- this Patrick Jane character, she decided, was sketchy.