Close to You (2 page)

“
I love Daniela Rossi,” Eve
said. Daniela was the pastry chef of the stars and the inspiration
for Eve’s baking. “She’s coming out with her first cookbook
soon.”

“
Yes, and she’s looking for
a place to launch her press tour.” Freya leveled her a look. “Hint,
hint.”

Eve gasped and clutched the
paper to her chest. “You
do
love me.”

Her best friend nodded. “When I heard
about it, I knew it was just the thing you needed. It’d put you on
the map in a big way.”

“
And I have the perfect
location, in the best city in the world for a pastry cookbook.” She
looked around her warm shop and inhaled the sweetness of bread and
coffee. “I can see it too. I’ll pack this place and make her
recipes to serve. I’ll get a ton of press coverage and—”

“
Whoa up, cowgirl.” Freya
grinned. “You’re better off writing down your marketing plans.
They’re lost on me. But if you need flyers or anything designed,
I’m your woman.”

“
You’re my fairy
godmother,” she corrected, leaning to hug her. “Thank
you.”

“
You’re going to make this
work, Eve.”

“
Yes. Yes, I am.” She
exhaled and tucked the paper safely into her pocket. Her miracle
had been handed to her. Now she just needed to make it
happen.

Chapter Two

Treat placed the wrench back in his
toolbox and put everything back under the sink exactly the way he’d
taken it all out. To say his mother was anal was an
understatement.

In fact, usually Margaret Byrnes would
be standing right over him, making sure he did the job correctly.
That he was a contractor and, therefore, pretty handy when it came
to repairs never occurred to her. Nor did the fact that she knew
nothing about installing an insinkerator, for instance.

Irritating? Yes. But she was his mom,
and he loved her even though she sometimes drove him
insane.

But today she wasn’t hovering or
harassing him. What was up with that?

Washing his hands, he picked up his
things and went to find her.

He found his mother in the front area
of her shop, staring out the large window that looked out on
Sacramento Street. She looked like she always did: her graying
brown hair in a secure twist, her dress understated but elegant,
her jewelry discreet but expensive. Just like he’d picture the
owner of a teahouse in Laurel Heights.

“
I installed the new
insinkerator,” he said, setting his toolbox down next to the
door.

Margaret turned around. “Thank you,
honey.”

Two things gave away that she
something was up. One: she didn’t question his work. And two: she
was fiddling with her pearl necklace. “What’s wrong?”

Her lips pursed and, arms crossed, she
faced the window again. “That store.”

He joined her and looked to where she
was glaring. “The doggie boutique?”

“
No. That one.” She pointed
accusingly at the new coffee shop on the corner, Grounds for
Thought.

Sacramento Street was lined with all
kinds of expensive and, in his opinion, useless shops. The
neighborhood lived up to its pretentious name of Laurel Heights.
His mom’s teahouse, Crumpet, fit in perfectly.

But Grounds for Thought didn’t. It
looked a little more welcoming and warm than the other shops, and
it appeared to actually have customers. “It seems like a nice
place.”

His mother stiffened. “It’s not a nice
place. She’s stealing my customers. Can you believe the nerve of
her, opening a coffee shop across the street?”

“
Last time I checked it was
a free country.”

“
This is not a free
country. This is Laurel Heights.”

“
I doubt that she’s
stealing your customers, Mom. You’re open different hours, and you
have a different type of business,” he said reasonably. “The people
who want afternoon tea are still going to come to you. She doesn’t
have tea service, does she?”

“
I don’t know.”

“
You don’t know,” he
repeated. As a business owner himself, he knew the value of
checking out your competition’s work. Even a contractor like
himself had to be proactive about that. “Shouldn’t you find
out?”

His mother turned to him, looking like
he’d just suggested she strip and run naked down the street. “I
can’t do that.”

“
Why not? Go introduce
yourself. You’re neighbors. You can check out her business at the
same time.”

“
She’ll know I’m spying.”
Margaret worried her necklace.

“
It’s not like you’re going
to go through her cupboards.”

Her brow furrowed even more
deeply.

But then she gasped, and she grabbed
his arm. “You can go for me.”

“
No.” He shook his
head.

“
Yes,” she said firmly.
“It’s ideal.”

“
No it’s not. The only
thing I’d be able to tell you is what brand of cabinets she has. I
have no clue what to look for.”

“
Just give me a general
impression. Order a cup of coffee and a muffin and tell me what you
think.”

“
No.”

“
Treat—”

“
Maybe you should hire my
friend Rick. You know he’s a private detective.” He groaned when he
saw her considering expression. “I was jokbeing facetious,
Mom.”

She patted his arm reassuringly. “I
won’t hire Rick yet. I want you to take a look around first.
Please, honey?”

“
You’re using that
tone.”

“
What tone?” she
asked.

“
The sweet one. It always
confuses me.” He shook his head. “Fine. I’ll go buy a cup of
coffee, but that’s it. And only this one time.”

She hugged him. “Thank you, honey.
What would I do without you?”

He shuddered to think.

But of course he’d help her. His dad
had died eight years ago, leaving her with only him for support.
Margaret didn’t exploit him too often, but she knew he’d do almost
anything for her.

It was his damn white
knight complex. He’d felt the need to save the girl ever since
Jennifer Markham was tagged
it
on the kindergarten playground and needed help
getting to home base.

Only he was done rescuing damsels in
distress. Two years of marriage had cured him of it. Not that it
was entirely Phoebe’s fault. It all came down to one thing: they
hadn’t been in love with each other. It was like building a home on
sand: without the foundation of love, the slightest tremor was
going to crumble the structure, no matter how fortified.

“
I love you, honey.”
Margaret followed him to the door. “You’ll come back immediately to
tell me?”

“
Yes. Remember, it’s only
this one time.” He gave her a stern look as he slipped on his
jacket. “I mean it.”

“
I know,” she said
agreeably.

He kissed her cheek.

“
Order a pastry while
you’re there too,” she said as he left her shop.

Shaking his head, he dropped his tools
off at his truck and went to do reconnaissance.

The moment he stepped into Grounds for
Thought, a warm sugary smell enveloped him, distracting him from
his purpose. There were cozy chairs with people hunkered down
reading and tables for those with laptops. Displays of books were
discreetly placed throughout the store, each one seeming to include
a detailed personal recommendation.

Interesting twist. That sort of thing
would appeal to this demographic.

And then he saw her, chatting with a
group of old men at a table in the front.

It was her hair that caught his
attention first. The chin-length blond hair lit her lovely face
like a halo. She wore an apron, which he noted only because it
covered her figure. But on her feet were the most impractical heels
he’d ever seen in daylight.

Her toes peeked from frilly lace. He
stared at the pink froth, fascinated. They made shoes like
that?

She worked here—that much was
clear—but those lingerie shoes defied logic.

Then she looked up and smiled at
him.

His world tilted. His heart stopped
and then started beating fast. If she affected him this way from a
distance, he hated to think what she’d do to him up close and
personal.

Not that he was
going
there
.

He was here to check the place out for
his mom. Period. He strode to the counter and looked at the
pastries.

He knew the moment she headed toward
him—the saucy clacking of her heels gave her away. His body went
taut with anticipation.

“
Good morning.” She aimed
that angelic smile at him again. “What can I get you?”

He smiled to himself,
wondering what she’d do if he told her what he’d
really
like. But he
pointed to the glass case. “Are those chocolate
croissants?”

“
Yes.” She tucked her hair
behind her ear. “They’re delicious, if I say so myself.”

“
You make them
here?”

“
Yes.” She pointed at
herself. “Me, specifically.”

“
You make all your
pastries?”

“
And cookies, but you’ll
have to come back later for those.”

For a moment he thought she was
flirting with him, inviting him back for something more sweet than
dessert. It took him a moment to realize she meant exactly what she
said.

She was a good girl, a blond angel who
baked.

He didn’t do good girls. Good girls
wanted poofy white dresses and picket fences. Good girls wanted
Prince Charming to ride up and whisk them away.

He wasn’t walking
down
that
path
again, even for someone who wore lingerie on her feet.

Clearing his throat, he said on
impulse, “I’ll take one for here and one to-go.”

“
You like chocolate.” She
studied him. “I bet you’d love my mocha.”

Especially if he could lick it off her
belly. “That good?”

“
Yes.” Her cheeks flushed
as she nodded. “Try it. I’ll refund your money if you don’t like
it.”

“
It’s a deal.”

“
For here too?” She turned
and reached for a cup.

“
Yes.” The apron may have
concealed her front, but it did nothing to hide her backside. It
was the kind of ass that begged to be grabbed and held on
to.

Averting his eyes before he started
drooling on the counter, he surveyed the café again. “Do you own
this place?”

“
Yes.” She steamed milk,
looking at him over her shoulder. “I’ve been open almost six months
now.”

“
Business is
good?”

“
It’s great and getting
better every day.”

Margaret wasn’t going to be happy to
hear that. He picked up a flyer from the counter. “You have a book
group?”

“
And we’re doing a singles’
night soon.” Her face flushed again as she glanced at him. “Though
you probably don’t care about that.”

“
Depends.” He wanted to ask
if she’d be there—there wasn’t a ring on her finger—but some topics
were best left alone. She wasn’t for him.

“
If you want to know about
it, you can sign up for my newsletter.” She nodded at a signup
sheet to the right of the register.

“
Sure.”

By the time he’d scratched his name
and email down, she finished his drink. She added a large flourish
of whipped cream to the top and pushed it across the counter at
him. “There you go.”

“
How did you know I have a
sweet tooth?” he asked as he paid the amount she quoted.

She blushed again. “Just a
guess.”

On impulse, he reached out his hand.
“Nice to meet you…”

She took his hand. He’s expected a
soft shake, but there was strength there. And warmth. “Eve. Eve
Alexander,” she replied. “And you?”

Of course she’d be named after a
temptress. “Treat.”

She nodded, letting go of his hand. “I
hope you’ll come again, Treat.”

He smiled and moved to a table. The
first sip of the mocha startled him. Rich and creamy with a touch
of dark to temper the sweet. He’d expected a saccharine coffee
drink.

The croissant was even
better.

As he enjoyed the pastry, he watched
the people come and go and the friendly way Eve handled them.
Sometimes she talked enthusiastically about a book, sometimes she
gave baking tips. One thing was constant: she always made everyone
feel at home, like you wanted to stay and hang out.

His mother was not going to be
happy.

Picking up the croissant he got for
her, he waved to Eve as he left, trying not to notice the adorable
way her face pinkened.

He didn’t even have to get out his
keys—Margaret had the door open before he reached it. “Well?” she
asked impatiently.