Close to You (4 page)

Allison cackled softly.

Pressing her hands to her cheeks, Eve
shook her head. “I thought you were a sweet lady when I met you,
but you’re bad.”

With a devilish wink, she took off her
apron. “I’m taking a break. You stay out here and contemplate being
bad too.”

Eve grabbed a cooled tray and
restocked the glass case. She glanced at him one more time and
sighed. All her energy needed to be focused on one thing: Daniela
Rossi and the book launch. She couldn’t afford to be bad, as
tempting as it was. Eve had a sinking business she needed to get
afloat. Drowning wasn’t an option.

Chapter Four

Like every morning for the past eight
years, Margaret walked the same route through the Presidio. Like
every morning, she kept her pace brisk, trying to outpace her
thoughts.

Unlike the other mornings, it didn’t
work today. Not even dropping off food for the homeless man who
lived behind the bushes between the parking lot and the driving
range distracted her from her churning mind. Her thoughts chased
her right past the gate to her house and all the way to her
teahouse, Crumpet.

She needed to pick up yesterday’s
mail. She cringed, thinking of the overdue bills waiting. At least
it’d give her the opportunity to peek in on Grounds for
Thought.

As she approached the café, she slowed
and stared inside. There were people drinking. There were people
reading. There were people chatting.

They all looked as though they were
enjoying themselves.

When was the last time she enjoyed
herself?

When she’d eaten the croissant Treat
had brought her from there. Best pastry she’d had in ages, though
she would have denied it if anyone asked.

She frowned and crossed the street to
her shop.

As she slipped the key into the lock,
she caught her reflection in the door’s window. Her frown deepened.
When had she become so haggard and dowdy?

She rubbed the glass with her sleeve,
trying to wipe away the wrinkles and lines. It didn’t matter—her
sixty years were all right there, for everyone to see.

Not that anyone saw. She was Margaret
Byrnes, widow of Harry and mother of Treat. She bet if most people
she knew were asked, they wouldn’t even know the color of her
eyes.

Firecracker blue, Harry used to call
them. Now they were faded and dull.

All of her was dull, as though part of
her had died eight years ago with Harry.

Closing the door, she walked to the
desk and picked up the packet of mail she’d organized the day
before. She looked around Crumpet. Yes, she had customers, but
business had been tapering off lately.

At first, she hadn’t cared. Not that
she would admit it to anyone, but she didn’t love the business. She
didn’t understand why people drank tea. It was supposed to be
reassuring and soothing, but that was all a lie. Sometimes nothing
was soothing. However, for some reason, women liked tea, and her
shop had been a hit.

But with the economy, business hadn’t
been as brisk. It wouldn’t have fazed her, except that she lost a
large chunk of her savings in the stock market.

And then that woman had opened that
coffee shop.

What if she lost Crumpet? Margaret
looked around the little store, with its doilies and Victorian
furniture and delicate china.

She hated doilies. Doilies went hand
in hand with old ladies.

But this was all she had. Her only
income, meager though it was. If she lost it, what would she do?
Sell her house? It was the last thing she had of Harry’s—he’d done
the remodeling himself. She couldn’t bear to let it go.

Tucking the mail under her arm, she
locked up and looked down the street at Grounds for Thought. A
large group streamed out, bright shiny faces in the cool San
Francisco morning.

Before Margaret could stop herself,
she headed straight for its doors. For reconnaissance, because
Treat’s observations were less than helpful.

Behind the counter, a smiling woman
with salt and pepper curls made coffee drinks while a younger woman
with a blond bob rang up customers and served pastries. Margaret
got in line woodenly and waited.

When it was her turn, the blonde
turned to her with a warm smile that magnified how bitter Margaret
felt inside.

She ordered coffee and a chocolate
croissant—purely for research, to see how consistent the quality
was—and sat at the counter. The blonde served her with the same
warm, connected smile and went on to the next customer.

Margaret took a careful sip of her hot
beverage. She hadn’t connected with anyone in so long—not since
Harry had been alive. She didn’t think she even connected with her
son anymore.

Why was she thinking about all this
now? She reached for her pearls—the last gift Harry had given her.
They didn’t comfort her the way they usually did.

Because she was scared. She was scared
that this half-life she’d created was all she’d ever have. She was
scared of growing older and older.

She was scared of having
nothing.

She took a bite of the croissant.
Buttery and perfectly flaky, with just enough dark chocolate.
Perfect.

She frowned at it.

“
I’m so proud of you,
Eve.”

Margaret looked up in time to see the
barista hug the blonde woman.

That must be the owner. Treat had said
her name was Eve Alexander.

Eve smiled brightly. “Having Daniela
Rossi do her launch party here will be such a coup.”

Daniela Rossi was having a party here?
Margaret automatically took another bite of the croissant, barely
tasting it this time.

“
I mean, it’s not definite,
but I have a good feeling,” Eve continued. “Daniela’s PR person
just wants to check out a few other businesses too. But they’ll
pick us.”

“
It’s just the thing we
need,” the other woman said, her curls bouncing as she nodded.
“It’ll guarantee that Grounds for Thought will be a
success.”

“
I just have to stay
solvent until then,” the owner said with a sigh. “But it’s only a
few weeks. I can hang in there for a few weeks, as long as nothing
catastrophic happens.”

Margaret felt a pang of compassion for
the young woman’s financial problems. She was in the same boat.
Just like her, it sounded as though a misstep or two and the coffee
shop would go under. Especially if Eve lost Daniela Rossi’s party
to another store.

Like Crumpet.

Then her teahouse would be
safe.

She couldn’t lose Crumpet. What would
she do if she without the income? Live in the bushes like that poor
homeless man? Go to live with Treat? Talk about
disastrous.

Nodding decisively, Margaret pushed
the coffee away and stood. She had phone calls to make.

Chapter Five

Treat told himself he wasn’t going
back to see Eve at Grounds for Thought. He listed all the reasons
it was a bad idea, from Eve and her sinful shoes to his mother and
her obsession with the competition.

“
And still, here I am,” he
muttered, pulling his truck into a parking spot on a side street in
the opposite direction from both his mom’s house and her shop. He
didn’t want to run into her. He didn’t want to handle all the
questions she’d throw at him. He didn’t know the answers
himself.

He shook his head. What was he? A
teenager?

The shock of excitement he felt as he
walked to the café made him feel like one. He tried to remember the
last time he’d anticipated seeing a woman so much and couldn’t
think of once. Not even with Phoebe.

Maybe Eve wouldn’t even be there.
Maybe she’d already gone home for the evening. Maybe it’d be the
older barista.

He rounded the corner, saw
her shiny blond hair through the window, and exhaled tension he
hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.
There.

Most of the top half of her was
covered by an apron, but her legs were encased in the form-fitting
black pants, and she had on another pair of silly high-heeled
shoes. Red this time. She looked stunned as he walked in, but then
her smile radiated out through her eyes.

“
I knew you’d get hooked on
my mocha,” she said.

It wasn’t her mochas that he wanted.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

“
My business, therefore I’m
here till closing, at seven.” Gesturing to a bar stool, she went
behind the counter. “Sit. I have something you’ll like.”

She had a lot he liked. Taking off her
his leather jacket, he sat where she’d pointed.

The view was excellent. There was the
way the pants fit her (he wasn’t blind) but he also liked watching
her move. She had a graceful economy of movement. Efficient but
thorough.

Before his thoughts shifted from her
efficient hands to how they’d feel on him, he said, “They say you
own a business, but really it owns you.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “You
own your own business too?”

“
I’m a contractor. I have
several sites going at once.”

“
That could be a logistical
horror.” She came back with a cup and a plate. “I made you a
macchiato because it goes better with the boudino. Tell me what you
think.”

He sipped the coffee and had a bite of
round chocolaty cake. It melted in his mouth, a rich, dark
explosion. It was silky, earthy, and just a little sweet, the way
he imagined Eve would taste. “You’ve found my Achilles
heel.”

She smiled wide. “I’m only buttering
you up so when I want to expand you’ll give me a good
deal.”

With the exception of work for his
mom, he did big commercial jobs exclusively. Usually. “Are you
planning on expanding soon?”

“
I wish.” Leaning on the
counter, she wrinkled her nose. “I have this garden space I’d like
to convert. I know it’s often foggy out here in Laurel Heights, but
I think with the right sort of wind guard and heat lamps it’ll be
nice.”

“
But...”

She sighed. “Money, of course.
Renovating this place took a bigger chunk than I’d thought, and I
had to cut the garden project to make it all work
financially.”

“
I could take a look,” he
offered before he could stop himself. What was he thinking? He
wasn’t in the business of saving women any longer. Would he ever
learn?

“
You’d be willing to
look?”

But how could he resist that smile?
“Now, if you’d like.”

She glanced at the clock. “I close in
fifteen. Can you hang around until then? I’m on my own in the
evenings.”

He wasn’t going to turn down spending
time with her. “Sure.”

“
Do you live in the city?”
she asked as she started wiping down the counters.

“
In the Marina.”

She stopped and studied him
suspiciously. “You don’t look like the Marina type.”

“
What’s the Marina
type?”

“
Khaki pants wearing,
preppy guys.” Her cheeks flushed adorably. “I think your hair is
way over the acceptable length to allow you to live
there.”

“
Where do you
live?”

“
Here.” She pointed at the
ceiling. “Upstairs.”

“
Nice commute.”

“
Can’t beat it.”

“
But you’re a pearl
necklace short of looking like a Laurel Heights maven. I can say
that because my mother lives a few blocks away.” He leaned forward.
“She thinks my hair is too long too.”

Her lips twitched with amusement. “I
said it was too long to be acceptable in the Marina. I didn’t say I
don’t like it.”

“
Do you like
it?”

She flushed from her neck up, but
before she could reply someone stepped up to the register. She
excused herself to go help the person.

He took in the café and its patrons
while she finished up business for the night, with a few last
minute books sales and pastries to go. Every now and then, Eve
would look at him and smile.

He knew then it was inevitable—he had
to kiss that mouth.

He shook his head. It’d been
inevitable from the moment he’d seen her through the window, the
first time he’d come in for his mom—he just hadn’t wanted to admit
it. He’d tried to rationalize it—he’d tried to resist—but who was
he kidding?

It was just a question of
when.

After she flipped the sign
in the window to
closed
, she walked toward him, undoing her apron. “Ready to take a
look at my backyard?”

“
Yes.”

“
This way.” She walked
ahead, confident even in those shoes. She led him past the restroom
to a sliding door at the end of the hall. She flipped a light and
motioned him outside.

It was a large space. The ground was
completely cemented over except for the spot where a large tree
stood, and there was one overgrown bush that lined the left side of
the fence. Some buckets and debris was piled into a
corner.