Close to You

he lifted it to his lips for a
kiss.
    She frowned, confused by the hiccup of
hope she felt inside where it’d been barren for so long. She took a
deep breath, trying to calm herself, but she inhaled his scent and
that confused her even more.
    She used to inhale Harry, loving the
smell of him. She’d never tried to define it—he’d just smelled
right. After he’d died, she hadn’t changed the sheets on their bed
for weeks, until his scent was as gone as he was.
    She hadn’t noted another man’s scent
since, but then no one except Treat had been this close to
her.
    She tried to think of what her son
smelled like but drew a blank.
    Grant smelled spicy. Foreign. Just a
little dangerous.
    She reached for her
necklace.
    He intercepted her hand, holding both
of hers in his. “Go out for a drink with me.”
    Her head swam with disjointed
thoughts. She wanted to ask why. Why did he care so much? Why did
he want to spend time with her when she was obviously a shell of a
person?
    But if she asked he’d tell her why,
and getting an answer scared her. So she shook her head.
“No.”
    He nodded, letting her hands go.
“Okay.”
    She frowned, surprised by his easy
acquiescence. Silly woman, she chided herself. This was what she
wanted. She nodded curtly and began to walk away.
“Good.”
    His chuckle stopped her short. Turning
around, she narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”
    “ Don’t take that to mean
I’m giving up.” He smiled fondly at her. “Never that,
darling.”
    Frustration and something that felt
suspiciously like anticipation lit her from the inside out. “But I
just told you—”
    “ You didn’t tell me
anything other than you don’t want to have a drink with me yet. I
understand. You don’t know me.” He shrugged. “A woman has to be
careful these days. But I’ll prove that you can trust
me.”
    She opened her mouth and then closed
it again, not knowing how to reply.
    He shrugged. “I shouldn’t have
expected you to go out with me when you hadn’t trusted me with your
name, but I had to try.”
    “ Margaret,” she said
without thought.
    “ Margaret,” he repeated
with a pleased sigh. “I’ll see you soon, Margaret.”
    She continued on her way, feeling
dazed and unsure. She walked on autopilot, going directly to
Grounds for Thought.
    She paused at the door, but something
compelled her inside, the same way it had every morning since Treat
had brought her that croissant.
    Like every morning, the yeasty,
buttery smell greeted her. She inhaled it deeply, like it was a
drug and she needed a hit badly.
    This morning the older woman was at
the counter. Margaret looked around for Eve Alexander, but the
owner was nowhere to be seen. A strange combination of
disappointment and relief filled her.
    The barista smiled her. “Your
usual?”
    Startled, she nodded mutely. The woman
recognized her enough to know her order. She sat at the counter
where she’d been sitting every morning and, terrified other people
recognized her too, she picked up a discarded newspaper, raised it
high, and pretended to read.
    She had to stop going there. If word
got out that Crumpet’s owner preferred Grounds for Thought, it’d
kill her business for certain.
    She found the idea of never having
another croissant more distressing than going out of business. She
didn’t know what to make of that.
    “ Here you go.”
    She lowered the paper as the woman
slid the coffee and croissant close to her. “Thank you.”
    The woman smiled at her warmly.
“Enjoy.”
    That was the problem—she did enjoy it.
Too much. She took a greedy bite of the croissant and had to fight
the urge to moan, it was so good. When had anything inspired that
sort of reaction from her?
    When Grant had touched her.
    She almost choked on that
realization.
    Then anger rose like a dark tide in
her throat. Anger at Eve Alexander and her damn croissants. Anger
at Grant and his dimples.
    Anger at herself and the spiraling
feeling that she was losing control of everything around
her.
    She pushed the rest of the croissant
away. Almost tipping over her stool, she stumbled out of the café
and headed home. She needed air. She needed—
    She didn’t know what she
needed.
    Letting herself inside, she went
directly to her bathroom to take a shower.
    As she took off her clothes, she
caught herself in the mirror. Growling, she threw her pants at her
reflection. She was damn sick of looking like this.
    Scrabbling through her clothes, she
fished out her cell