Close to You

casual modern style.
    She felt a prickling up the back of
her neck. Turning around she saw the owner, Margaret, headed toward
her.
    She didn’t look happy.
    She did look imposing. She was already
tall, but she had on Ferragamo pumps and her hair was piled into a
twist that added to her stature. She wore a Chanel-type suit and
was fingering the luxurious strand of pearls around her
neck.
    “ Can I help you?” the woman
asked coldly, looking down her nose.
    Eve mentally girded herself and pasted
a smile on her face. Honey, not vinegar. “We met last week. I own
Grounds for Thought?”
    The ice queen didn’t even
blink.
    She cleared her throat. “I understand
you’re bidding to have Daniela Rossi’s cookbook launch party
here.”
    Margaret simply raised her
brow.
    Eve pictured a grudge match between
this woman and her father. Normally she’d have bet on her dad, but
Margaret was scary. “You know that I’m also in the pool to host the
party, right?”
    “ Your point?”
    “ Well, first you were
passing out flyers practically in the doorway to my café, and then
this. It seems like there’s something more going on, and I wanted
to get it out in the open and maybe work through it.”
    Margaret’s back stiffened even more
and her expression chilled, if that was possible. “Are you accusing
me of something?”
    “ Should I accuse you of
anything? It’s awfully coincidental, but I don’t know why you’d
have it out for me. Our businesses don’t compete.”
    Something in the woman’s face
shifted.
    “ That’s it, isn’t it?” Eve
blinked in surprise. “You think Grounds for Thought is competition,
but it’s not. My place is completely different than this. I’m sure
there’s plenty of business for both of us.”
    “ And in the same vein, I’m
sure Ms. Rossi will pick the venue best suited to her event,” the
older woman said coolly, her grip tight on her necklace. “Now if
you’ll excuse me, I have to work.”
    She shook her head. “I’m not
done—”
    “ I am,” Margaret said. Then
she turned her back and strode away.
    Eve stood there, mouth gaping. What
just happened?
    One thing was certain: she may have
denied it, but Margaret was up to something. Eve would have bet her
café on it. But why? As far as she knew, she’d never done anything
to threaten the woman’s teahouse.
    She watched Margaret stop at a table
to greet her customers. Her smile was aloof. Looking closely, there
was a bit of sadness there too.
    Eve shook her head and as left. She
wasn’t going to feel sympathy for the woman. This was war, and the
final battle was Daniela Rossi’s event.
    Chin high, she headed back to her
shop, each step clacking with purpose. This war she was going to
win.
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    Her doorbell buzzed right at
seven-thirty.
    Eve took a deep breath and tried to
set the day aside. She wore the bustier under her strapless dress,
and she knew she looked fabulous. She was going to have a great
time and no one—not even that Crumpet woman—was going to
contaminate her evening.
    Grabbing her wrap, she went downstairs
to meet him.
    Treat leaned against the building,
arms crossed. It surprised her that instead of his usual leather
jacket he wore a sports coat and a fancy shirt. His hair was pulled
back like usual, but he wore dressy shoes.
    His eyes lit up when he saw her.
Without a word, he lifted her chin and kissed her.
    Whatever tension she had faded the
moment his lips touched hers. The frustration and anger she’d been
carrying all day dissipated, and she melted against him.
    He smiled. “You look
amazing.”
    She ran a hand down her shimmery blue
dress. The bustier underneath was the real shining star. “I wasn’t
sure if it was too dressy.”
    “ It’s perfect.” He made a
gimme motion with his fingers. “Let me see the shoes.”
    She held her foot out so he could see
the silver strappy heels she wore. “Good?”
    “ Better than good.” Leaning
in he kissed her softly on the lips and then took her arm. “Those
are dancing shoes.”
    He guided her to a sleek Mercedes
sports coupe parked in front of the café. It was sexy and powerful
and surprising, just like him. She ran her hands over the leather,
wanting to do the same to him.
    Crazy, the way he affected her. Ten
seconds in his presence and she’d forgotten the frustration of the
day, brought on by that horrible tea woman. “You’re like Prozac,”
she said when he got in the car.
    He chuckled as he buckled up. “Is