Close to You

handwriting.
    “ You know that my sister’s
boyfriend is a chef, right? Well, Max knows someone who knows
someone who knows Daniela Rossi.”
    “ 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