Close to You

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,