Close to You

said, still fiddling with her top. “He only
has eyes for you.”
    Eve shook her head. “He likes my
mocha.”
    The older dismissed that with a wave
of her hand. “He can get a mocha anywhere. He likes
you.”
    “ How do you
know?”
    “ Because he can’t keep his
eyes off you. He’s probably wondering if you taste as good as that
croissant,” she added with a saucy wink.
    “ Allison .”
    “ I may be old, but I know a
thing or two about passion. Tom and I have been together thirty
years and we’ve never been bored in that department. The other
night, Tom—”
    “ I don’t need to hear
this.” She covered her ears with her hands.
    Allison pulled them aside. “I’m only
saying I recognize passion, and that man has it directed at
you.”
    Eve turned to look at him. He glanced
up at the same moment and smiled. Blushing, she turned and
pretended to wipe the counter.
    “ See? He wants you.”
Allison leaned in. “I bet he goes commando under those
jeans.”
    “ Allison .” Glancing at him, she
lowered her voice to a whisper. “You don’t know that he doesn’t
wear underwear.”
    “ I don’t, but I think you
should find out.”
    She imagined unbuttoning his jeans and
sliding her hands in to find bare flesh underneath. She felt her
face go up in flames.
    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