Close to You

Victorian
furniture and delicate china.
    She hated doilies. Doilies went hand
in hand with old ladies.
    But this was all she had. Her only
income, meager though it was. If she lost it, what would she do?
Sell her house? It was the last thing she had of Harry’s—he’d done
the remodeling himself. She couldn’t bear to let it go.
    Tucking the mail under her arm, she
locked up and looked down the street at Grounds for Thought. A
large group streamed out, bright shiny faces in the cool San
Francisco morning.
    Before Margaret could stop herself,
she headed straight for its doors. For reconnaissance, because
Treat’s observations were less than helpful.
    Behind the counter, a smiling woman
with salt and pepper curls made coffee drinks while a younger woman
with a blond bob rang up customers and served pastries. Margaret
got in line woodenly and waited.
    When it was her turn, the blonde
turned to her with a warm smile that magnified how bitter Margaret
felt inside.
    She ordered coffee and a chocolate
croissant—purely for research, to see how consistent the quality
was—and sat at the counter. The blonde served her with the same
warm, connected smile and went on to the next customer.
    Margaret took a careful sip of her hot
beverage. She hadn’t connected with anyone in so long—not since
Harry had been alive. She didn’t think she even connected with her
son anymore.
    Why was she thinking about all this
now? She reached for her pearls—the last gift Harry had given her.
They didn’t comfort her the way they usually did.
    Because she was scared. She was scared
that this half-life she’d created was all she’d ever have. She was
scared of growing older and older.
    She was scared of having
nothing.
    She took a bite of the croissant.
Buttery and perfectly flaky, with just enough dark chocolate.
Perfect.
    She frowned at it.
    “ I’m so proud of you,
Eve.”
    Margaret looked up in time to see the
barista hug the blonde woman.
    That must be the owner. Treat had said
her name was Eve Alexander.
    Eve smiled brightly. “Having Daniela
Rossi do her launch party here will be such a coup.”
    Daniela Rossi was having a party here?
Margaret automatically took another bite of the croissant, barely
tasting it this time.
    “ I mean, it’s not definite,
but I have a good feeling,” Eve continued. “Daniela’s PR person
just wants to check out a few other businesses too. But they’ll
pick us.”
    “ It’s just the thing we
need,” the other woman said, her curls bouncing as she nodded.
“It’ll guarantee that Grounds for Thought will be a
success.”
    “ I just have to stay
solvent until then,” the owner said with a sigh. “But it’s only a
few weeks. I can hang in there for a few weeks, as long as nothing
catastrophic happens.”
    Margaret felt a pang of compassion for
the young woman’s financial problems. She was in the same boat.
Just like her, it sounded as though a misstep or two and the coffee
shop would go under. Especially if Eve lost Daniela Rossi’s party
to another store.
    Like Crumpet.
    Then her teahouse would be
safe.
    She couldn’t lose Crumpet. What would
she do if she without the income? Live in the bushes like that poor
homeless man? Go to live with Treat? Talk about
disastrous.
    Nodding decisively, Margaret pushed
the coffee away and stood. She had phone calls to make.
     
     

Chapter Five
     
    Treat told himself he wasn’t going
back to see Eve at Grounds for Thought. He listed all the reasons
it was a bad idea, from Eve and her sinful shoes to his mother and
her obsession with the competition.
    “ And still, here I am,” he
muttered, pulling his truck into a parking spot on a side street in
the opposite direction from both his mom’s house and her shop. He
didn’t want to run into her. He didn’t want to handle all the
questions she’d throw at him. He didn’t know the answers
himself.
    He shook his head. What was he? A
teenager?
    The shock of excitement he felt as he
walked to the café made him feel like one. He tried to remember the
last time he’d anticipated seeing a woman so much and couldn’t
think of once. Not even with Phoebe.
    Maybe Eve wouldn’t even be there.
Maybe she’d already gone home for the evening. Maybe it’d be the
older barista.
    He rounded the corner, saw
her shiny blond hair through the window, and exhaled tension he
hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. There.
    Most of the top half of her was
covered by an apron, but her legs were encased in