Close to You (6 page)

“
Sorry about
that.”

She looked left to see a smiling man
jog toward her. He waved one hand apologetically and held a golf
club in the other. If the golf club wasn’t indication enough that
he was a golfer, he wore orange plaid pants that hurt her
eyes.

Instead of going after his ball, he
stopped directly in front of her, cutting her off from finishing
her walk. When he smiled, he looked like an older George
Clooney.

“
I have a confession to
make,” he said.

“
I’m not a
priest.”

“
Thank God for that. I’m
getting old, but I hope I’m not so old that I mistake a priest for
a beautiful woman.” He laughed, the sound warm and rich as though
it came from the warmest part of his soul.

That laugh could thaw a woman
out.

Startled by that thought, she reached
for her pearls. She didn’t care what he could or couldn’t do. She
stepped around him and kept walking.

He fell in step next to her. “That had
to be the best shot of my life, even though it’s going to cost me
my game. I aimed my golf ball to stop you. I can’t believe it
worked, and I didn’t hit you.”

What she really wanted to cap off this
damn walk was a lunatic following her home. She lengthened her
stride. Worst case, she would run into the clubhouse and ask
someone to call the police.

“
You see, I play golf here
three mornings a week with my friend Don, and every morning I see
you right as we get to this hole.” He waved at the green to the
left. “Don was so sick of me waxing poetic about you cresting the
hill that he threatened to stop playing with me unless I talked to
you.”

Some feminine part of her that she
thought had been buried with Harry felt flattered. Mostly though,
she was annoyed. “And now you’ve talked to me, so you can go back
to Don.”

“
Are you married?” he asked
out of the blue.

That stopped her in her tracks.
“What?”

His light eyes crinkled. “It’s a yes
or no answer.”

She swallowed thickly, holding on to
her necklace. “No.”

Tension visibly melted from his body.
“Good. Have dinner with me.”

“
No.” She started to walk
again.

“
Wait.” He caught her
hand.

The touch shocked her, and she gasped.
No one had held her hand in over eight years.

His radiated heat and strength. The
calluses on his palm scratched her skin in an intriguing way. He
held her firmly, but loose enough that she could pull away if she
wanted.

Suddenly she wasn’t sure what she
wanted. She looked into his eyes.

“
I’ve handled this badly.
Let me start over. My name is Grant, and I’d love to take you to
dinner. Or for a beverage of some sort, if you’re more comfortable
with that.” He gazed at her in a way that made her feel like he was
looking deep inside her.

“
No.” Panicking, she tugged
her hand free. If he looked closely enough, he’d see how dead she
was on the inside. The thought of him seeing that upset her more
than she’d have thought. She hurried away.

“
Tell me your name, at
least,” he called after her.

“
No.” She walked faster,
feeling his gaze follow her.

She picked up her pace to almost a
jog, even after she knew she was out of his sight. When she got
home, she bolted the door behind her, leaning against it, panting.
Sweat dripped down her hairline.

She never sweated.

She wiped it with her hand, trying to
get her breathing under control. He’d disrupted her equilibrium,
thrown her off her groove. She needed to find her center again. A
shower would help.

A niggle at the back of her mind told
her that the axis had shifted.

“
No,” she said out loud.
Her voice echoed eerily in the large foyer. Nothing had been
changed. Some strange man with an even stranger name had accosted
her—that was all. It didn’t mean anything.

Rolling her pearls with her fingers,
she went to shower. She had an appointment to get ready
for.

Chapter Eight

The timer pinged at the same moment
Eve’s cell phone began to ring.

The only person who called her this
early in the morning was her father. Sighing, she grabbed a
potholder with one hand and her phone with the other.

A New York number, she saw as she
opened the oven to take the cinnamon buns out. She answered it
before it went to voicemail. “Hello?”

“
Eve Alexander,
please.”

She recognized the clipped, hurried
voice, and her heart began beating fast in anticipation. “This is
Eve.”

“
Eve, this is Carmen
McKnight.”

This was it. They were going to do
Daniela Rossi’s cookbook party in her shop. She bounced a couple
times on her bare feet but managed to keep her voice all business.
“What can I do for you, Carmen?”

“
I received your proposal.
I have to say, it looked good. The location is charming, and the
local demographic fits our target audience. But we have a
concern.”

“
Whatever it is, I’m sure
we can address it,” she said confidently.

“
We went on Yelp to look up
the reviews for your coffeehouse. The reviews in the past were
impressive, however the latest ones left us concerned.”

Her stomach lurched a little and the
tray in her hand clattered to the counter. “Which
reviews?”

“
The most recent. We take
that sort of thing with a grain of salt, however these reviews
regarded the baked goods.”

“
What?” Indignation raised
her pitch an octave. “Someone complained about my
baking?”

“
Yes. They wrote”—there was
a rustle of paper over the line—”’
the
scone I had sat in my stomach like a stone for the rest of the
day
.’”

Eve’s temper flared. Her
scones were
perfect
—fluffy and light and flavorful. No one had ever given her
anything but compliments regarding them.

It was just one review, she told
herself. To Carmen, she decided to laugh it off. “I’ve never had
complaints about my scones, but I suppose there has to be one to
keep me humble.”

“
We found more than
one.”

The royal
we
was beginning to get
on her nerves. “There was more than one?”

“
Several. One called the
croissants oily, another said the biscotti ‘
had the consistency of drywall
.’”

Drywall? Eve gasped. She started
toward her laptop, sitting on the far counter, to see these reviews
for herself.

But then she stopped. Now wasn’t the
time to flip out. She had to deal with Carmen to make sure she
still had a shot at Daniela. Clearing her throat, she said in her
most pleasant voice. “Carmen, I can assure you I’ve never had
anything but glowing reviews about my pastries.”

“
Yes, but—”

She cut in, thinking fast. “If these
reviews had cropped up in the past few days, I wonder if there’s
something else going on. I assume you’re interviewing other places
in San Francisco for Daniela’s launch party.”

“
Yes.”

“
Hmm.” She let the sound
hang in the air, not wanting to accuse anyone of anything, but not
willing to go down without a fight. Frankly, she couldn’t imagine
someone would deliberately seed Yelp with bad reviews to sabotage
her chances of hosting Daniela Rossi, but she was willing to let
Carmen think that.

The publicist took the bait too.
“People have been known to go to great lengths to host
Daniela.”

Eve rolled her eyes but said
nothing.

“
Okay, we’ll overlook this.
We’ll see for ourselves soon enough when we visit your
store.”

“
You’re visiting Grounds
for Thought?” she asked, excited again.

“
Daniela would like to get
a feel for each place in the running before making a final
decision.”

“
And when will this
be?”

“
We’ll let you know. In the
meantime, I suggest you take care of those Yelp
reviews.”

Like there was anything she could do.
But she just said, “Of course. Thank you for calling,
Carmen.”

The moment she was off the phone, she
ran to the laptop on the opposite counter. Standing, she looked
them up. Sure enough, there they were, just like Carmen
said.

Sketchy. They were all posted three
days ago. She looked at the previous dozens of reviews, all of
which were glowing.

The kitchen door creaked open.
“Eve?”

She looked up to find Treat peeking
in. Her cheeks flushed instantly, but instead of greeting him what
came out of her mouth was “I’m so pissed.”

He walked in, a frown furrowing his
brow. “Tell me.”

She waved at her laptop. “Someone
posted bad reviews about my baking.”

“
That’s crazy.” He leaned
over her shoulder to read the postings. Then he shook his head.
“These look like they’re written by the same person. Look at the
word choice. They sound too similar.”

“
You think so?” She reread
them.

“
Definitely. Besides, Eve,
your baking is delicious.”

She looked over her
shoulder, startled to find him so close. He was
right there
. She was suddenly
conscious of the smell of his leather jacket overlaying the scent
of soap. A lock of his hair had fallen loose of his ponytail, and
she had the strong urge to brush it away. Instead, to keep her
hands occupied, she tucked her own hair back.

He searched her face. “You make magic
in here, and you know it. A couple bad reviews won’t make a
difference.”

“
They will if Daniela Rossi
believes them and takes her launch party elsewhere.”

“
I don’t know you well, but
I get the sense you wouldn’t let that happen.”

His voice raised goose bumps on her
skin. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“
I didn’t think so. Where
are your shoes?”

The non sequitur made her blink.
“What?”

“
Your shoes.” He nodded at
her flip-flopped feet.

“
Over there.” She pointed
to the corner where she’d kicked them off.

“
Are they
black?”

“
With a little pink.
Why?”

“
You’re going to kill me,”
he said cryptically. Then he smiled and brushed her hair, which had
fallen forward again, back.

“
I’ve tried
barrettes.”

“
What?”

“
To keep my hair out of my
eyes, but they make me look like I’m five.”

He grinned. “You don’t look five to
me.”

“
What do I look
like?”

“
A smart, sexy woman.” He
snaked his hand around her waist and pulled her closer.

Her lips parted. He was going to kiss
her. Her heart pounding, she gripped the counter behind her to keep
grounded.

He nuzzled her cheek with his nose.
“You smell like Christmas.”

It took her a moment before she
realized what he meant. “I baked cinnamon rolls.”

“
Delicious,” he
murmured.

She felt his breath against her neck
and shivered. She waited for his lips to kiss her there—it’d been
so long since anyone had kissed her neck—but he hovered a
frustrating distance away.

His hand tightened on her waist. “I
may want one.”

“
I can give it to
you.”

“
Can you?”

“
Just ask,” she
whispered.

He speared his fingers through her
hair and tugged her head back. “I’m going to ask, you know. Not
this morning, because we both have commitments, but
soon.”

She gazed into his eyes. “I’m going to
say yes.”

His grip tightened reflexively and
something hot and possessive flared in his expression. “Good,” he
said as he reluctantly let her go.

She grabbed his hand before he could
leave. “Thank you.”

He nodded, squeezing back. She could
tell he knew exactly what she meant, and that warmed her all the
way down to her heart.

Chapter Nine

Grant was waiting for her in the
parking lot, leaning against a car bumper.

Margaret’s step faltered, and she
slowed as she climbed the hill. Since that day he’d accosted her in
that exact same spot, she’d taken to going for her walk either
earlier or later than her usual time to avoid running into him. He
seemed like the sort of man who wouldn’t take no for an answer, and
she had no intention of having a drink with him much less anything
else.

Why would he want to,
anyway? Every time she looked into a reflective surface, the person
who stared back at her was desiccated and dull. That he was
interested in this person who even
she
didn’t like made her
suspicious.