Éclair and Present Danger (15 page)

Her free hand flew to her hair, her face, her scrubs only to drop back down as she remembered he wasn't there. “Jay. Hi. Please tell me there wasn't something wrong with the cookie . . .”

“You mean other than the fact that it's all gone?” She imagined the smile that went with his voice and the twinkle it had surely ignited in his gorgeous blue green eyes. “Hey. I was wondering if you might want to go out for coffee with me sometime.”

“C-c-coffee?” she stammered. “
Coffee
?”

“We could do a soda if you'd prefer . . .”

She knew she should say something, anything besides repeating coffee over and over again, but she couldn't exactly focus.

“C-coffee works,” she finally managed to eke out. “W-when?”

“We could do tomorrow. We could do the day after. We could even do tonight if that works for you.”

“T-tonight?”

“Caroline has a dance class from seven to nine at the studio right next to that new coffee place that just opened up in town.”

Caroline?

Ah yes, his teenage daughter . . .

She opened her mouth to decline, yet when her brain finally engaged with her mouth, a very different word came out.

S
he spotted him the second she walked into Beans. And, judging by the smile and wave he flashed in her direction, he'd seen her, too. (That or he knew the statuesque blond just over her left shoulder.)

Wiping her palms along the sides of her jeans, Winnie crossed to the two-person table in the back corner of the café and slid into the seat across from Jay. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” His eyes crackled to life as he dropped his elbows onto the table and leaned forward. “It's good to see you again.”

She knew she should say something, but like the college version of herself when suddenly in the vicinity of someone she was actually attracted to, she froze. If he noticed, though, he didn't let on, and she was grateful. Instead, he directed her gaze to the counter and the chalkboard menu that hung on the wall behind it. “What can I get you?”

Her gaze slid down the day's liquid offerings and then over to the second chalkboard panel and its list of
accompanying treats. “I'm kind of feeling the white chocolate hot chocolate, myself.”

“I was eyeing the same thing.” He tapped the table with his hand and then rose to his feet, his smile as wide as ever. “Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back.”

Two seconds later, he was back. “Can I get you something to eat, too? Or is that like asking a race car driver if they want to drive an off-the-lot economy car?”

Something about the way he asked the question, combined with the earnestness on his face, made it so she didn't have to wipe her palms on her thighs any longer. In fact, oddly enough, she felt . . . comfortable. Happy, even.

“A piece of cinnamon crumb cake might be nice.”

“Cinnamon crumb cake it is.” She gave in to the need for a really big exhale and then followed Jay back to the counter with her eyes. For a moment or two, she simply studied him—his quiet confidence, his sunny disposition, his genuineness—and then moved on to their surroundings.

Unlike its longtime predecessor, Silver Lake Coffee Shop, Beans certainly had the hip feeling her former landlord, Nick Batkas, was convinced the two-square-block downtown needed. It was present in everything from the expansive (and colorful) chalkboard menu to the high-top tables with the barlike stools. The walls were decorated with photographs of foreign cities and various travel memorabilia. Behind a glass partition bumped out from the back wall, customers could watch coffee beans being roasted. Overhead, music with a steady, almost headache-inducing beat wafted through the dull roar of background conversation.

She'd just set her sights on the customers themselves when Jay returned to the table with a to-go cup in each hand and two plates balanced on his forearms. Plucking the desserts from his arm, she placed them in front of their seats and took her hot chocolate from the man's waiting hand. “Thank you.”

“You're most welcome.” He reclaimed his seat across from her and lifted his to-go cup into the space between them. “Shall we toast? To a successful first day with the Emergency Dessert Squad?”

Equal parts surprised and flattered, she nodded and lifted her cup. “To a successful first day. Stowaway and all.”

His eyebrow cocked upward. “Stowaway?” At her nod, he leaned in for details, his smile morphing into laughter as she shared details of Lovey and Lovey's first ride with the Dessert Squad. When she was done, he pointed at her still-untouched cake with his fork. “Any chance I could try a bite of that? My lemon square is rather lacking.”

“Of course.” She nudged the plate forward a few inches. “I think I forgot it was in front of me.”

He popped the forkful of cake into his mouth and followed it up with a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders.

“Not good?” she asked.

“It's like the lemon square—nothing special.” He guided his plate next to hers. “You try. Tell me if I'm nuts.”

Intrigued, she forked a piece for herself, inspected it closely, and then slipped it into her mouth, the suspected issue confirmed inside the first chew. “Too chintzy on the cinnamon.”

“Maybe they decided to focus more on the
crumb
part of cinnamon crumb cake?”

She moved on to his lemon square. “Ummm, I think this one needs some confectioners' sugar and maybe a bit more lemon.”

Shaking his head in amusement, he gestured her attention back to the menu. “I'd be happy to get you something else. Maybe a piece of chocolate cake or a cookie?”

“I'm fine.”

He leaned back in his seat and took a slow, visual inventory of the room before bringing his focus back to Winnie. “I know you'll probably think I'm nuts saying this, but I liked it better the old way.”

“Liked what better?” she asked on the heels of her second and last bite of crumb cake.

“This place.” The sudden disappearance of his smile was quickly followed by a super-fast wave of his hands. “Don't get me wrong, Winnie . . . being here with you is great—awesome, actually. But I guess I preferred the Silver Lake Coffee House better. Less froufrou, more taste.”

She was nodding before he'd even finished his sentence.

“You agree?” he asked, relief making its way into his eyes, his returning smile, and his overall body language. “I mean, I guess this place is more—I don't know—
hip
now, but that didn't
grow
the crowd. It just
changed
it, you know?”

“The man that owns most of the buildings on this street is convinced Silver Lake is the next big thing—or can be with the right tenants. So he raised the rent on this place and my place and a few other places and essentially forced us out.”

Jay sat back, this time taking a bit longer to survey their surroundings. “Problem is, most of the kids I see in here are from the college. They'll spend money, sure, but their tastes are fickle. Better to build a solid business that has something for everyone. The music alone certainly doesn't help that . . .” His voice trailed off as his gaze returned to hers and then dropped to the table and their half-eaten treats. “Oh. Wow. I think I just showed my inner fuddy-duddy, didn't I?”

“Your inner
fuddy-duddy
?”

“That's what my daughter calls it when I say something she deems completely uncool.”

The teenage daughter . . .

She'd forgotten all about that . . .

Winnie's gaze dropped to Jay's to-go cup and the hand that encircled it. No wedding band. No I'm-a-lying-cheat tan line, either.

Dropping her head into her hands, she gave in to the smile she was powerless to hold at bay.

He's not married . . .

“Winnie?”

He's. Not. Married.

“You okay?”

Parting her hands, she peeked out at him and smiled. “I'm fine. Crazy day is all.” She brought her forearms back down to the table and willed herself to get back on track like a semi-intelligent human being. Besides, Jay was a business teacher, and she just opened a business. The likelihood he'd suggested this meeting to gather facts for his class was quite high. “So your daughter is sixteen and driving . . . Is that hard?”

“She doesn't have a car of her own, so that makes it a lot easier.” He took a long sip of his hot chocolate then set it back on the table. “I remember thinking, when she was little, how much easier it would be when she could get herself places. And now that we're at that age, I wish I could go back to knowing where she was and what she was doing at all times.”

“Renee, my friend—the one who worked with me at the bakery and does now again with the Dessert Squad—she says the same thing when her son is off with his father. I mean, she knows Bob is taking care of Ty, but she has to trust that to be the case. She can't see it with her own two eyes.”

He nudged the bottom of his cup with his index finger and then pulled his hand back as if suddenly aware he was fidgeting. “I lucked out in that regard. Caroline's mother was an actress, or longed to be one, anyway. She kept herself busy with community theater as best she could, but she grew bored with that over time. Shortly after Caroline turned five and started kindergarten, she decided it was time to spread her wings.”

“Caroline's wings?” she asked, confused.

“Nope. Her mother's wings.”

“Meaning . . .”

“Meaning she packed her stuff, kissed a sleeping Caroline, left divorce papers on the kitchen table for me, and headed to California.”

Winnie was vaguely aware of heads turning in their direction at her gasp, but she kept her focus on Jay. “She left?”

“Yup.”

“Does she at least
see
Caroline from time to time?”

“Nope. She thought a clean break was best.”

“Wow.” It was all she could think to say under the circumstances. Still, she couldn't help but study his face for any indication his heart was still mixed up in the past.

“I knew I should have been bitter, but I wasn't. I guess I knew it was for the best. But Caroline was five. Her mother walked out of her life with no warning. It was tough on her—still is, on occasion. Especially when we stumble across some press junket from one of her mother's movies and she denies having any children.”

“Wow. I'm—I'm sorry. I can't imagine
anything
coming before loved ones,” she said, honestly.

“Neither can I.” He took another sip of his drink and then smiled, the sparkle returning to his eyes in short order. “Your turn. Tell me something about you.”

“There's not much to tell.” She wrapped her hands around her own cup and stared down at the hint of steam still rising up through the mouth hole. “You already know about my new business.”

“And Lovey,” he added.

Winnie rolled her eyes. “Ahhh, yes, my new cat . . .”

“What do you do for fun?”

“I bake.”

“And . . .”

Releasing her hold on the cup, she forked another bite of her cake and used the chewing time to think of an answer. All she could come up with though was the truth. “I hang out with my neighbors.”

“Cool. What do you do?”

She looked from Jay to the remaining cake and back again and laid the fork down on the table. “You know what? I'm not into pretending to be something I'm not.”

“Good. Neither am I.”

“You learned about the Dessert Squad from that article in the paper, right?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face.

“So you know
how
I got the ambulance, right?”

“You inherited it. From an elderly friend . . .”

“
One
of my elderly friends,” she corrected.

“I don't understand.”

She looked around the restaurant for something that would be a nice diversion, but, in the end, she kept on point. “To hear Renee describe it, I collect old people. But the truth is I've always been drawn to the elderly. Have been since I was in fourth grade and my parents and I moved to a new town.” Her hands returned to her cup but only for the warmth it provided. “All the kids in my new school had known one another since they were fresh out of the womb. They weren't interested in making friends with me.”

Understanding tugged at his features, and she found her voice becoming shaky. “Every day, I couldn't wait for school to be over so I could get out of there . . . but it wasn't any better when the bell rang. I still had to walk home alone. I still had no one to play with when my homework was done. Then, one day, I decided to take a different way home, and I passed an older man named Mr. McCormick. He waved at me and asked me what subject I liked best in school. The next day, I decided to walk that same way . . . and there he was again. Only this time, he waved me over to see a table he was making with his own hands. Soon, I was walking home that way every day, and Mr. McCormick and his wife and their neighbors became my friends. They asked about my day, shared stories about when they were my age, and made me feel special.”

“Sounds nice.”

“I've gravitated toward the seventy-five-and-older set ever since. It's where I feel most at home and where I can truly be . . .
me
.”

When he said nothing, she prepared herself for the excuse she was sure would come next—I've gotta go, it's getting late, or, if she was really lucky . . . wow, would you look at the time?

But it didn't come. Instead, he leaned closer and helped himself to another piece of her cake. “Tell me about your friends now.”

She searched his face for any sign he was humoring her, but there was none. In fact, the only thing she saw in his eyes was interest—genuine interest.

“Gertrude Redenbacher lived down the street. She had the ambulance and Lovey. She taught me how to crochet, and I taught her how to bake the soufflé she'd always wanted to bake. Ethel Wagner lived across the street with her husband, Bart, until she passed six weeks ago. She was like a grandmother to me, and I miss her every day.”