“Yes. Something else is also bothering you. What is it?”
He scrubbed his hands through his hair, dropped them to his thighs. “I think that I’m...”
Silence.
“You think that you’re what?” she asked with kind insistence.
“Lonely.”
Her emotions constricted with sympathy, as well as a prick of hurt because, clearly, her friendship and the time they’d been spending together hadn’t been enough to save him from loneliness.
“I’ve been traveling for months,” he continued. “I was lonely then, but at least I had things to see and do to distract me. It seems worse now that I’m home. Now that Frank is gone.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No. I don’t even know why I’m struggling as much as I am. I have my writing, our research into Frank’s past, and Carolyn to keep me busy.”
“And me.”
A brief pause. “And you.”
“Do... Do you think it’s time for you to leave and continue your Grand Tour?” It pained her to ask the question. Inside, her psyche was wailing,Nooooo!“As much as I’ll miss you, I don’t want you to be stuck here against your will.”
“There’s still a lot I need to figure out about Frank before I can leave.”
“That’s not technically true. Carolyn and Nora and I can keep looking for information after you go.”
He scowled. “No.”
“Yes. Of course we can. It’s unlikely that any of us are going to find anything, anyway. Whether you’re here or not.” She gestured impatiently. “What if you postpone your trip for years and we never unearth even one more clue?”
He released an edgy breath. “I don’t feel right about leaving yet.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Andthank God. She was saying the noble things, but she absolutely did not want him to go. “Just know that when you do feel right about leaving, I’ll support you. Fully. Because I’m very unselfish like that.”
“Very.”
“Anything else you want to tell me?” she asked.
“I think I’ve spilled my guts enough for one day.”
“By your standards, perhaps even enough for one week.”
“Probably enough for one year,” he admitted. For the first time all evening, humor and affection settled into the lines around his eyes. He’d gotten over his aggravation.
Zander really was painfully good-looking. Mercilessly so. How was she supposed to regain their usual dynamic with himlookinglike that? All Dickensian and poet-like? What chance did she have? She’d been somewhat boyfriend-starved for the past few months.
“I brought something else.” She extracted a medium-sized wrapped gift from her purse. His gift, to her. He’d deposited it onto the pile of presents at the restaurant. “You left before cake and before I had a chance to open my presents. Is it okay with you if I open it now?”
“Sure.”
She ripped off the paper and exposed a gleaming silver antique chocolate mold in the shape of a teddy bear. “Oh,” she breathed, pleasure suffusing her. The handwriting on the white tag tied to the clasp read1930s. Anton Reiche Dresden. German.
The history of chocolate making fascinated her so much that she’d framed black-and-white photos from America’s chocolate-making past and hung them in the interior of her shop. She’d devoted one long shelf in her kitchen to her private collection of chocolate-making antiques.
