Pitiful, really. But he was long past trying to analyze why he couldn’t get over Grace.
He might as well be eighteen again, waiting for Grace outside a lecture hall, the swarm of butterflies in his stomach so loud they drowned out the sound of the bakery bags and ringing register at the counter.
And then, as if his longing had summoned her, she walked in. Right here, in the present. She wasn’t a hallucination he could blame on lack of sleep. The air inside the bakery changed, becoming charged, heavier, and infinitely more interesting.
She was fuller now, softer and curvier in all the right places, a woman carved by the reality of life instead of the carefree dreams of college. The blue of her eyes scanned the front room and went wide with surprise, then wariness, when she spotted him. For a second he thought she’d turn around and leave.
“Grace! Good morning, sweetie.”
He followed the sound of the voice to see an older woman waving Grace up to the counter.
She lurched forward, a smile wobbling on her lush lips. “Morning, Connie.”
She wore a floral dress that hugged her tempting curves and her fiery red curls were pulled back loosely, letting a few strands escape to frame her face. Even tense and uneasy, her beauty was undeniable, like a fresh, slightly battered rose.
Her gaze slid his way once more and he refused to look away, more than willing to let her choose how this played out. As he waited, a flush traveled up her throat, settling high on her cheeks.
Tingles. The word was ridiculous, but Calvin recognized that sharp, electric hum deep in his chest. It had been dormant for a decade and now it was back, stronger than ever.
“Calvin?” she breathed. Her purse slid from her shoulder to her elbow.
“Grace. Long time.” He stood up, offering a hand that felt suddenly too large, too rough, too corporate and detached.
No, he hadn’t come to Brookwell for her, but he’d be hard pressed to prove it at this point.
She ignored the handshake and, to his astonishment, leaned in for a quick, awkward, hug. Somehow, he managed not to crush her tightly to his chest. Where she belonged.
Not the point.Not the point.
She stepped back and stared up at him. “What are you doing here? I mean, in Brookwell.” She peered past him to his table.“Obviously the strudel brings everyone to the bakery.” Her smile brightened for a moment. “I, um… I thought you were miles away. New York? London?”
Was she trying to convince him she didn’t know he was in town?
“New York is home base,” he replied. “But business takes me all over. I’m actually in town for a few weeks, for some consulting and brand awareness.”
“Consulting,” she echoed. Her brow furrowed before she forced another smile. “The apartment over the shop was leased to your company.”
“Exactly. Between the timing, price, and convenience, we couldn’t pass it up.” Easier to offer all the logical corporate executive reasons. Safer than allowing any of his feelings to creep in. He gestured to the table. “Do you have a minute to join me?”
She turned her wrist and checked her watch. “Sure.” The gold band gleamed against her skin and he realized it wasn’t a smart watch, but more likely something her mother or grandmother had worn.
“I didn’t expect…you.” She smiled sheepishly as she sat down across from him.
He chuckled. “I didn’t expect me either,” he admitted. “And I won’t be here for the whole year.” Blurting that out felt all wrong, even though it was the truth. “I expect other executives will get more use out of the apartment as we handle various campaigns.”
“Good.” Her hands curled around her coffee cup. “Business must be going well.”
“Yes.” He had to remember to eat the strudel. He was too busy enjoying the sight of her, the clean scent of laundry and something subtly floral—honeysuckle, maybe—that clung to her.
He wasn’t sure how much to fill her in about the years since they’d parted. Suddenly his accomplishments tasted like ash in his mouth. How unfair was that? He’d missed her in those moments and now, being so close, he didn’t want to share for fear of bragging.
“You can tell me,” she said, sincerity brimming in her eyes. “I’d like to hear how you went from Duke to New York City.”
If she was hoping to avoid how he’d wound up in Brookwell, she’d be disappointed. His entire career was thanks to landing the right client at the right time. He cleared his throat. “A lot of it was luck,” he began. “And there wasn’t much to distract me from classes after you had to leave.”
She laughed, the sound as bright and lyrical as the bell over the door. “You don’t need to stroke my ego, Cal.”
“That’s not it.” The protest was weak, because he didn’t want to explain himself. “I had an excellent internship with a marketing agency in my junior year,” he continued. “I met several of the right people and had a great offer after graduation. Within three years, an investor approached me and I was able to start my own firm. It’s been relatively smooth sailing ever since.”
