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“Coffee’s ready!” Kat called, placing our drinks and muffins on the ledge in front of her window. I went to stand up, but was stopped by Matt’s hand on my arm. That simple touch sent tingles right through me.
“I’ve got it.” He pushed his chair back, weaved through the crowd of waiting customers, placed the muffins on top of the coffees, and walked back to the table.
I took a sip of coffee, sighing happily. “You’re right. She makes great coffee.”
“Sure does.” He took his muffin out of the bag, broke off a piece and popped it in his mouth, swallowed. “Makes great muffins, too.”
Removing my muffin from the bag, I took a bite. “You’re not wrong.”
He leaned back in the chair, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around the coffee cup. “So, how long were you in New York?”
I turned to look at him, found his gaze on me, steady and kind. It was a perfectly normal question, nothing to worry about. He was hardly going to start interrogating me about the whole sordid mess. Still, I couldn’t look at him, so I watched the leaves swirling down the street as I answered. “Nearly ten years.”
“Ten years, wow. What were you doing there?”
“Running a restaurant with my husband.” I felt his eyes on me but didn’t turn my head. “Ex-husband,” I clarified.Got that over with.
He paused, took another bite of muffin. “So, you’re a chef?”
“I was.” I knew there was something in my tone that didn’t exactly invite more questions, yet he kept asking them.
“How are you related to Ruby?”
“She was my great-aunt.” Jesus, there were so many minefields to dodge. If I wasn’t careful, we’d be getting into how I ended up with the house, and that would lead to the subject of my mother.
“Did you know her well?”
“A little. She retired from the library when I was in elementary school. I remember her doing story time with us kids when we were little. When I got too old for that, she got me hooked on theGoosebumpsbooks.”
“Oh, I remember those! They were great.”
“Yeah, I used to sit out in the garden at her place and read them.”
“They used to scare the life out of me, but I couldn’t get enough.”
Laughing, I replied, “Same. I never read them at bedtime, that’s for sure.” I finished my muffin, scrunching up the paper bag and going to put it in my pocket. Matt held his hand out for it, and I gave it to him. “Thanks.”
“Did you visit Ruby much as a kid, then?”
“Every school holidays, starting when I was about eight years old, while my mom worked.”
“What a great way for a kid to spend the holidays.”
“It really was. She had a shiny, red Volkswagen Beetle that Uncle Walter bought for her before he died. A ruby for his Ruby, he used to say, or so the family legend goes. We’d boot around town in it, to Main Street, the playground, the river. She would turn the music up so loud we couldn’t hear each other talk.” I smiled, lost in the memories.
“You know what’s weird?”
“What?”
“We could have met each other, when we were kids.”
I tilted my head, considering. “Yeah, maybe. How old are you?”
“Thirty-four. You?”
“Thirty-one.”
“Yep, there’s a very good chance I threw bark at you at the playground.”
