He reached the shop and headed for the door, then heard his name and turned. Tara was hailing him from the coffee shop across the street with a look of . . . welcome expectation? Her kindness pushed him undeservedly into the “hero” category.
“Good morning.” Gladness brightened her face as he crossed the road. “I got here early and grabbed coffee.”
Greg tapped his watch apologetically. “Technically afternoon, my bad, and coffee sounds like an excellent idea.” He grinned down at her and fought the sweet swell of emotion growing within. Her forthright smile was absolutely contagious. He eyed her empty cup. “Can I get you another?”
She shook her head.
“You might want one later, and you can’t leave the store with the doors open,” he reminded her. “Although you could always lock up and run over. And you had no problem making me buy you food last night,” he added. “So I would think a Sunday coffee would fall within the parameters of compensation for job well done.”
“An excellent point, so I’ll say yes.”
“What kind?”
She hesitated a fraction of a second before saying, “Just straight coffee. A medium.”
He watched her doctor the coffee at the fixings bar near the front window, and then he got it: she loved fancy coffees, but her budget-conscious mind didn’t allow the extra expense. Instantly he felt like he’d paid too much for his shoes, his shirt was too high-end, and he should be supporting more charities.
She turned and raised the cup. “Thank you! This is perfect. Shall we go?”
“After you.” He held the door open, let her pass through, then noticed the wide splotches on her pants and boots. “You’re soaked.”
She shrugged as she crossed the street. “I was soaked. I’m almost dry now. Took a wicked splash on Germantown and got the worst of the deal. No biggie.”
From the look of the splash pattern it was a biggie, at least it would have been to any woman he knew.
Which should tell you something, Einstein. Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting . . . Come on, all those years of Christian education. You must remember something, don’t you?
He did.
And Tara Simonetti brought the sweet proverb to life with her inborn optimism. Her hopeful attitude was just what Elena’s Bridal needed.
Except she’s leaving in a few months, which means your decisions have to be based on the here and now.
Greg pushed that reminder aside for the moment. He opened the door, followed her in, then pulled out books and computer procedures for her to study while he joined his buddies at Tim’s. He’d come back after the first game, lock up, then drive back to Tim’s apartment in Manayunk. This way she’d have a four-hour stretch of time to familiarize herself with the store, with coffee.
“Okay, I’m good.” She hung up her wet jacket, stowed her purse, turned up the heat, and was perusing the various bridesmaid gowns for color options per style. “I’ve got your cell number. If I need to ask you anything, I’ll call.”
“All right. Although Kathy knows way more than I do.”
“I have her number too. Maisy gave it to me yesterday.”
“Oh. Well. Good.” The fact that she could call Kathy for advice instead of him didn’t sit right, but that was absurd. Kathy knew the business inside out. She was the assistant manager. She’d loved his mother and she loved bridal. Why wouldn’t Tara call her?
“See ya.”
“Right.” He walked out the door, heard her click the lock behind him, and struggled with his feelings as he trudged to the parking garage for his car.
He wanted to stay.
You do not.
Greg tucked his chin lower into the neck of his jacket and recognized the silliness of his thoughts. There was nothing he could do there. He had an afternoon of football planned, and the guys were waiting. He’d anticipated this respite all week long. His fantasy team had tanked early, and his beloved Eagles had already been knocked out of the playoffs, but hey, it was football. More important than just about anything except money-making mergers.
A lone bell chimed the one o’clock hour.
A new day, a new week, a new person working in his mother’s beloved store. As he climbed into his car, he realized it felt wrong to be starting out something so new with something so same old, same old, especially a game he didn’t care a whole lot about.
Scowling, he put the car into gear, eased into the street, and headed to Tim’s place near the banks of the Schuylkill River. He’d put in plenty of late nights this past week, nailed a lucrative takeover of a faltering fossil energy business, and had a significant promotion on the line. There was nothing wrong with taking an afternoon off to watch football with the guys.
Nothing at all.
Don’t go. Stay here and show me around. We can talk about dresses and bridal and walks in the park and faith and babies and why Billy Joel songs are still the best.
He left, of course.