Right. Miles Haas was not for me.
Dan was for me. Good old familiar Dan, the boat salesman. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he was mine. Our lives were in sync. Our goals for the future aligned.
Wow, that sounds really unsexy.
Frowning, I put the coffee on, preheated the ovens and started mixing up a batch of strawberry muffins in the kitchen while Miles wandered around the shop. It wasn’t very big—I could seat eight at the counter and sixteen at small tables lining the opposite wall. Long and narrow, the shop was the right side of a century old storefront that had been split in two. I’d kept the old wood floors and high tin ceiling, and lucky for me the place had been a cafe before I’d purchased the business, remodeled and revitalized it. The woodwork and wainscoting were painted a soft gray-green, the walls above it were a creamy white, and the counter top—my big splurge—was a gorgeous silver-veined marble.
“Congratulations, Natalie.” Miles appeared in the open archway to the kitchen and leaned against it. “This is a beautiful place.”
“Thanks. I’m proud of it.” I poured batter into two muffin tins. I forgot how blue his eyes are.
“You should be.”
“Make yourself useful and pour us some coffee, huh? Then you can come sit back here while I put together the lunch menu.”
“You change it every day?”
“Not every day. It varies.” I stuck the muffin tin in one oven and pulled two trays of unbaked cinnamon rolls out of the fridge. Normally I had a pastry chef/assistant manager here in the mornings, but he’d asked for a long weekend and would be gone today and tomorrow, so I’d stayed late last night to make up the dough and get the rolls ready to bake. “I use a lot of local produce and ingredients, so I change up the menu based on what’s in season and available. Right now it’s strawberry season. And rhubarb! I’m making a rhubarb pie later today. You like rhubarb?”
“I don’t know.” Miles set a cup of coffee near me and leaned back against the counter, lifting his to his lips. “But I love to eat pie. Can I taste yours?”
I stopped unwrapping the plastic sheet from the trays and glared at him. Over the rim of his cup, his eyes danced with glee. “You better be talking about rhubarb or I’m kicking you out.”
“Sheesh. So sensitive.” He sipped again. “I like the photos on the wall in there. The ones with the text overlaid? Is that Skylar?”
“Yeah. I took those.”
He paused with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “Shut the fuck up. You did those?”
Pride made me smile. “I did. I was shopping with Skylar at this old antiques barn last fall and I found this old magazine from nineteen thirty-eight that had all these dating tips for girls, like ‘Please and flatter your date by talking about his favorite subjects’ or ‘Never sit awkwardly or look bored on a date, even if you are.’ We were cracking up.” I stuck the two trays of rolls in the second oven and set a timer. “I’d always loved taking pictures, and I had the idea that it would be funny to create a series of modern photos with a quote from the advice on top.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten how you liked to take pictures. You used to make those slide shows of us.” He took another sip of coffee. “Those are great in there. Do you sell them?”
“Sell them?” I made a face. “Nah. It’s just for fun. But I found this other article from eighteen ninety-four on advice for brides, and I want to do another series. It’s unbelievable what people told women, like ‘Clever wives are ever on the alert for new and better methods of denying their amorous husbands.’”
Miles chuckled. “Amorous. Great word.”
“I wish I had a husband for that photo series but I doubt I could get Sebastian to do it.”
“Who’s Sebastian?”
“Skylar’s fiancée. They’re getting married this fall.”
He nodded. “So why haven’t you and the overly amorous Dan tied the knot yet?”
“Dan’s not overly amorous,” I said defensively. It was supposed to be a compliment to Dan, but it didn’t come out right. And it reminded me again about the lack of sexual heat in our relationship—in fact, we hadn’t had sex in two months. But this was not a fact I wanted to share with Miles.
“Ah. The fire’s gone out, huh?” He nodded knowingly and sipped again.
“No, there is still plenty of fire, not that it’s any of your business.” My tone had gone snappish. “I just meant that things are fine. Comfortable.”
“Comfortable?”
“Yes. That’s what happens when two people are committed and together for a long time, which you wouldn’t know.”
“Got me there,” he said easily.
But I was agitated. “Look, just because you make a living writing about your insane sexcapades doesn’t mean everyone else’s sex lives are boring.” With jerky movements, I began pulling out ingredients to make chicken curry salad, slamming things onto the counter. “Dan and I have great fire, if you really want to know.”
“Good.”
“Hot, explosive fire.” I plunked down a mixing bowl.