Zach downed the last of his water. “Speaking of sweet . . . did you save any room for fudge cake?”
She wiped her hands on a paper napkin and inspected the third taco she hadn’t yet unwrapped. If she ate it, she’d be full—and have a perfect excuse to pass on Zach’s invitation.
But despite the danger signal beeping in her subconscious, she wanted to spend another hour . . . or two . . . or several . . . in this man’s company—even if she’d have to ditch her concealing sunglasses in the shop.
Zach had seen her without them, though. If he hadn’t recognized her by now, there wasn’t much risk in extending their impromptu lunch—especially in an empty coffee shop, where no one else would see her.
And didn’t she deserve a few minutes of human companionship after the hermit-like existence she’d been living during most of her visit?
You’re justifying, Katherine.
Tuning out the silent warning, she wadded her napkin into a tight ball and took the plunge. “If I save this one for later”—she tapped the bundle—“I think I can manage a piece of cake.”
“You won’t be sorry. I’ll put your leftovers in the fridge at The Perfect Blend while we have dessert.” He stood at once, as if he was afraid she’d have second thoughts and back out.
Smart man.
Doubts were already assailing her.
But she didn’t have to stay long . . . and in the quiet of the coffee shop, with a few careful queries, perhaps she could find out the story behind Charley’s cryptic comment about how Zach had changed course midstream—and glean a few insights that could apply to her own situation.
She tucked her last taco back in the bag and fell into step beside him, glancing at the white truck as they walked toward Dockside Drive.
Charley gave her a thumbs-up.
That was encouraging.
Yet as Zach took her arm while they crossed the street, she hoped she didn’t live to rue this impromptu date with the man who’d been starring in her dreams since the day they’d met.
“Welcome back to The Perfect Blend.” Zach twisted the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and eased aside to let Kat enter.
She slipped past him but hovered near the threshold. As if she was thinking about bolting.
He could relate.
This detour for dessert might not be wise, for all the reasons he’d already identified—and Kat no doubt had a list of similar concerns.
But they were here, and he owed her a piece of cake.
Relocking the door, he called up a smile. “Let me get the lights. Hang tight for a minute.”
She waited while he crossed the room and flipped the switch, fingers crimping the top of the bag containing her remaining taco.
Zach motioned toward a booth for two tucked into the back corner that would shield them from the view of curious passersby. “Why don’t you have a seat while I get the cake and put your taco on ice?”
“Okay.” She met him halfway across the shop and handed over the bag.
The top was damp.
She was as uptight as he’d been during the weeks he’d been wrestling with the decision about whether to leave his old life behind.
“Hey.” He gentled his tone and touched her shoulder. “I promise not to bite.”
“Sorry.” She rubbed her palms down her leggings. “I’m a little spooked about venturing out in public.”
She didn’t say why.
He didn’t ask.
“No one can see us back there.”
“I realize that—and I appreciate it.”
“I know you like skinny vanilla lattes, but may I recommend straight coffee with the cake? You don’t want to mask the flavor.”
Forehead wrinkling, she scanned the equipment behind the counter. “Isn’t everything cleaned up and shut down?”
“The commercial side is—but I keep a small French press in the back so I can get my java fix while I’m here working on the books in the office.”
“In that case, straight coffee would be fine.”
“Have a seat and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
As she wandered toward the booth, he ducked into the back room, stowed her taco in the fridge, and pulled out the cake. A quick zap in the microwave would bring the slices back to room temperature pronto.
In five minutes, the coffee was brewed and their dessert was plated and ready to serve.
After putting everything on a tray, he returned to the public area.
Instead of hiding in the booth, as he’d expected, Kat was examining one of the poster-sized photos.
She swung toward him as he entered, waving a hand over the gallery of close-up nature shots on the walls—the beak of a bird pecking through an egg, tips of daffodil leaves pushing through the snow, a tiny plant growing in the crack of a boulder and beating the odds of survival despite the adverse environment . . . and a half dozen others. “These are wonderful. I noticed them on my previous visits. They’re so . . . hope filled.”
“That’s why I put them up. They add to the feel-good vibe of the shop.” He continued to their booth and unloaded the tray.
She followed him over. “Did you take them?”
“No.” He motioned her toward the bench seat, waited until she slid in, and claimed the opposite side. “My brother did.”
“He’s a very talented photographer.” Kat’s inquisitive blue eyes studied him.
“Yeah.” That response was sufficient—yet more tumbled out. “He was.”
Zach frowned.
Where had that come from?
He didn’t talk about Josh with friends, let alone strangers. Rehashing the trauma stirred up too many painful memories.
“Was?”
Of course Kat would follow up on the past tense.
He shifted in his seat.
Now that she’d finally ditched her sunglasses, he almost wished she hadn’t. Under her empathetic gaze, it was harder to sidestep her question.
Why not dole out a few facts?
“He died three years ago.”
Shock flattened her features. “I’m so sorry. Was it an accident?”
“No.” He sipped his coffee, taking care not to scald his tongue. “He had pancreatic cancer. Since that tends to be an older person’s disease, it took longer than usual to diagnose his condition. But the survival rate is dismal anyway. He was gone in five months.” The last two words rasped, and he cleared his throat.
Some of the color drained from her face. “I don’t know what to say . . . except how tragic and awful that had to be—for him and your family.”
“It was. It is.” He swallowed. “He was only twenty-nine—two years younger than me.”
She moved her cake aside, folded her hands on the table, and leaned closer, radiating compassion. “Would you tell me about him?”
Stomach clenching, he took another slug of coffee and forced himself to keep breathing.
No one had ever asked him to talk about Josh. The few people he’d spoken to about his brother had respected his back-off signals and dropped the subject after expressing their condolences.
Why hadn’t Kat?
Except . . . maybe he hadn’t sent those signals to her. Instead, his manner may have invited discussion.
If so, it hadn’t been a conscious decision.