Page 23 of Caught from Behind

“Patton?” I ask.

His throat works. “Don’t,” he whispers. “I-I can’t talk about it.”

Seriously, Kit’s boyfriend is a fucking asshole.

“Ella,” he whispers, when I open my mouth anyway. “Please, just…don’t.”

Sighing, I nod and bite back the urge to start ranting. “Okay, honey,” I whisper. “Just…okay.” I let it go, but I don’t return to Donna. Instead, I draw him into a one-armed hug, careful of the cup of coffee. “I love you.”

He sniffs, hugs me back, then asks, “Donuts?”

I reach into my pocket, pass him a twenty. “Apple fritters all the way.” I shove the cash into his hand. “And then whatever goodies Donna has in her box.”

His lips twitch, and thank God, it’s natural, not forced. “Apple fritters it is.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing out the front door of the salon and turning toward the bakery at the corner.

My mouth watering, I head back over to Donna. “What are the grandkids up to this week?”

She lights up, starts telling me about her youngest grandbaby, who’s a crazy talented athlete and has been working really hard at soccer, along with the three other sports he participates in, and about how her daughter got a promotion at work. By then Kit’s back with three apple fritters and we sit and nosh on them as her roots process. When she’s washed and dried and styled, the goodies in her box are revealed to be the best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever tasted.

So delicious, in fact, that I offer one to the older gentleman sitting in the next chair over.

A gentleman who’s been eyeing her as intently as Riggs eyes me.

A blip in my stomach, but I shove it down, smiling as his expression lights up. “Good, right?”

He nods, nearly losing a strip of hair to the clippers my colleague, Tammy, is using. “They’re delicious.”

“Want me to ask her for the recipe so you can give it to your wife?” I ask.

“Oh.” His face falls and I brace, because this is the dangerous part of matchmaking, tiptoeing through the trauma and baggage. “My wife passed about twenty years ago.”

A widow who’s a lovely person, enjoys cooking, is lonely, and likes to take care of people. And a widower who’s just as lovely—and lonely—and loves to eat and adores his daughters—this being intel from Tammy, who nods to me when our gazes lock. She’s barely holding back her smile. She’s been on board with my matchmaking, even going so far as to reschedule Ernest’s appointment so he’d show up right at the end of Donna’s appointment for the dispensation of goodies.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

It’s a match made in heaven.

I grin at Tammy.

And then…I let my magic work as they chat long after their appointments are finished.

Not to worry, though, I just commandeer another chair and keep pushing forward.

Because I cannot wait to hear all of the details of their date when Donna comes in next week.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Riggs

“Gotcha, bitches!”

Ella’s triumphant as she settles the little plastic train down in the opening on the board, thus completing her win in the tournament of Ticket to Ride—and her overall board game—domination. I’m watching her—noting the deliberate way she’s ignored me all night, barely a glimpse of those blue eyes on mine, while nursing a mule.

One. Mule.

Something inside me twists and then loosens.

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