Page 9 of Marrying Off My Husband

I plastered a grin onto my face. “I can’t take this.”

“Of course, you can,” she said with a grin.

I flicked my gaze to the bag before I returned my focus to her. “Well, let me buy you something else. And let’s sit down together…share a coffee.”

Her forehead creased, and she started to shake her head. She was just a doll.

My grin broadened. “Now, I am not taking no for an answer, darlin’.”

She swallowed hard, taking a tentative step closer. “Sure. Uh, I’ll just have a mini donut.”

The woman behind the counter smiled and bobbed her head, probably pleased that I hadn’t gone full-on berserk. “And did you say a latte?”

“Just a small hot chocolate for me, thanks,” the woman said.

The baker bagged the donut and prepared our drinks. I paid for them, and, with a wide smile, thrust her to-go cup toward her. “Shall we sit outside? It’s a beautiful day.”

“Okay,” she said.

I think she would have agreed to sit anywhere. We left the sweet-smelling bakery behind in favor of one of the metal tables outside under a fluttering umbrella.

I pulled the eclair from the bag and bit into it with a murmur of satisfaction. The woman smiled again as she toyed with the sleeve around her coffee, fidgeting in her seat.

As I pressed a napkin against my lips, I reached for her hand. “Oh, sugar, you are a lifesaver. Ineededthis eclair.”

“Seemed important to you.”

“It was, but I am sorry to rob you of it. And I don’t even know your name.”

“Eve,” she answered, slicking that stray lock of hair behind her ear again.

Eve. How fitting. “Aw, that’s lovely. I’m Louise. Louise Montgomery-Whitaker. But my friends call me Lou.”

“Eve Dawson,” she answered.

I patted her arm. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Eve Dawson. You saved me.”

She chuckled, the sound genuine, not the calculated laughs of society girls. “I don’t think I’d go that far.”

“I would. Darlin’, you have no idea what a call from my mama can do.” I let out a muffled groan as the conversation floated through my mind again. I shoved it aside, not wanting my angelic new friend to think I was a total whack job. “Do you have a good relationship with your mama?”

A melancholy passed through her eyes, and I wondered if I’d found a kindred spirit. “My mom died when I was a baby.”

My features fell, my face crinkling. “Oh, sugar, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known, and…I’ve never known any different. I’m sorry you don’t have a better relationship with your mother, though.”

“So am I. Let’s not talk about it.” I took another bite of my eclair. “Let’s talk about you.”

She flicked her gaze to the table, color rising in her porcelain cheeks. “Oh, there’s not much to talk about.”

“Come on, now, don’t be bashful. Tell me all about Eve Dawson.” I set my chin in my palm and arched an eyebrow at her.

“Umm, well, I…I’m a translator. I…have a sister.”

I waved a hand at her. “Ohhh, you lucky duck. I’ve always wanted a sister. I don’t have any siblings.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

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