Page 8 of Love Me Sweet

“I’m sorry about Audrey.” Sylvie’s voice grew thick with emotion. “She was a wonderful woman.”

The words took him by surprise. “You knew Audrey had cancer? That she passed away?”

Sorrow filled those violet eyes. “Just recently I read the piece on her in the Globe. It was quite a tribute.”

Audrey had been a talented musician, Julliard trained, and had come from a prominent Boston family. The piece, tastefully done after her passing, had been not only a testament to all the lives she and her family had touched in their philanthropic endeavors, but also a tribute to a beautiful young woman who died way too young.

“She and I were friends for as long as I can remember.” Andrew found himself thinking back. Quite unexpectedly, his lips quirked up. “When we were thirteen, or perhaps it was fourteen, we made a pact that if we weren’t married by the time we were thirty, we’d marry.”

Andrew had turned thirty at the beginning of the year, right around the time he’d met Sylvie.

“You didn’t marry her.”

It was such an odd thing for her to say that for a second Andrew wondered if he’d imagined the words. “Audrey was like a sister to me. There was never anything more between us than friendship.”

Sylvie glanced at her untouched cup of coffee. The baby had grown silent, too.

“Andrew, I—”

“Tell me about your life here,” he said brusquely.

Those thickly lashed violet eyes widened. “W-what?”

Impatiently he gestured with his head to the couple beside them. The man and woman, both in their thirties had quit talking to concentrate on their food. Or to listen?

Understanding filled her gaze. As if she needed to gather her thoughts to answer his simple question, she took a long sip of tea before responding.

“Even back in culinary school, I knew I wanted to open my own business.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “My craft is important to me. It’s a passion. I’m an artist, not simply a baker.”

Andrew shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d known she loved to bake, er create. Heck, she’d been working in a bakery when he met her. He’d known she enjoyed making cakes. But had he realized it was her passion? Had he cared?

Something in knowing she’d found it so easy to embrace a new life—one without him—to explore that passion, stung. “Starting a business takes capital.”

She flinched at his tone and Andrew cursed the defensive response. And the coldness that chilled the words.

But when she responded it was with a slight smile. “You haven’t seen my shop. If you had, you’d know that a business can be launched on very little capitol. My goal was to secure an inexpensive space that could be brought up to meet all necessary codes. I succeeded.”

Should he tell her that he had seen her place, or rather the outside of business she called ‘The Mad Batter?’ It looked like a hole in the wall, with only a door and a sign. Not even a window.

He decided that might show too much interest. “Is your shop near here?”

“Not far.” Sylvie paused as the waitress brought the food and set the plates on the table.

He watched her lower her gaze to the salad then slant a glance at his omelet and side of bacon. Despite the stress of the past few minutes, he found himself smiling. “Go ahead.”

She picked up her fork, stabbed a piece of romaine. “I don’t have any idea what you mean.”

He lifted a piece of bacon and waved it in front of her. “You know you want it.”

For a second Sylvie hesitated. In the next, she’d snatched it from his fingers and taken a bite. As she munched on the piece, a rueful smile tipped her lips. “I’d given up bacon.”

“I led you into temptation.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it. “Some things are irresistible.”

Was she remembering that time long ago—it felt like a lifetime—when she’d told himhewas irresistible?

This time when the baby began to cry again, Andrew barely noticed. He was too focused on the woman sitting across the table from him. He’d forgotten how lovely she was, with that coppery brown hair, big violet eyes and heart-shaped face. No wonder he’d fallen in love with her.

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