LITMIR.BIZ

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her politely for her time and walk out the door. Why did the reason she’d left him even matter? The fact was, she’d walked out on him. That couldn’t be undone.

      Andrew took a deep breath. “Tha—”

      Her hand closed over his. They weren’t soft, do-no-work hands, but ones with strong fingers and clean, blunt-cut nails. A hand with just a hint of calluses on the palm. A hand that smelled faintly of citrus.

      “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, Juilliard-trained, and came 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 take that trip down the aisle together.”

      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. “Wh-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 capital. 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 the 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 was trying to be good.”

      “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 him he was 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, those big violet eyes and that heart-shaped face. No wonder he’d fallen in love with her.

      Ever since she’d left, Andrew tried to figure out why he was finding it so difficult to move on. He must have asked himself a thousand times what had attracted him to Sylvie. Sitting across from her at this tiny table at a café that boasted plastic flowers in copper coffeepots for centerpieces, he understood.

      She was different than any of the women he knew, and that had intrigued him. Not to mention, not a single female of his acquaintance possessed Sylvie’s beauty and unique style.

      She walked out on you. There’s nothing special about that.

      Andrew lifted an eyebrow. “Do cakes pay the bills?”

      After popping the last bite of bacon into her mouth, she took a moment to chew and swallow. “Pretty much. I do them for weddings and other special events. I’ve recently begun providing baked goods to various places in Jackson Hole. The chef at the Spring Gulch Country Club and I are in negotiations for services. I get by.”

      “A far cry from the Back Bay.”

      “That was your world.”

      “It could have been yours.”

      “No.” She sat back in her chair and met his gaze. “You’re wrong. It would never have been mine.”

       Chapter Three

      Sylvie shoved a piece of arugula into her mouth and decided meeting Andrew at the Coffee Pot had been a mistake. Not only was it too public for any serious discussion, but she didn’t want to have a serious discussion about anything with Andrew. What would be the point?

      It wasn’t his fault that they came from two different worlds. She’d been foolish to fleetingly believe love would be enough. But love hadn’t kept her parents together. Love hadn’t even made her mother stick with her child, even though she’d been the only family Sylvie had left.

      Andrew might have thought he loved her, might even have convinced himself he did, but it had been only infatuation. An infatuation that could have cost him everything that mattered in his life.

      When she’d overheard him and his father heatedly arguing—about her—she knew she would not be the cause of a rift between Andrew and his parents.

      The only purpose of meeting with him again was to give back a ring she was no longer entitled to keep. A clear break with the past would allow her to move on in a way she hadn’t been able to do in June. Dropping her fork to the table, she slid her hand inside her fringed bag.

      Before she had a chance to pull out the diamond, Andrew leaned forward. His fingers closed around her arm.

      “No need to pay yet. We haven’t finished eating. Besides, this is my treat.”

      The baby’s sudden cry was like an ice pick in her eye.

      Sylvie

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