Just One Kiss. Isabel SharpeЧитать онлайн книгу.
herself holding her breath, awaiting his judgment, and told herself to grow a pair. What did she care what he thought?
Too much. Much too much. She could not wait for the day when he no longer mattered, when his opinion was so much blah-blah-blah fouling the air. Three years since they divorced. How much longer would she have to wait?
“Nice place.” He nodded, hands perching on his hips. “You’ve done well.”
Ah, there it was, the royal seal of approval. She hated herself for even the small swell of pleasure. “Thanks. Did you want something?”
“I came to talk to you. But while I’m here …” He stepped closer to the case, examining the neatly arranged goods, which Angela was satisfied to note had been healthily depleted by a solid Saturday morning of business.
She walked a few steps to her left and gestured proudly to the assortment of international pastries. Here was someone who’d definitely appreciate what she’d done. “Would you like to try an éclair? These are filled with chocolate lavender pastry cream. Those there with hazelnut coffee cream and cocoa nubs. Or I have black-pepper fruit tarts, passion-fruit—”
“I’ll try an éclair. Chocolate lavender. And a chocolate chunk cookie.” He reached for his wallet and she waved him off.
“My treat. You want a box?”
“I’ll eat them now.” He patted his stomach. “Annabel and I are training for a triathlon this summer. I can manage the calories.”
Triathlon. Of course. The Princess was in perfect shape, too. Angela would rather walk on live coals.
“You look great.” She picked out the prettiest éclair and put it on an extra round of waxed paper and a napkin before handing it to him. Tom had a horror of getting his hands sticky.
“Thanks. I don’t have you around to tempt me with bakery stuff anymore. It’s been easy keeping the weight down.”
Ah, there it was. His weight problem had been her fault. “Annabel isn’t a cook?”
“We go out most of the time.”
“Nice.” He loved going out. Some evenings Angela had practically begged him to stay in. What kind of married couple ignored life at home?
It was good he found someone who fit him better.
There. That was about as charitable as she could be right now. Someday she’d do better.
“Not bad.” He was chewing his first bite of éclair. “Interesting taste.”
Interesting. That wasn’t quite the rapturous response she’d hoped for. “Did you come for something other than calories?”
“Yeah.” He wiped his fingers on the napkin. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”
“We’re not talking now?” They were alone in the shop. Scott wasn’t due for another half hour. Alice was back in the kitchen finishing a batch of baguette dough. Angela didn’t want Tom in the tiny intimacy of her office.
“Okay.” He took another huge bite of éclair. When he ate like that, as if he’d been starving for weeks, it meant he was nervous. Whatever Tom had to say, he didn’t think she’d like hearing it. She didn’t, either.
“You know Annabel and I have been dating for a while …”
“You’re getting married.” Pain shot through her. She-succeeded-where-I-failed pain, which was infuriatingly irrational. Not like Angela would ever want Tom back.
“Yes.” He wolfed the rest of the éclair, wiped his fingers again and picked up the cookie while he was still chewing. “We’re having a fall wedding.”
“Congratulations, Tom. I’m happy for you.” She was happy for him. And also still wanted that blunt object.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t. But I wanted you to hear it from me.”
She nodded, managing to keep her gaze calm and steady. “That was nice of you, Tom.”
It was nice. And nice to be reminded that there was a good person inside somewhere, and that she hadn’t been a total idiot marrying him.
Only three-quarters of one.
“Good. Well …” He bit into the cookie. She could feel his relief having gotten through that errand of mercy without having to endure a scene, and could feel his need to flee as soon as possible, having gotten through it. Fine by her.
“Thanks for coming by, Tom. I really—”
“Mmm.” He held up the cookie, nearly halved by the size of the bite he’d taken. “This is where you should be focusing. This is your business’s future. Leave the fancy stuff to someone who can really manage it, someone who really lives there. That’s not you.”
Somehow she kept the smile that had invited itself onto her features during his praise of the cookie. “I don’t think—”
“Are you doing sales calls? Lots of them? Every day?”
Immediately she felt defensive. She hated sales calls, and while she knew they were important for growing her business, she tended to avoid them. Which he’d know, because he knew her, and because she wasn’t answering his question right away. “I’ve done enough for me. I have a few restaur—”
“With these?” He held up the cookie.
“Right now I’m concentrating on the international pastry side of the bus—”
“Mistake. You’re all-American and should stay in this country. Don’t reach beyond yourself, Angie. You’ve always done that. You’re doing it with this bakery, you did it by …” He stopped, looking trapped.
“Marrying you?”
“No. No, of course not.” He shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth, chewed furiously. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant.”
“No.” He swallowed and sighed. “I don’t think you do. We never could communicate. That was our problem.”
Yeah, they had trouble communicating. He told her what she should be like, and if she protested, he’d roll his eyes as if he’d been saddled with defective merchandise. When she did try to change, he’d cut down her every effort, exactly as he’d just done, with the result that she felt hopelessly inadequate through their relationship and short marriage. And was still working to get out from under the weight of his disapproval, damn him. And her.
“Well, I guess it’s better we’re not together anymore.” She spoke flatly, struggling with anger and regret. “I hope Annabel will make you happy.”
“Thanks, Ange.” His features softened, he took a few steps toward her.
No, no hugging. Go away. “‘Bye Tom! Have a great wedding!”
He took the hint, gave an awkward wave and left the shop.
Relief. More than relief—sudden satisfaction—because as she stared at his retreating figure, Angela noticed a hairless circle on the back of his head, perfectly natural, but something Tom had dreaded with near terror. Imagine that! Something in the world not obeying Tom Hulfish’s wishes.
Angela managed a giggle and the giggle lightened her mood some. This was good. Recovery this soon after seeing him was a big step forward. Last time she’d bawled like a baby the minute his back was turned. This time she was only slightly shaky.
Progress.
She bent to pick up a dropped napkin; her doorbell sang out. A group of college kids, probably just awake, looking for breakfast at lunchtime. She served them, happy for further distraction. By the time they left, she was practically herself again—until she glanced out her door into the hallway beyond and for the second time