In the Shadows (The Club, #10) (3 page)

“Sure. Why not.”

Again with the accent. “For here or to go?”

He glanced around the quiet bakery. The tables were all open except for the one occupied by Mr. Di Pasqua. He must have realized he’d have his pick of seats because he flipped open his wallet and dug around for some cash. “For here.”

“Sugar or cream?”

“Cream.”

She rang him up, got his change, and handed it over with a smile. “I’ll bring it over in a minute. Here’s your soda bread.”

"Thanks."

***

T
his woman was something else. He'd fantasized what kind of personality would be wrapped in that oh-so-sexy package, but those fantasies hadn't prepared him for the reality. She was fearless. Not only had she dug for information she had no right to know, she'd somehow convinced him to sit around and drink a cup of coffee. The only thing that cut through his amused haze was looking up at one of the hanging, antique mirrors and catching a glimpse of her watching his ass as he walked away. Instant hard-on.

Yeah, he definitely hadn't planned for that either.

He shifted uncomfortably at his seat, managing to give a polite smile to the older gentleman who sat a few tables away. The old guy grinned back, shaking his head a little before returning to his pastry. The thing looked freaking delicious. Like a croissant with some kind of filling that probably went perfectly with the black coffee the guy was guzzling down.

His stomach growled. It had been a busy night and he hadn't gotten to eat dinner like he'd hoped. Oh, he could have, but sometimes it was easier to follow his military conditioning and ignore the hunger pangs. A good reminder that he was still alive. Quite a statement to make on All Soul's Day.

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his father.
Stopping for breakfast. On the road soon.

The reply came back a few moments later.
Take your time. Drive safe.

The clink of a mug setting down on his table got him to put his phone down. The woman smiled at him, one hip cocked out a little and her arms crossed over her plenty ample chest. "Are you sure you don't want anything else?"

"No, thank you, ma'am," he said.

Too bad his stomach chose that moment to gurgle its protest. Her eyes narrowed. "Have you eaten yet today?"

Dammit. "No, ma'am."

"Stop ma'am-ing me. My name is Vivian and you're starving. Wait here."

She spun on her foot and disappeared into the back room before he could protest.
Vivian.
He liked the name. It fit her. Something Old World, but still unique.

Maybe he could chug his coffee down and get out before she returned. His first sip ruined that plan. "Oh, damn, that’s good," he mumbled appreciatively as the dark roast slid over his tongue, lightened a bit with a hint of sweet cream.

It would be sacrilege to speed through this cup of coffee. He couldn't do it. She'd won. Tricky, conniving, sweet-as-sin Vivian had won.

She beamed when she found him still sitting there, sipping the coffee with the reverence of a dying man who'd been granted another day's reprieve. "Like it?"

"Best cup of coffee I've ever had," he said honestly.

"How do you feel about cinnamon rolls?"

His jaw dropped at the sight of the plate she set down before him. Puffed dough glistening with creamy icing that melted over ridges of cinnamon swirls. He couldn't help it. He took a quick sniff and his mouth watered so much he had to swallow.

She nodded as if he'd passed some unspoken test and gently placed a fork down beside the plate. "Enjoy," she murmured and walked away.

By the time he'd swiped up the last bit of frosting with his fork tines and looked up, the bakery had a few customers. Two more tables had been taken by older folks and he wondered if they came early to enjoy the fresh baked goods or the peaceful quiet. Vivian noticed him putting his fork down on his plate and held up a finger, gesturing for him to give her a minute.

He nodded and she returned to ringing up her last two customers.

A short time later, she was back at his table. "How was it?"

"Delicious. But I think you already knew that."

Funny how something as simple as a genuine smile could make the day ahead seem a little less horrifying. She reached out for his plate and gestured at his mug. "Do you want any more coffee?"

"Yeah. But I need it for the road."

"I'll have it at the counter for you."

She was true to her word. A travel cup waited for him by the register. He waited in line behind a haggard secretary who frantically ordered an assortment of a dozen pastries before getting a chance alone with Vivian.

His good mood lasted until she rang up his total. He must have been scowling, because she gave him a quizzical look and asked, "Is something wrong?"

"You didn't charge me for the cinnamon roll."

"No, I didn't."

"I need to pay you for that."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "No, you don't. It was on the house."

He straightened, shoulders moving back, chin tilting down so he could pin her with his sternest look. "I don't need charity."

"And I don't need you spoiling my morning."

The unexpected admission made him blink. She wavered, but looked up and met him eye to eye. "This is the first time in months that you've stepped into my bakery. After how many times we've passed each other on the street, it only seems right to offer good food to a friend who's made me feel safe when I get to work. Do you understand?"

Holy shit.
That was a lot to process. Both the use of the word
friend
and the surprising fact that she felt
safe
around him instead of threatened by him. But she'd asked him if he'd understood why she made the gesture and he'd be damned if he behaved badly to her now.

He nodded dumbly and handed over the money to cover the cost of the coffee. What change she handed back to him got tossed in the tips jar and he took up his cup.

"Thank you for breakfast," he said roughly. "And the soda bread."

"Thank you for stopping by," she replied. "I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."

He nodded and retreated as quickly as politeness allowed. A strange, small part of him hoped she was right, that he'd see her again soon. It wasn't until he had started his car and was setting his coffee in the cup holder that he noticed the writing on the cardboard sleeve. Vivian's name and phone number.

At least now he had something other than his waiting family to think about during the drive.

B
radley Harding waited for him in the parking lot. It had taken Zeke years to forgive his father enough to stand being in his presence. Their relationship now was probably better than it ever had been, due in no small part to the harsh words that were exchanged after the funeral. Throwing the truth in each other’s faces may have hurt like a bitch, but they’d gotten over the past a helluva lot faster.

“How was the drive?” Bradley asked as Zeke slid out of his car.

“Fine. Roads were good.”

“Did you eat?”

“Yep.” Funny how he could answer his father’s patented question honestly for a change. He held up the paper bag. “Brought her some soda bread.”

His father held up a bouquet of dark pink flowers. “I thought she might like these.”

Zeke glanced at the flowers, recognizing them as alstroemeria. He’d ordered them for her a few times when he was overseas and wanted her to know he hadn’t forgotten her. “She’s always loved those. Nice choice.”

They made their way into the cemetery proper with free hands stuffed in pockets and eyes cast toward the carefully manicured pea gravel walkways. It was early enough that the only other person in sight was Mr. Gauls, one of the custodians. He left the area after briefly tipping his hat to them, granting them the privacy that they would need.

Aoife Harding—née O’Neill—rested in a plot near the rose garden. Zeke knelt near the headstone, brushing his fingers over the inscription.
I loved you at your darkest. Romans 5:8.
The perfect words, but just as painful to read today as they were years ago.

Bradley laid the flowers at the base of her gravestone and Zeke pulled out the currant loaf and placed it next to the bright blooms. He split the raisin loaf in half and handed part of it to his father. Bradley sat beside Zeke with a soft exhalation, the only sign that he was beginning to feel his age. He took a bite of the loaf and made a sound of surprise.

“Good, huh?” Zeke asked.

“Very. Where did you get this?”

“There’s a bakery near my work. I stopped there this morning for the first time.”

“Your mom would have loved this.”

Again, they fell to silence, although it was a little more comfortable this time. Zeke finished and crumpled up the paper bag, stuffing it into his coat pocket. “Okay, mum,” he said, staring absently toward the passing clouds overhead. “I don’t have a ton of news. Work’s been busy, but I’ve almost got enough saved up to buy up the bookstore I was telling you about. John’s doing fine. He met some girl and I’m supposed to go out to dinner with them. I guess he’s serious about her. And no, I don’t have a woman in my life.”

He grinned and added in a low voice, “So stop asking.” Update finished, he glanced at Bradley, who was watching the rose bushes moving in the gentle breeze. “Your turn.”

While his father focused his attention on Aoife, Zeke lay back on the grass, listening to the soft rise and fall of his voice. They didn’t talk often, but these meetings served to provide information about their lives without having to be asked.

His father was enjoying retirement. He’d been traveling to his Alaskan cabin more frequently, although he didn’t like the winters. He’d also met someone.

That
perked Zeke’s attention.

Bradley and his friend Caroline were taking things slowly. She was a divorcée and wary of getting into something serious, but they’d decided to be exclusive. Bradley hoped that Aoife wouldn’t mind.

“She wouldn’t,” Zeke interrupted.

Bradley stiffened a little at having his narrative interrupted, but avoided eye contact with his son. “I hope she wouldn’t. Your mother is completely different from Caroline...”

“She wouldn’t care if they were peas in a pod,” Zeke said, more firmly this time. “She’d be glad you found someone. She wouldn’t want you to be lonely.”

Bradley’s shoulders relaxed and he patted Zeke’s shoulder. “And you?”

“I’m working on it.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow from his father. “Are you now?”

Zeke’s mind drifted to Vivian. “I’m tempted.”

“Well, if it becomes something more...” His father cleared his throat awkwardly. “I mean, if you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to meet her.”

“Long way off, but if it reaches that point I’ll let you know.”

His father’s smile was reminder enough why he was willing to drive a several hours to this lonely cemetery every few months. They stayed for another hour, chatting and dancing carefully around the landmine of memories that constituted their past, before rising and heading back to the parking lot.

They’d nearly reached the cars when Bradley said out of the blue, “If you need any investment help, I know some people. I’m sure they’d be able to help you with your savings.”

A few years ago, Zeke would have told him to go fuck himself. But things were different now. Currency was the only form of love his father truly seemed to understand and Zeke had finally grown up enough to realize that.

“Thanks. I may take you up on that.”

Again, a second surprised smile from Bradley. They shook hands and parted ways. Zeke was back on the highway, enjoying the light traffic when his phone rang. “Harding,” he answered.

“Where are you, Irish?” Preston asked.

“Enjoying my day off.”

“How would you enjoy earning some overtime?”

“Sir, I haven’t slept yet. I’m heading home to crash.”

“That’s...perfect, actually. Beebee’s got a shipment coming in and the company just called to let us know it would get here late because they had to use a different driver. I need a few guys to help get the delivery inside. Calling you is easier than trying to convince Mr. Mak to let me give some idiot replacement a temporary clearance. Whattya say?”

Zeke glanced at the dash clock. “When do you need me there?”

“Get here around nine. Shipment’s due to arrive at nine-thirty, and then you’re free. I’ll even find a way to help you get tomorrow off.”

Two days in a row? It was a fecking miracle.

“Done,” Zeke said.

“Until seventeen-hundred, Irish,” Preston said with a laugh before hanging up.

He’d stop home, grab a quick nap, and head back to The Club. Once he was done there, he’d be able to go home and sleep in. Maybe start looking at those listings his realtor had sent him.

In the cup holder, the feminine scrawl on the coffee sleeve drew his attention.

Maybe he’d call Vivian. Stop by Divine Twins and order something else. A slow smile spread across his face. Yeah, tomorrow was looking up.

***

T
his has been an amazing day
, Vivian thought to herself as she finished packing up her office. It had certainly started on the right foot. Meeting Shadow Man that morning left her warm and tingly the rest of the day. Her crazy stalker’s note had simply been a picture of the bakery sign scribbled out with black pencil; she’d emailed the detective who was handling her case a picture of the note since she wouldn’t have time to drop it off until tomorrow. Five new cake orders came in and people were beginning to place their bread and dessert orders for the holiday season.

Vivian stuffed her metal water bottle into her purse and took one final look around her office. Most of the paperwork was done, stacked neatly in her organizing trays. Computer off. Message machine on. It was time to go home.

She turned off the lights and headed for the back door, keys out in her hand. A letter fluttered to the ground when she swung the door open. She froze at the sight of the pale paper on the concrete steps.