“I’m okay,” Tilda said now. “Fine.” She pushed through the swinging door cut into the counter. “Any special instructions?” she asked, first snatching up the keys to one of two small sedans with the Maids by Mac signage on the side. Second, she scooped up the plastic holder that contained gloves, cloths and their preferred cleaning products. It would take another trip for her to retrieve the vacuum cleaner and mops and stow them into the car’s trunk.
Mac narrowed her gaze, taking a closer look at the younger woman’s face. “You’re not coming down with something, are you? Did Zan pass along the same flu that flattened him when you delivered the groceries?” That had been two days ago, long enough for illness to incubate.
“I didn’t even see him then,” Tilda said.
“Really?” Mac frowned. “But he sent me a text, thanking me for the delivery. How did you get into the house?”
“Ash Robbins was there.”
“Ah. John and Veronica Robbins’ kid.” The couple’s home was on a regular rotation for Mac’s cleaning service now that they’d retired to the mountains. While she didn’t know them well, it was clear they loved their son. “According to his mother and father, the boy can do no wrong.”
Tilda flushed. “He’s not a boy. He’s a man.”
O-kay. Mac knew Tilda didn’t have much to do with boys—uh, men. Keeping oneself financially afloat took a lot of time and energy—at least that had been Mac’s excuse the past several years. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“We don’t, not really.” The girl lifted a shoulder. “We ran across each other last May. But we’re not in the same league.”
“What?” Mac bristled. “Is that what he said?”
She shrugged again. “Imagine what his father’s opinion of me would be.”
His father? What would his father have to do with anything? She frowned. “Til—”
“I need to get going,” the girl said, spinning around to head out.
Mac bustled into the back room to grab up the mops and wheel the vacuum toward the street. Before she reached the front door, Tilda had returned. “I’ve got this,” she said, taking over.
Frowning again, Mac put her hands on her hips. “I can help.”
The girl shook her head. “I don’t want to get used to that.”
Mac let her go but continued to watch as she exited. Clearly Tilda valued her autonomy, and her boss could appreciate that, but as a friend it worried her.
Then the door reopened, letting in a blast of winter air and someone she’d been thinking about since the moment she left him alone at his house two days before. She allowed herself a single assessing glance at Zan, then deciding he looked back in good health—and as handsome as always—she turned and pushed through the swinging panel to put the countertop between them.
Stacking the papers on her desk, she threw him a polite smile. “Hey, there.”
“Hey back,” Zan said, looking curiously about the room. “This is nice.”
“It’s small.” Truthfully, she could have run Maids by Mac from her duplex, but it seemed more...businesslike to have a dedicated office space. The rent didn’t kill because the office was, indeed, Lilliputian-sized. And with Zan’s broad shoulders and long legs between the four walls, it felt just that much more crowded.
No wonder she could hardly breathe.
Mac took another peek at him. He wore dark denim and a high-end, high-tech-looking winter jacket with a wealth of pockets that probably cost more than her monthly profit margin. “Did you need something?”
“To say thanks for the groceries. They kept me fed and indoors for another twenty-four hours, which allowed me to kick the bug for good.”
“Awesome.” She rubbed at the touch pad of her laptop, bringing the screen to life so she could focus on the spreadsheet there instead of the man and his big...presence.
“I also hoped to talk you into coffee with me.”
“I’m too busy to go...” she began, the words automatic, but they trailed off as he placed two paper cups on the counter. So eager to avoid looking at him too long, she’d neglected to notice what he’d carried.
“From Oscar’s,” he said, pushing one of the beverages her way. “They told me your favorite order.”
“I...” She was forced to leave the desk to retrieve it. Refusing seemed too rude, even though she’d decided the safest way to deal with Zan and all the memories his presence invoked was to keep her distance. Instead of rattling those bones she wanted to pick with him, she’d decided to let them settle. That would, she figured, keep the unwelcome Ghost of Love Gone By as undisturbed and inactive as possible. “Uh, thanks.”
Watching her, he shook his head as she took her first sip. “I can’t get over the fact that you drink coffee. When I left you wouldn’t touch the stuff.”
“People change.” Some traveled the world. Took lovers named Simone. “I learned to like coffee.”
He leaned against the counter as he picked up his own beverage. “The village and the mountains are much the same, though.”
“Still beautiful.”
With a smile, he toasted her with his coffee. “Present company included.”
She ignored the stupid flutter in her middle. “Well, see, you’re much the same, too. Still a charmer.”
He only smiled again at that, so she moved back to her desk and fiddled with a pencil. “This is my paperwork day, so...”
“Oh, you won’t get rid of me so easily.”
Well, that didn’t seem fair when he’d left the mountains so easily before, she thought, frowning at her cup. Not to mention that he’d left without even taking the photo of them she’d presented him with before he’d packed his truck and driven it down the hill. That knowledge, she had to admit, still rankled.
She had a matching picture herself, now relegated to the dark corner in her chest of drawers under the single socks she was too cheap to throw away.
Hey, you never knew when their partner might show up again.
After all, hadn’t Zan returned?
Not that they were parts of a pair or anything.
Annoyed at her train of thought, she squared her shoulders, took a bracing swallow of espresso and steamed milk, and told herself, rude or not, it was time to show him out.
Of her office.
Of her could-have-been file, too.
Clearing her throat, she met his gaze. “Zan—”
“I brought you something else.”
The expression on his face gave her sudden pause. It was half guarded and half pleased. Exactly how he’d looked when he’d presented her with her eighteenth birthday present—the receipt for four brand-new tires for her battered baby SUV.
I know it’s not romantic, he’d said.
Then she’d thrown herself into his arms, grateful, touched to the bone because those tires would keep her safe on the mountain roads for years to come. He’d known pride would never have allowed her to accept them as charity, but as a birthday gift...yes.
She thought of what Angelica