Читать книгу The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée - Cindy Kirk, Cindy Kirk - Страница 8

Chapter Two

From the second Sylvie walked through Ben Campbell’s front door, Andrew didn’t take his eyes off her. Running into Ben, a friend from prep-school days, had been fortuitous. Other than Sylvie, he hadn’t expected to see anyone he knew in Jackson Hole.

The invitation to a barbecue was appreciated, as was Ben’s warm handshake. Yet Andrew had been fully prepared to offer an excuse until Sylvie’s name was mentioned. Ben had been telling some story about his sister, and Andrew had been stunned when his former fiancée’s name popped up.

Congratulating himself on keeping his cool, Andrew had asked if that was the baker who’d recently been featured in an article on Jackson Hole’s Wine Auction.

At Ben’s assurance that they were speaking of the same person, Andrew steered the conversation back to the barbecue and learned Sylvie would be there. He’d accepted the invitation on the spot.

Now she was standing in front of him, looking as beautiful as ever. Her hair was different, not as curly and now with blond tips, but it was her.

While he’d had the advantage of knowing their paths would cross this evening, the look of shock in her eyes mirrored what he was feeling. It made him glad that, at least for the moment, they were alone.

A polite mask settled over her elfin features, and her eyes now gave nothing away. “Andrew. What a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Ben and I went to school together.” Hating that he felt as gauche and unsure as a sixteen-year-old, Andrew shoved his hands into his pockets and willed his heart rate to slow.

It didn’t help that she had on the same perfume she’d worn when they were together: a slightly citrusy scent that made him think of orange groves and lovemaking. His pillow had retained the scent for days after she left him.

The hurt that had taken root in his heart since he got her text—a damn text—telling him the engagement was off and she was leaving was still there. But right now that hurt was mixed with an unholy anger that seared his veins.

“I best go back inside.” She spun around and might have escaped through the door, if his reflexes hadn’t been so good.

His hand shot out, closing around her bare arm like a vise. “Don’t walk away. Not again.”

Displaying surprising strength, Sylvie jerked her arm back.

Andrew had been poised for battle until he saw tears pooling in those large violet eyes. Resisting a nearly overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around her, he stepped back and held up his hands.

If she bolted, he wouldn’t stop her. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t get his answers; it just wouldn’t be this evening. He could wait.

“I agree we need to talk.” She brushed back a strand of hair from her face with a hand that trembled slightly. “But this isn’t the time or place. This is a celebration of Noah and Josie’s engagement. I don’t want anything to spoil the evening for them.”

Andrew couldn’t help thinking of the last party he and Sylvie had attended. It had been held at his parents’ home in Boston. Though not a formal engagement party, it had been a family celebration to introduce her to Andrew’s extended family. It had been elegant and tasteful, and Sylvie had hated every minute of the gathering. Andrew suddenly recalled that she’d offered to make a cake for the event, but his mother had demurred that it would offend the caterer.

Both he and Sylvie had known the real reason. His mother was worried about the kind of cake Sylvie would make. He’d let Sylvie down that night, Andrew realized. At the time, it hadn’t seemed a big thing.

But this wasn’t about recriminations and who had dealt the other the biggest slight; this was about achieving closure. “I’m available later.”

The second the words left his lips, he realized it had been a lame thing to say. And when her lips quirked in a slight smile, Andrew realized something else. Her smile still carried quite a punch.

“Tomorrow?” she asked.

He nodded. “Lunch.”

It struck him just how blasted civilized they were being.

She gave a nod.

He pulled out his phone. “Give me your number.”

Sylvie glanced back toward the house and shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ll call you.” She paused. “Unless you’ve changed your number.”

“No change.” His eyes met hers. “You changed yours.”

Sylvie lifted one thin shoulder but offered no excuse. When he cocked his head expectantly, she recited her new number while he keyed it in and then read it back to her.

While the tightness around her eyes revealed her stress, when she spoke, her voice was casual and offhand. “Appears you and I are reconnected.”

They’d been very connected once until she’d abruptly severed the tie he’d been convinced would last forever. She’d done it with a single text. A handful of typed words that said she didn’t love him, couldn’t marry him and didn’t want to see him again.

Yes, they’d once been connected. Not anymore.

* * *

Sylvie wrapped her mouth around a juicy hamburger with avocado relish and peppered bacon and wondered if she could possibly be dreaming. She’d had vivid dreams in the past, all involving Andrew.

Not a single dream had concerned food or a barbecue. Most slipped in during the night hours and were of a sexual nature.

In those dreams, she felt Andrew’s smooth lips against her mouth, her throat and her breast, and his touch heated her body to a boiling point. When she awakened, usually right before full consummation, she was filled with an ache that brought tears to her eyes.

The ache was never simply physical. That Sylvie could easily have handled. The intense longing for the man she’d loved—that was not so easily put aside. Those vivid dreams would drag her down and wreak havoc on her emotions for several days until she became strong enough to put her focus back on the here and now.

If she’d learned one thing from thirteen years with an addict mother and subsequent years in foster care, it was that sometimes just getting through each day was a victory.

“Your friend is really hot.” Josie sidled up beside Sylvie and slipped her arm through hers. She took a sip of her margarita and slanted a sideways glance. “Why is it you never told me about him?”

Seeing the speculative gleam in her friend’s eyes, Sylvie dropped the burger to her plate and waved away the question with a careless hand. “The only hot man we should be discussing tonight is your fiancé.”

A softness filled Josie’s eyes as her gaze strayed to linger on the lean dark-haired man currently speaking with Josie’s father. She gave a little laugh. “Did you ever imagine me with a neurosurgeon?”

“I recall you saying once that I should slap you silly if you ever so much as gave any doctor a second glance.” That conversation had taken place shortly after she and Josie became friends. “Then all of a sudden you’re dating Noah. Now you’re going to marry the guy.”

“What can I say? The heart wants what it wants.” Josie’s tone waxed philosophical. “I can’t imagine my life without him, Syl. I just overlook that he’s a doctor.”

Sylvie chuckled, even as an ache filled her heart. When she was with Andrew, she’d done her best to ignore that her boyfriend was not only a doctor but a zillionaire heir to O’Shea Sports.

She’d been fooling herself, thinking a mutt from the wrong side of the tracks could be a good match with a Boston purebred.

“What’s the matter?” Josie’s hand settled on Sylvie’s shoulder, the touch as gentle as her voice. “Tell me.”

Almost immediately, Sylvie lifted her lips in a well-practiced smile. “I’m thinking of everything I need to get done this week. I have a last-minute party for the Sweet Adelines I snagged when their previous caterer poofed. An upsurge in business is a good thing, but when you’re a one-woman show, it can feel a bit overwhelming.”

“If there is anything I can do to help...” Josie’s eyes were dark with concern.

“It’ll be fine.” Or it would, Sylvie thought, once Andrew O’Shea went back to Boston. Back to his world, back where he belonged.

* * *

After a restless night, Sylvie rose early and immediately pulled out her phone. She stared down at it. She didn’t want to call Andrew. She’d moved on. Why dredge up the past? If she opened that door, she feared all the feelings she’d worked so hard to submerge these past months would rush to the surface.

Still, she couldn’t dis him. She couldn’t be that cold. Not to someone she loved—er, had once loved.

Even if fairness and compassion weren’t issues, there was the matter of the ring. It didn’t belong to her. When Andrew had proposed, she accepted the diamond as a symbol of the pledge they’d made.

Today, they would make their peace. She would return the diamond and close the door on that piece of her past.

The truth was, she’d felt like a coward running off in the middle of the night. Fleeing under cover of darkness was too reminiscent of what her father had done when she was four, and what her mother had done nine years later. Except with them there had been no note or texts.

They’d simply disappeared from her life and she’d never heard from either of them again. When she’d left Boston, she told herself what she was doing was different, that it was for Andrew’s own good. She still believed her leaving was best for him.

But thinking it over now made her wonder if that was what her father, and her mother, had believed.

After placing the call, Sylvie spent the remainder of the morning deciding what to wear. Five clothing changes later, she pushed open the door of the Coffee Pot Café. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as she glanced around the crowded restaurant. She spotted Andrew at a small table by the window.

The moment he saw her, he pushed back his chair and stood.

Always the gentleman, she thought with a bitterness that made no sense.

After lifting a hand in acknowledgment, she zigzagged between the tables to him. Though Sylvie had met many people in the months she’d been in Jackson Hole, she was grateful none of them were in the main dining room. The last thing she felt like doing was making small talk.

As she drew close Sylvie realized that, as always, Andrew looked perfectly put together. While he might have left his suit and tie back in the hotel room, he still managed to look elegant in dark pants and a gray button-down cotton shirt, open at the collar.

Suddenly conscious of the casualness of her simple peasant skirt and ribboned lace top, Sylvie lifted her chin and reminded herself this was Jackson Hole, not Boston. They were having lunch at the Coffee Pot, not one of his private clubs.

He pulled out her chair as she drew close. “You look lovely.”

Sylvie took a seat and glanced around. A baby wearing a pink crocheted hat several tables over met her gaze and began to cry.

Andrew didn’t appear to notice the wails. His entire focus remained on her.

“I may have miscalculated.”

He resumed his seat, his brow furrowed slightly. “How so?”

“I didn’t realize the place would be so busy.” Or that the seating was so tight. The table next to them was scarcely two feet away. Though Sylvie didn’t recognize the couple sitting there, that didn’t mean they didn’t know her. “Hardly conducive...”

She let her voice trail off, not surprised when he nodded. With Andrew she’d never had to complete thoughts. From the moment he walked into the Back Bay Bakery, where she’d been working after graduating from a New York City culinary school, they’d been on the same wavelength.

They kept the conversation centered on the weather until the waitress had taken their order. Sylvie ordered a salad, though she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat. Not with the way her stomach pitched.

Once the waitress left, Andrew’s gaze returned to her and she felt the impact of those gray eyes all the way to her toes. “That was an impressive article on you related to Jackson Hole’s Wine Auction.”

Sylvie traced her finger around the water glass, absently wiping away the condensation. “Is that how you located me?”

“I knew where you were within a week of you leaving Boston.”

Startled, she dropped her hand and looked up. “You knew where I was, yet you didn’t come after me?”

Andrew lifted his own glass of water and took a long drink. “You made it very clear in your text—”

The jaw muscle jumped again as Andrew paused. He appeared to carefully consider his next words.

“You said you didn’t want to see me again.” He spoke slowly and distinctly in a low tone, the words for her ears only. “You made it clear what we had was over.”

“I’m sorry about the text.” The fact that she’d texted him her goodbye seemed to be a particular bone of contention. She had to admit if he’d done that to her, she’d have been furious. More than that, she’d have been crushed. “I really am sorry. I thought if you wanted more of an explanation, you’d follow me. But you didn’t.”

Sylvie wasn’t sure what had gotten into her. She’d been happy, relieved, he hadn’t come after her.

“Audrey collapsed the morning after the party. I was at the hospital when I received your text.” Andrew paused as the waitress dropped off their drinks.

Two tables down, the baby began to wail in earnest.

* * *

Andrew glanced down at the coffee he didn’t want and felt the rage he’d kept contained for the past three months threaten his tightly held control. That day had been the worst of his life. It was as if the world around him had imploded.

He couldn’t believe the woman he loved, the woman he’d planned to marry, had, for no discernible reason, decided she didn’t love him anymore and walked out. Still reeling from that shock, he’d learned a close friend from childhood was terminally ill with cancer. He hadn’t even known Audrey was sick.

The baby’s piercing cry broke through his thoughts. He rubbed the bridge of his nose where a headache was trying to form. Coming here had been a bad idea. A busy café on a Sunday morning was no place for a serious discussion.

He shouldn’t have come to Jackson. Hadn’t Sylvie made it clear by her words and actions that she didn’t want him? Andrew O’Shea didn’t run after any woman, even one he loved. Had loved, he corrected.

He would leave. Thank 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.”