A Measure of Happiness (20 page)

Judy giggled like a girl, shrugged a shoulder, and touched a finger to her hair. “All I did was set it free.”

“Beautiful.” Celeste tied up her Wild Blues and handed them over to Judy.

Judy angled her face over the box and took a deep breath. “You ladies have a wonderful day!”

Katherine's regular Nurse Terry bustled into the bakery. Katherine nabbed and shook Terry's OJ and dropped it into her bag, prefilled with a warm croissant and a cheerful orange-striped straw. Terry set her money on the counter, blew Katherine a kiss, and flew out the door.

With Zach working in the back at half speed, now would be a good time for Barry to walk through the door. She was anxious to tell him she'd apprehended the big, bad burglar. She was anxious to ask Barry's advice about Blake. She was equally anxious for Barry not to scrutinize Zach too closely. Thus far, Barry had only seen Zach from across the room. And maybe, just maybe, the fates were conspiring to keep Zach and Barry apart. Katherine smiled in Barry anticipation and the door jingled open. Daniel the construction guy met her look of Barry anticipation with Katherine anticipation and then took the look up a notch.

Seemed the fates had something else in store for her today.

Katherine came out from behind the bakery case, craned her neck, and gazed around Daniel for his coworker. “Where's your friend?”

“You mean tall, dark, and grouchy?”

Katherine pressed her lips together, made a gesture, zipping her lips. “You said it, not me.”

“I'm flying solo this morning.”

“No wingman?” she asked, the term slipping out, as though she were swiveling on the stool of a singles bar instead of leaning against her bakery counter. She couldn't say she disliked the way Daniel's eyes widened in surprise and the corners of his grin hitched, taking it all in.

“I've never needed a wingman.” Daniel held her gaze, confident, but he cracked his knuckles—one hand and then the other—giving away his nerves and drawing her attention to his ring finger. A pale band of skin stood out against his tan hand. A recent jewelry removal or a lingering tan line? “Ah, heck, I'll just say it.”

“Go right ahead.”

“The—the gray-haired guy that comes in every morning,” Daniel said, giving her whiplash from déjà vu. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Zach had started an inquiry about his paternity with the same stammering statement. She was sure that wasn't where Daniel was headed. “Are you and him—?” Daniel gestured from Katherine to himself and back to Katherine again.

“Stirring the air between us?” Katherine asked.

Daniel laughed. The sound, deeper than she'd imagined, kicked up her pulse. “Are you involved?”

Katherine would've preferred a different word choice, one that didn't require skirting the truth. She and Barry were involved, intimately and continually, but only in their minds. “The gray-haired man and I got a divorce two years ago. We're just friends.”

“Are you sure?”

This time, Katherine laughed. “I signed the papers,” she said, aware she wasn't answering the question Daniel had asked.

The door jingled and the friend who still occupied her thoughts walked into the café, looking trim, fit, and good enough to eat. Instead of jeans and a fleece, he wore pressed khakis and a striped button-down. She could still see the relief of his bike-honed thigh muscles, the shape of his gym-rat biceps. But, as always, Barry's gaze was her undoing.

He caught her eye, her expression, and—she was sure—the way she was leaning against her counter, arms crossed to hold up her breasts. She uncrossed her arms. She crossed them lower.

“Morning!” Barry called to Katherine, with a heavy undertone of
honey, I'm home.

Katherine moved her arms up an inch. She needed to talk to Barry, if only to let him know about the break-ins and Blake. She needed to finish dragging out an ask-out from her suddenly shy and oh so sweet construction worker friend. She needed to stop the insanity.

She wasn't Barry's property; she'd never been his property. And she was no longer Barry's wife.

She was Barry's ex-wife, a term neither of them had used before in the company of the other. As though dancing around the term made it any less true.

Barry stood behind Daniel and cleared his throat, a gesture she thought was overtly jealous and therefore below him, until he cleared his throat a second time.

She smiled, conciliatory, and Barry gave her a triumphant grin. “Barry, this is my friend Daniel . . .”
Oh, crap.

“Anaghnostopoulos,” Daniel provided. “That's okay,” he told Katherine. “My mother can't even pronounce it.” He angled a wink at Katherine.

“Daniel, my ex-husband, Barry Horowitz.”

Barry shook his head and widened his eyes at the sound of the term. Then he pulled it together and shook Daniel's hand.

“I thought I heard your voice.”

Celeste came up behind Katherine, stealthy as a thief, and then loud as a . . . as a Celeste. Actually, this was perfect.

Katherine pointed at Celeste. “You, help Barry with his order. I'm guessing you need a blueberry muffin. Am I right?”

“She always could read my mind,” Barry told Daniel, all while keeping his appreciative gaze on her.

Oh, for heaven's sake. She pointed at Barry. “I need to talk to you.” Her pointer swayed in Daniel's direction. “But I need to help Daniel with something first. Can you hang around for a few minutes?”

“That would be my pleasure. I need to talk to you, too.”

From the smug look on his face, she'd guess that Barry could read her mind.

Before she could get to a four-top, Daniel stepped in and pulled a chair out for her.
Laying it on rather thick, don't you think?

Barry both smiled and glared in their direction.

Katherine leaned across the table. “So, Daniel Anaghnostopoulos,” she said, and the man with the surname she'd pronounced without a hitch gifted her with a belly laugh. She touched his left hand, kept her gaze on his eyes. “How old is your tan line?”

“My what?” he asked.

“The white band from your wedding ring.”

Daniel flexed his fingers, as though they were cramped. “
Ha.
Women always pick up on that.”

“Yes, we do.”

Daniel momentarily dropped his grin and his gaze. Then both lifted to Katherine. “My wife and I have been separated about four months.”

Daniel could've said,
I've
been separated, but he hadn't. In Katherine's experience, that told her everything she needed to know.

“Have you asked anyone out since your separation? Gone out on any dates?”

Daniel held a steady smile and shook his head.

“Filed for divorce yet?”

Daniel blew out a breath. “It's complicated,” he said. “We have a business together—”

Daniel wasn't just a construction worker bee. He was, like her, the worker boss.

“We've been together forever,” he said, answering both the question she'd asked and, perhaps, one he hadn't much considered. Did he really want a divorce?

Daniel seemed like a nice guy. Katherine could imagine spending an evening with him, filled with easy conversation. She could imagine taking him back to her apartment and getting an up close and personal tour of his construction-ready body. She could imagine the evening leading to a whole truckload of regret. For Daniel.

Right after she'd delivered the divorce papers and mundel bread to Barry, she'd parked behind his house and sat in her car for half an hour. She was either going to walk back in, take off her clothes, and make herself at home. Or she was going to drive to the nearest bar, bring a guy back to her newly rented apartment, and make sure she'd never be able to go back on her decision.

The bar's name was Murphy's Law.

“Are you planning on asking me out on a date?” Katherine asked.

“That's the general idea.”

“That's very flattering,” she said.

Daniel's mouth fell open. “Oh, come on.” He sat up taller and shook his head. “Don't say no.”

“It's just—”

Daniel held his hands in prayer position. He leaned across the table close enough for her to get a good look at his golden-brown, earnest eyes. Close enough for her to imagine him walking into her apartment, taking off his clothes, and making himself at home.

“Come on, Katherine. Come on.”

Without glancing at Barry, she knew he was looking her way. The awareness of his gaze was as keen as the sensation of the chair beneath her bottom, the floor underneath her feet, her heart pounding in her chest and questioning every decision.

Katherine wrapped her hands around Daniel's. “Do you still love her?”

Daniel went silent and his gaze skittered to the side. “I don't know.”

“My advice to you? See if you can work it out.”

“I don't think—”

“At least figure out if there's a reason to try. Then, if and when you file for a divorce, ask me out for real.” Katherine slipped her hands from Daniel's and sat up straight. “I might even say yes.”

“You sure?” Daniel asked.

“I'm sure.”

Daniel hung his head sideways, playing at regret. But the way he sat back in his seat, spreading out his weight, evidenced a whole truckload of relief.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked.

“Why not?”

The speed roller rattled from the kitchen. Celeste pulled the front of the cart and Zach pushed with his left hand.

“You need some help with that?” Barry asked.

“We're good!” Zach said, using a plural pronoun.

Katherine mouthed,
Give me a minute,
to Barry. She grabbed a blueberry muffin for Daniel before swinging by the coffee bar. She set brew and pastry before him.

“Thank you, Katherine.” Daniel gazed up at her. Gone was the playfulness, the flirtatiousness that shielded him from uncertainty. Stripped of falsehood, they were two adults, trying to navigate an uncertain world.

“The muffins,” Katherine said, her own shyness leaving her tender at the center. “They're quite good.”

“I wasn't thanking you for the muffin.”

“I know,” she said, and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

Across the room, Zach and Celeste refilled the bread shelves, moving sourdough loaves, baguettes, and ryes as quickly with three hands as they had with four.

Barry waited at the coffee station. He stirred cream into his coffee and kept his gaze on Katherine. A strange expression clouded his features—equal parts pleased and mischievous. But at least he wasn't zoning in on Zach. At least he wasn't getting closer to the truth.

“Took care of business?” Barry asked her when she arrived at the counter.

“I did, and now I've some interesting news to tell you.”

“Oh?” Barry snapped a lid on his coffee.

“Do you recall the kid I was never going to hire? Blake?”

“I do,” Barry said, holding the same strange look on his face.

“Turns out he was the big, bad wolf who broke into the bakery and made such a mess last month. Figured it out because he did it again. Only this time, we—Celeste, Zach, and I—caught him in the act.”

Barry sipped his coffee, his demeanor inappropriately calm, even for Barry, considering the news. “How do you feel about this?”

“Stupid! After all of my worry. What a colossal waste of precious energy.”

“See what happens when you keep your fears inside you and deny them?” Barry asked.

“I know! I feel foolish for having obsessed over—”

Barry's eyes flashed on
obsessed.
The mischievous grin playing on his lips broke out and danced.

“Celeste told you. How long were you going to let me go on?”

“How long did you need to go on?” Barry asked, completely serious and poking fun.

The conflicting instincts to either sock him in the shoulder or kiss him full on the mouth battled in her mind and body. She decided to take the high road and ignore her instincts. “I'm making Blake work for me to pay me back for the damages. On one hand, I think he's going to like it here. It will do him good to face consequences for his actions. My other hand thinks I'm way out of my league. He obviously has issues. Family problems . . .” Katherine thought of the look on Blake's face when she'd mentioned talking to his parents, the tangled ball of panic that drew her back to her own family's dark, twisted hovel.

“You'll do fine.”

“I haven't even managed to get Celeste to talk to me. Forget about open-ended questions. Everything I say is wrong.”

“Patience,” Barry said.

“Are you referring to the state of being or those under your care?”

Barry tweaked her nose, something he hadn't done in years. “You'll do fine. You always do fine.”

Katherine rubbed the tip of her nose.

“I need to get going.” He tweaked her nose a second time before heading for the door.

Katherine went after him. “Wait! What did you need to talk to me about?”

Halfway out the door, Barry pulled himself back in. He tapped the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Nearly forgot,” he said, reminding her of the time he'd—middle of a snow-covered night—raced out the door to help a patient and she'd raced after him to hand him his shoes.

One of her favorite memories.