The woman on his left, who was having a hard time walking in her strappy heels, pointed in the direction of Sweet Spot. The man seemed reluctant at first, but eventually, the three of them walked toward my cart.
"Ooh, looks like you're going to get your first close up," Chuck muttered through the side of his mouth. "He's a real nice guy too. I've talked to him a few times. I'm curious to know what you think." With that, Chuck headed back to his smoothie stand, his sandals slapping the brick pavers with each step. He made a point of nodding a hello at the trio.
They stopped in front of my cart. The woman who had pointed out Sweet Spot twisted her lips in disappointment as she eyed the mostly empty trays. "How on earth do you make any money when you don't have anything to sell?"
Mr. Beautiful pushed his sunglasses up on his head, revealing those jewel toned eyes. Chuck was right. There just wasn't any other word to use than beautiful. "I'd say she sold out of everything already." He smiled at me. "What happened to Yolanda?"
"Yolanda?"
"She used to run this stand. Only she sold muffins and these weird donut-like things."
I shrugged. "I was on the waiting list, and this was the kiosk that came available. So I guess Yolanda and her weird donut-things have moved on."
He stared at me longer than necessary, long enough for me to discretely flick my finger across my nose in case I had a pastry crumb stuck to it. Something certainly had his attention. Thankfully, the woman on his right broke the awkward scrutiny session.
"Do you have something that's sugar free, fat free and gluten free?" the woman asked. She was one of those model thin people with long legs and perfectly shaped lips.
I surveyed the remaining bakery treats left on my trays, as if I was actually searching them for her everything free pastry. I smiled up at her. "I've got water and black coffee."
The other woman laughed loud enough to startle the pigeons perched on the telephone lines. The second woman was shorter and with plenty of curves. She had sparkling blue eyes that seemed to be made extra bright by colored contact lenses. "Nina, why don't you just draw in a deep breath. That's gluten free and sugar free." She stuck out a long polished nail. "I'll have that last cheese pastry and a water."
I grabbed the pastry and a bottle of water for the woman.
Mr. Beautiful took out his wallet. "Let's go, Nina, do you want something or not? I've got to get back to the office."
Nina blew an angry puff from her perfect lips. "That's some thanks I get for trying out those body paints." She shifted her skin tight jeans around a bit, as if there was any free space between the denim and her body. "I think that blue paint is still in my—" She stopped and looked at me, seemingly just remembering I was standing there. "I'll have a coffee."
I walked to the coffee pot. There was just enough for one more cup.
"Could you add some of that hazelnut syrup?" she asked. "Oh, and a squirt of whipped cream."
"So much for sugar free and fat free," her friend quipped.
"You're right," Nina said. "Why stop there. Might as well clog my gut with some gluten. I'll take this last strawberry tart."
I finished assembling the coffee and pulled out the tart.
I looked up at the man. He must have been six foot plus because I had to crane my neck. "Would you like anything?"
"No, I think that'll do it." He tossed a fifty dollar bill next to my cash register.
I rang him up and reached in the cash drawer for change. "Keep it." He winked just before pulling his sunglasses back over his emerald eyes.
Chuck and George walked over to join me as we watched the three of them stroll down the sidewalk to the parking structure.
"That man should be walking down a runway, not the city sidewalk," Chuck practically hummed his words. He nudged me with his elbow. "What did you think? And you know he's filthy rich. He and three friends own the Plaything company."
I turned toward Chuck with a raised brow. "Did you say Plaything? What the heck is Plaything?"
George and Chuck laughed, and Chuck felt the need to follow up with a hug. "We need to get you back out on the dating scene, Macy. You've been off the market and out of the civilized world too long." This week, on a somewhat slow morning, I'd spilled my entire humiliating wedding story to Chuck and George. In general, they were great listeners, and I'd found they were much easier to talk to than my friends and, most especially, my mom. I'd gotten so much unwanted advice and analysis from my friends and family that it had made the entire fiasco that much harder to swallow. But Chuck and George had no preachy advice to offer.
"Plaything is a fairly new company, but it's already worth a cool billion, or at least that's what the rumors say," George continued. "It's a monthly subscription service. You sign up and each month a creatively packaged box of sensual items shows up at your door."
"Ah, well, I suppose I should have guessed." I held up the fifty dollar bill. "And that explains the extra big tip."
"Whooee," George crowed, "I guess Chase had an extra good lunch break up in that penthouse of his."
"Chase? Of course. It fits." I peered up at the high rise apartments adjacent to the plaza. "Do you think that top window is his?"
"Far as we can tell," Chuck said.
I glanced out toward the sidewalk. My last three customers of the day had disappeared around the corner. "He's nice to look at, I'll give you that. But he is not my type. Besides, I've had rich, and frankly, I'm just not that impressed."
"Sweetie," Chuck said, "how's that possible? That man is everyone's type."
Chapter Four
Chase
It was earlier than I'd been up in months, but I was determined to get my workout routine in full swing, which meant an early morning run before the streets and sidewalks got too crowded. I walked to the window and pushed the button. The window shades lifted. The sun had barely poked through the thin clouds layered over the horizon. At least at this hour I'd beat the heat.
As I pulled my gaze from the window, movement below in the city plaza caught my attention. It was the girl with the pastries and coffee.
The early morning sun glinted off the dark pink sign on her kiosk. Sweet Spot. It was a great name for a bakery cart. I watched for a few minutes while she bustled around in her white shorts and blue t-shirt, filling her trays from boxes she'd carried to the stand. The day before, when she'd stared up at me with her big brown eyes, something about her expression struck me. Aside from the obvious, that she was extremely pretty, something else had caught my interest. I just couldn't put a finger on it.
I finished tying on my running shoes and headed down to the lobby. As I stepped out into the cool morning air, an idea struck me. Sweet Spot would make a great title for a monthly theme.
I walked across the plaza. Since she ran a coffee and breakfast cart, she was the first person out on the city square. Aside from an early morning group of hungry pigeons, huddled in a bright corner of the courtyard, waiting for crumbs, she was all alone.
The woman was leaned over a box as I approached, and since, as my partner, Zane, liked to point out, I was a cocky ass when it came to women, I watched her. She straightened with a plate of pastries. She was a petite little thing, the kind you could pick up and swing into your arms without any effort at all. Suddenly, I found myself wanting to know what her laugh sounded like. Something told me it was the kind you would miss once it stopped.
"Guess you're the early bird out here." I spoke too abruptly, and it startled her. She swung around and nearly pitched a few pastries off the plate.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."
"No, that's fine. I'm just relieved to find out it wasn't the pigeons talking."
I laughed. I couldn't think of any person in the world who could make me laugh this early in the morning, but she'd managed it.
She continued working, lining up her delicious breakfast treats in a perfect array on the silver trays. She took the time to glance at my shoes. "Out for a run?"
"That was my goal," I said. "Do you bake these yourself?"
"Yes, I do. I'm a trained pastry chef." As she reached to the top of the trays, her t-shirt inched up a bit, exposing the curve of her slim waist.
"Then I suppose my next question should be—how the heck can you be so tiny when you bake amazing treats every day?"
"They only look amazing. They taste awful," she said in such a deadpan tone, it took me a second to realize she was joking.
"Humor at dawn, a rare and admirable trait."
She still hadn't stopped to look up at me, and I was working hard for it. I wanted to catch that expression I saw yesterday. I wanted to know what it was I’d seen that had me so captivated. Her small hands neatly arranged some colorful berry tarts. I decided on a new tactic.
"I'm Chase England. I thought since we're sort of going to be neighbors, I should introduce myself."
She stopped and peered up at me. I hadn't been imagining it. It was there. I just wasn't sure what it was yet. She worked up a sweet smile. "Macy Pennington. Nice to meet you, Mr. England." She went right back to her task.
And I went right on with my conversation. "This is probably an unexpected question, especially at this hour, but is that name trademarked?"