CHAPTER THREE
Zane plopped into the brown, leather sectional and twisted off the cap of his much needed Heineken. He took a deep drink, his eyes closed, thankful to be home from his meeting with Meredith, his ex-girlfriend. Seeing her brought back too many memories better left in the past. He couldn’t stand the sight of her any longer, let alone the sound of her high pitch laugh when she got nervous. Most of all, being around her reminded him of wasted time.
Popping a Frito into his mouth, he grabbed the remote and flicked on the television. He searched the guide, but nothing caught his attention. The programs barely even registered as his eyes grazed over the listings.
He recalled Meredith’s odd behavior at the mall, the way she kept touching his arm and gazing into his eyes, as if she were waiting for something—as if they were still a couple doing their holiday shopping. He shouldn’t have gone, he saw that now. But when he called to get the last of his things back from her apartment a week ago, she insisted he meet her out somewhere instead of just dropping them in the mail. Reluctant at first and trying to avoid any sort of face-to-face with her at all costs, he evaded her requests. But with the president of the firm breathing down his neck to retrieve files for a major client, he had no choice. Forced to acquiesce to her demands, he met her at the mall.
Zane shook his head and took another pull from his beer. How did he ever fall for her in the first place? She was selfish, conceited, and above all, disloyal. He had known that about her when they started dating, yet he went forward anyway. Why? What he really wanted back then, before he started seeing the self-righteous model, was someone down-to-earth, someone kind, a woman that enjoyed the little things in life. All he wanted was someone to talk to, spend lazy, rainy afternoons with, go to a movie, and share the holidays with. Zane wasn’t like most of the unmarried men at work. A string of one night stands and short lived, shallow relationships held no interest for him. He was ready to settle down. What he needed…what he wanted most, was someone like Wynn Murphy.
The salty chips scratched Zane’s tongue as he crunched on another handful. Though tasty, the snack provided little distraction from the analysis of his empty relationship with Meredith and the nonexistent one with Wynn. He had met Wynn five years ago, when she opened up her bakery and coffee shop right across the street from his office building. He had been swamped with work; files were piled high like skyscrapers on a desk devoid of free space. Hoping to win the executive position up for grabs had become a daily routine. Otherwise, he probably would have joined his coworkers at the local Starbucks, instead of taking a chance on the new shop.
His head pounded and his eyes screamed from staring at a computer screen all morning. With only a minute to spare, but desperately needing a caffeine jolt, he hurried out of the office and across the street.
He remembered his astonishment upon entering the first time. He walked in, hands in pockets and waited in line, glancing at his watch, monitoring the passing time and loss of productivity with growing agitation. When he stepped to the counter and glanced up, his breath caught in his throat. The woman’s glowing smile, her creamy skin, and gentle features caught him off guard.
He managed to break out of his momentary stupor and order his coffee. A commendable feat.
She retrieved the hot java and nodded to the pastry counter and display window. She brushed her long, brown hair out of her face, every time their eyes met. A nervous habit? He wasn’t sure.
A smile spread across her soft features. “All baked goods are half off for our opening week,” she said.
Concentrating seemed a chore of Herculean effort, as he found himself incapable of coherent thought. “I’ll take a piece of pie,” he said, pointing to the first thing he saw.
While she wrapped him up a piece to go, Zane continued to stare at her like a love struck teenager. She was of average height, but small boned, with a delicate face—a small forehead, leading to a stub of a nose, and small pouty lips (reminding him of the baby dolls his little sister used to play with). The only thing prominent was her large blue eyes.
It wasn’t until he paid and she said, “The pumpkin pie is going fast today. Must be because of Thanksgiving,” that Zane realized what kind of pie he had chosen. “It’s my favorite,” he mumbled, unable to think of a more clever response.
He left the shop in a daze, the image of her soft smile warming him against the November chill. He admonished himself for his inability to make conversation with her. Next time, he promised himself, he would ask her name. He would find out something about her.
The beer warmed Zane’s stomach, along with the memory of seeing Wynn for the first time. He rose and went to the kitchen to retrieve another Heineken. He hated pumpkin pie, completely loathed it. But ever since that first day at the shop when he ordered it and told her it was his favorite, he didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. He wanted to please her, which was why for the past five years, he had choked down too many pieces of pumpkin pie to count.
