me, did I? So don’t tell me you can’t accept this.”
“It’s too generous.”
“It’s just a coat. You’ll make me happy if you wear it.” He held it up, waiting for me to slip my arms in its sleeves. “Come on, try it on.”
I did, slipping my arms into the fleece-lined garment and wrapping the buttersoft leather around me. For fun, I even flipped up the hood. “It’s really warm. And it’s really beautiful. To tell you the truth, I’ve been admiring the shearling on one of our customers, and I’ve always wanted one, just could never afford it. Is Joy’s like this one?”
“Exactly.”
I laughed. “She’ll love the coat, but hate having one just like her mother’s. We haven’t had mother-daughter matching clothes since she was four.”
“Well, you can always exchange it for another style — or she can. I just figured one of you might like this version enough to keep it.”
“Thank you,” I said, then turned and kissed him. He smiled, held the kiss longer than expected. My hood slipped off as he pulled me closer, just as I was pulling away.
“You know I have to get up in less than four hours to open the Blend,” I warned him.
He nodded, went to the four-poster, and pulled down the bedcovers. “Okay…I’ll set the alarm, and then drive you.”
“You don’t have to — ”
“I’m driving you, Cosi, so drop it. Now let’s go to bed while we can.”
Seventeen
It was twenty-five minutes to six in the a.m. when I unlocked the front door to the duplex above the Village Blend. That meant I had twenty-five minutes to wash, change clothes, and be back downstairs to unlock the door for our morning pastry delivery.
I didn’t even want to think about the snow removal on the sidewalk — although I knew I’d have to think about it soon, or else risk a very hefty fine from the Sanitation Department. The city gave property owners four hours to clear their sidewalks after the snow stopped falling. I figured we were just about due for the massive ticket.
Matteo wasn’t scheduled to fly out again for another week, and I made a quiet entrance, trying not to wake him. It wasn’t that I was worried about his beauty sleep. In fact, I’d probably be pounding on his door in fifteen minutes, telling him to start shoveling the walk. I just didn’t want him to see me coming through the front door, at this hour, dressed like this.
“Well, well,” said Matt in an injured tone. “So you finally made it home.”
“Good morning,” I said, meeting his gaze. He stood there in tight, scuffed jeans and a crinkled gray turtleneck.
I took off the beautiful shearling coat and hung it in the closet. Put down the Saks shopping bag with Joy’s and faced Matteo to find him staring at my outfit, his disapproving eyes moving from the low cleavage of my tight, pearl-buttoned sweater to the short hemline on my red plaid skirt.
“I know you were wearing Joy’s yellow parka when you left here — and I won’t even ask where the hell it is now — but you haven’t actually been borrowing the girl’s
“Certainly not,” I replied. “I’d never let my barely adult daughter go out in public wearing an outfit like this one.”
For a change, Matteo was speechless.
“Coffee?” I asked. “You’re up so early you probably need it.”
I headed for the kitchen and my drip coffee maker, Matt on my heels.
“Someone had to get up early,” he said. “In case you didn’t make it home. Someone would have to open the coffeehouse.”
“Please,” I said with a wave. “In all the time I managed this place for your mother — during our marriage and since I’ve returned — I’ve never once missed the opening. You, on the other hand — ”
Matt put up his hand to stop me.
“Let’s not go there. It’s the here and now we’re talking about.”
Matteo sat down at the table while I scooped beans into the grinder.
“Anyway,” he said, “I wonder how much longer you’ll be able to keep that sterling employment record going? Especially with millionaire Bruce Bowman — a.k.a.
Matteo had learned the many ways to bait me early in our marriage. For the first few years, I refused to sink to his level, but soon we were fighting fairly regularly. It was possible my hostility gave him some kind of sick justification to seek comfort elsewhere — not that he’d ever really needed an excuse.
In the years since the divorce had become final, however, I’d had little to no patience with Matteo’s games.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am happy,” I tossed over my shoulder. “Bruce made me very happy. And correct me if I’m wrong, wasn’t it you who always said I was too uptight and should lighten up? You’re just mad because I didn’t lighten up while I was married to you.”
“That’s a load of — ”
I pushed the button on the electric grinder, drowning out his reply. Grinding beans too long would create a bitter brew, but frankly I preferred having the bitterness on my tongue than in my ear.
When the beans were pulverized I turned off the grinder and dumped them into the drip machine’s cone filter to the sound of silence. I got the whole thing brewing, then grabbed two large mugs and set one in front of Matteo.
The nutty smell of freshly brewed Breakfast Blend gradually filled the kitchen. I yawned, leaned against the granite sink, and let the earthy aroma revive me.
It slowly dawned on me that through some bizarre circumstance of karmic justice, Matteo and I were both reliving an all too common scene from our past — only in reverse.
Back when we were married, Matt had been the one who invariably partied the night away, usually with some vivacious little bubblehead, as a result of a networking party, while I played the part of the responsible, long- suffering, faithful, injured spouse. I didn’t like my role, but what Matt saw as my “uptight” morals allowed for no other choice of lifestyles. Just because Matteo strayed at the drop of a thong, didn’t mean I would.
If I remembered correctly, it was Matteo who usually made coffee on those bleak mornings, still dressed in the clothes he went out wearing the night before — pumped full of adrenaline, or testosterone, or cocaine, or all three. He’d make coffee while I sat at the table or gazed out the window, sulking, and contemplating the end.
Now if I were a cruel person, I would take pleasure in this remarkable turning of the tide — and maybe I was a cruel person because a part of me knew Matt wanted me back, and I was honestly enjoying this moment. On the other hand, maybe I wasn’t cruel. Maybe I was just human.
When the pot gurgled its last, I carried the hot carafe to the table.
Matt spoke again. “Your friend Detective Quinn stopped by last night, around closing time.”
I froze in mid-pour, dribbling three dark drops. Matteo swept his hand across the table, wiping them away.
“Quinn put a tail on Bruce,” he continued. “From the report he received late last night, it appeared a woman with a bright yellow parka entered Bowman’s house. He thought it was Joy who had gone in. He came here, alarmed, looking for you. He found me instead, and I explained you’d borrowed Joy’s yellow parka. What his plain clothes officer saw was
I finished pouring and sat down at the table across from the father of my child. “I know what he told you. He told you Bruce Bowman is a suspect in a murder.”
