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  With that, she got out of the car. Ignoring the impatient moms in minivans behind him who barely stopped to let their kids roll out before they sped off to Pilates or hot yoga or whatever the hell they were in such a rush to get to, Jesse watched her until she got through the school doors. Then he gave each of the scowling minivan moms a cheery salute, using all his fingers when he really wanted to use only one.

  He still needed food. An egg sandwich and another tall coffee tried to woo him into the local 7-Eleven, but he reminded himself of his credit card bill, due next week, and the upcoming tuition bill for Laila, due sometime next month. The rattle under his car’s dashboard helped remind him, too, that his baby had just over a hundred thousand miles on her, and she had to last him another year or so before he could think about replacing her.

  It was going to get better, he reminded himself. Private school for his kid was important to her future, and sacrificing for her was worth it. At home, a few more hours of sleep and a shower put some lightness into the day. So did the dogs in the shelter where he volunteered. Playing with them never failed to brighten his outlook. His time there finished, Jesse headed back to his car, pausing to look at the gray sky. It looked like snow. Smelled like it, too. He was looking forward to a good winter storm. Which meant he definitely had to get something in his fridge.

  He didn’t usually shop at this market, but this place was conveniently close to the Angel. Armed with his reusable bags from the trunk, the list he kept updated on his phone and the small accordion file of coupons he collected from the bar’s Sunday paper every week, Jesse grabbed a cart and hit the aisles.

  And there she was.

  The woman from the bar. Colleen, last name unknown. Today, as usual, her pale hair was pulled back at the base of her neck in a sleek bun. She wore a tailored black wool coat that came to her knees, a hint of crimson liner at the throat and sleeves, and below it a pair of black-stockinged legs and librarian pumps with a strap across the top of her foot that, no kidding, left his throat a little dry. She carried a paper cup of coffee in one hand and pushed her cart, one of the little ones, with the other.

  She wasn’t watching where she was going. It was easy enough for him to let his cart bump hers, gently enough not to even slop her coffee. It was easy, but stupid, Jesse thought at the last second as she turned, frowning. Now he’d pissed her off.

  Again.

  “Sorry,” she said, though it was clear she knew it was his fault. “Oh. It’s you.”

  “It’s me. Jesse,” he added.

  “I know your name. You work at The Fallen Angel.” She inched her cart, containing a carton of eggs and a loaf of rye bread, away from his.

  “And you’re Colleen.”

  “Yes.” She could’ve pulled her cart away and stalked off down the aisle without looking at him again, but instead she cleared her throat. “So...you shop here?”

  Jesse looked at his own cart, empty at the moment. “Nah. I just come in, push a cart around for exercise. Beats the gym fees.”

  It had been a gamble, just as bumping her cart had been, but this time she laughed. Her face lit up. A man could fall in love with a woman who laughed like that.

  “That was a stupid question. Sorry.” Colleen sipped her coffee, her large gray eyes meeting his over the rim of the cup without sliding away.

  Those eyes. Shit. He was a goner.

  For weeks he’d been getting to know her little by little. At first she was only another customer, but over time he’d begun to notice the things about her that stood out. The quiet way she sat by herself, never engaging anyone in more than the barest of conversations. Sometimes she read a book. Sometimes she toyed with her phone while she ate some pub food, usually onion rings but sometimes fries. Once or twice, she ordered a basket of fish and chips.

  The glass of whiskey she ordered every week without fail, but never drank.

  But although they’d had their share of casual interactions, had she ever looked at him until right now? Really looked, as if she actually saw him? She had, fleetingly, last night, and it was obvious she hadn’t cared much for what she’d seen. Now she was looking at him again, her gray gaze pinning him, and he found himself struggling a little for words.

  “My father used to say there are no stupid questions,” she continued as though there hadn’t been a minute of painfully awkward silence between them. “Just stupid people.”

  “I was being a jerk. Trying to be funny. I’m an idiot.”

  She laughed again, not as loud, but the sound was as lovely the second time as it had been the first. That laugh dug into him, between his ribs. Into the tender places beneath.

  “I need to get going. I’ll be late for work.” She lifted her coffee cup his way in something like a salute. “See you...?”

  “Next Thursday,” Jesse said, and found himself wishing it were tomorrow instead of next week.

  Chapter Two

  Colleen pressed her fingers deep into the sore spot just below her ear. An old injury flared up whenever she got tense, which had been happening a lot recently. Of late, circumstances had required her have more to do with Steve than usual. No matter how she tried to never let her ex-husband get under her skin, he was still an expert at it. Probably always would be.

  As if Mondays weren’t hard enough, this morning it had been a series of texts about repairs that needed to be done on the house they still shared in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. When their marriage ended, she’d been desperate enough to walk away with next to nothing just to be rid of him. If she’d been able to afford to buy him out, she’d have done it. But the only other option had been letting the place go altogether, and she didn’t want to give up the ocean. Not even to be entirely rid of Steve.

  Still, although they’d kept the condo and shared responsibilities for it, somehow it had become Colleen’s job to oversee them and Steve’s to criticize. Not that she was surprised. Despite Steve’s constant protests to the contrary, it had been that way throughout their marriage.

  She didn’t have time for him today. Work was kicking her ass. It was her job to keep everything running smoothly and act as a liaison between the small mom-and-pop operation being consumed by the company she worked for, QuidProQuotient. Usually Colleen enjoyed working with smaller companies, helping them to make the transitions. Despite how ravenous QPQ had become over the past few years, Colleen believed in the company’s mission statement.

  Enfold, embrace and embark on new adventures.

  There wasn’t much embracing going on right now. Matt Lolly, the former owner and president of Lolly and Pop Computers, had agreed to sell his family business more than six months ago, but had not yet let go of the reins.

  She thought about the conversation they’d had earlier that day since Mr. Lolly was...malingering. “I understand,” Colleen murmured, keeping her voice and expression neutral. “But believe me, Mr. Lolly, you are going to be leaving your grandchildren a legacy. Perhaps not the actual shop itself, but with the money you’ll be able to put aside for them...”

  “I started that shop with my own dad, and then worked in it with my sons.” Mr. Lolly gave her a fierce look. “Money can’t replace any of that.”

  Since he’d sold the company because both his sons had gone to find other jobs, and none of the grandchildren seemed interested in taking it over, his rationale wasn’t quite on point. But Colleen knew what he meant. She’d spent a lot of hours with her own dad in his workshop. Money could never buy back those hours.

  “Mr. Lolly, I understand your reluctance.”

  He gave her a stern stare. “I don’t think you really do. You’re going to buy my shop and turn it into some kind of fast-food restaurant type of place. My customers expect a certain level of service—”

  “Your customers,” Colleen interjected, “are all buying their computers online or down at the Apple store, and taking them there to be fixed.”

  Silence.

  Mr. Lolly cleared his throat. Colleen expected to feel bad about the