said.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I don't eat red meat, but I don't like to wear plastic shoes, either."
He laughed in spite of himself. "And do you champion other causes?"
She gave him a self-deprecating smile. "Recycling, fuel conservation, water management, and a few others."
"Let me guess. You were in the Peace Corps?"
"No, as a matter of fact, I graduated from UK a few years behind you. Accounting and French."
Another surprise. "And how did accounting and French lead to owning a coffee shop?"
"I did my time at Ladd-Markham, then moved on to better things."
"Ladd-Markham?" He drew back. "Somehow I can't see you in a navy suit and starched white shirt."
"The seven longest years of my life. When the company offered severance packages a year ago, I jumped on it. Best Cuppa
Joe had been a favorite hangout of mine since college, so when I found out it was for sale…" She shrugged. "It probably
sounds crazy to you, leaving a high-powered corporate job to pursue something so esoteric."
A slow wonder crept over him, and his mouth went curiously dry. "You might be surprised."
Their drinks arrived, and Greg did the pouring honors while his head swam with new revelations. "A toast," he said, raising
his glass. "To noble motivation."
He clinked his wineglass to her glass of cranberry juice.
Greg savored the dry wine on his tongue before swallowing. His senses seemed heightened, poised for stimulation. Lana
unwittingly obliged with her intense eye contact.
"Speaking of motivation," she said, "what's yours regarding the rezoning project?"
Determined not to reveal how squarely she'd hit a nerve, he shrugged. "I want what's best for the city."
"And your bank account?" Her fingers slid up and down her glass in a caress.
"My family's bank account. And in this case, what's good for one is also good for the other. I'm running a business, the same
as you."
"I wonder if it's the only thing we have in common," she said lightly.
Again their gazes connected, and the sight of her glowing in the candlelight stole the breath from Greg's lungs. The cranberry
juice had stained her lips crimson. Her earrings tinkled when she moved. The memory of their kiss hit him again, and he was
overwhelmed with the urge to touch her.
From inside his jacket pocket, his phone emitted a muted ring, breaking the moment. "Excuse me," he murmured, then
withdrew the phone and glanced at the tiny display screen. "It's Will," he said. "Otherwise, I wouldn't bother."
"Would you like some privacy?"
He shook his head as he flipped open the mouthpiece. "Hey, buddy, what's up?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, Gregory. Are you busy?"
"As a matter of fact, I'm having a meeting with Ms. Martina."
"Really? I bet she looks pretty, doesn't she?"
He glanced across the table where Lana was buttering a roll. She discreetly licked the tip of her index finger, then blushed
when she realized he'd caught her.
"Gregory, did you hear me?"
He cleared his throat. "Er, yes, Will. Yes, you're right. Did you need something?"
"Yvonne and I are decorating the Christmas tree, and I can't find the angel for the top. Do you know where it is?"
Greg smiled into the phone—Will and that angel. "When I was in the storage closet this summer, I believe it was on the top
shelf, behind the ski equipment."
"Thanks, Gregory, I'll go look. But I'll wait until you get home before we put the angel on top."
"Sure, pal."
"Tell Lana hello for me. And don't forget—you're supposed to be nice to her."
"I will be. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Gregory."
He hung up the phone, and accepted the bread basket Lana handed him.
"And how is Will?" she asked.
Her sincerity loosened his tongue. "He has a crush on you."
She grinned. "Ah, that's why he asked me the other evening if I had a boyfriend. He's a real gem."
"Yes," he said carefully. "I'd hate for him to be hurt by…anyone."
She tilted her head. "I could never hurt Will."
He could lose himself in her eyes. Did she realize the power she
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I don't eat red meat, but I don't like to wear plastic shoes, either."
He laughed in spite of himself. "And do you champion other causes?"
She gave him a self-deprecating smile. "Recycling, fuel conservation, water management, and a few others."
"Let me guess. You were in the Peace Corps?"
"No, as a matter of fact, I graduated from UK a few years behind you. Accounting and French."
Another surprise. "And how did accounting and French lead to owning a coffee shop?"
"I did my time at Ladd-Markham, then moved on to better things."
"Ladd-Markham?" He drew back. "Somehow I can't see you in a navy suit and starched white shirt."
"The seven longest years of my life. When the company offered severance packages a year ago, I jumped on it. Best Cuppa
Joe had been a favorite hangout of mine since college, so when I found out it was for sale…" She shrugged. "It probably
sounds crazy to you, leaving a high-powered corporate job to pursue something so esoteric."
A slow wonder crept over him, and his mouth went curiously dry. "You might be surprised."
Their drinks arrived, and Greg did the pouring honors while his head swam with new revelations. "A toast," he said, raising
his glass. "To noble motivation."
He clinked his wineglass to her glass of cranberry juice.
Greg savored the dry wine on his tongue before swallowing. His senses seemed heightened, poised for stimulation. Lana
unwittingly obliged with her intense eye contact.
"Speaking of motivation," she said, "what's yours regarding the rezoning project?"
Determined not to reveal how squarely she'd hit a nerve, he shrugged. "I want what's best for the city."
"And your bank account?" Her fingers slid up and down her glass in a caress.
"My family's bank account. And in this case, what's good for one is also good for the other. I'm running a business, the same
as you."
"I wonder if it's the only thing we have in common," she said lightly.
Again their gazes connected, and the sight of her glowing in the candlelight stole the breath from Greg's lungs. The cranberry
juice had stained her lips crimson. Her earrings tinkled when she moved. The memory of their kiss hit him again, and he was
overwhelmed with the urge to touch her.
From inside his jacket pocket, his phone emitted a muted ring, breaking the moment. "Excuse me," he murmured, then
withdrew the phone and glanced at the tiny display screen. "It's Will," he said. "Otherwise, I wouldn't bother."
"Would you like some privacy?"
He shook his head as he flipped open the mouthpiece. "Hey, buddy, what's up?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, Gregory. Are you busy?"
"As a matter of fact, I'm having a meeting with Ms. Martina."
"Really? I bet she looks pretty, doesn't she?"
He glanced across the table where Lana was buttering a roll. She discreetly licked the tip of her index finger, then blushed
when she realized he'd caught her.
"Gregory, did you hear me?"
He cleared his throat. "Er, yes, Will. Yes, you're right. Did you need something?"
"Yvonne and I are decorating the Christmas tree, and I can't find the angel for the top. Do you know where it is?"
Greg smiled into the phone—Will and that angel. "When I was in the storage closet this summer, I believe it was on the top
shelf, behind the ski equipment."
"Thanks, Gregory, I'll go look. But I'll wait until you get home before we put the angel on top."
"Sure, pal."
"Tell Lana hello for me. And don't forget—you're supposed to be nice to her."
"I will be. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Gregory."
He hung up the phone, and accepted the bread basket Lana handed him.
"And how is Will?" she asked.
Her sincerity loosened his tongue. "He has a crush on you."
She grinned. "Ah, that's why he asked me the other evening if I had a boyfriend. He's a real gem."
"Yes," he said carefully. "I'd hate for him to be hurt by…anyone."
She tilted her head. "I could never hurt Will."
He could lose himself in her eyes. Did she realize the power she
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