Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(59)

Now Pierre was here, when she least expected him. Where she least expected him. She remembered his anger when she'd dropped in to see him, the distant way he'd treated her. In Winter's opinion, he deserved the same treatment. She dared not let him see how glad she was, how happy his visit made her, how much she craved the sight of him. Contemplating her response, she leaned back in her chair. A moment later she decided he could wait.

"Tell him I'm busy with an order. I'll be out as soon as I'm done."

Alix frowned, her hands resting on her protruding stomach. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

Alix left and, smiling to herself, Winter chewed on the end of the pen. So Pierre had actually made the effort to seek her out. This was an interesting development. But seeing how rude and unwelcoming he'd been, a lukewarm reception on her part seemed fitting. Although she suffered a twinge of doubt, she held firm.

She tried to concentrate on the order, but her mind kept drifting to Pierre. He'd never been a patient man and she guessed that after ten minutes he'd be furious. Good. Served him right.

When she felt he'd probably reached the end of his patience, Winter sauntered out of her office. She paused in the kitchen long enough to pour herself a cup of coffee and then casually walked around the counter to the front of the cafe. Pierre sat at a table next to the window, gazing out at Blossom Street. No one else was seated nearby, although there was a short line at the counter.

By ten-thirty, the morning crowd had dwindled to a handful who'd stopped in during their coffee breaks. In another hour, they'd get a rush of lunch orders. The soup du jour, baked potato sprinkled with grated cheddar cheese and fresh chives, was popular with her customers, so the cafe was bound to do brisk business.

Pierre looked up as she approached, and it gave her a degree of satisfaction to see his eyes narrow. His coffee cup was empty and the croissant only half-eaten.

"I hope you didn't find anything wrong with my croissant," she said as she slipped into the chair across from him.

"Quite the opposite. It was excellent as always." Pierre's spine was as stiff as his compliment.

Winter shrugged lightly. "I apologize for keeping you waiting."

His mouth tensed, and he shook his head as if he'd grown tired of the old games, the playacting they both indulged in. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"Like what?" She opened her eyes wide in exaggerated innocence.

"That you regret keeping me waiting. You did that intentionally and we both know it. You wanted me to be aware that you had more important tasks requiring your attention."

Winter didn't bother to deny it. She hadn't fooled him in the slightest. She'd meant to punish him. But the pleasure of vengeance had already begun to recede.

"What can I do for you?" Winter asked smoothly.

He didn't answer for a long time. "Rien du tout. Nothing at all."

He started to rise, and Winter stretched out her arm, placing her hand over his. "Surely you had a reason for coming here."

Pierre had half risen from the chair. He sat back down, his dark eyes holding hers. "I thought we should talk."

She smiled and nodded, wanting to encourage him, wanting him to acknowledge that he missed her as much as she missed him. Nothing seemed truly right without Pierre and yet she wasn't sure how to make their relationship work.

Spending time with Michael Everett had been pleasant, but while she enjoyed his company, it was Pierre she loved, Pierre who was her soul mate, Pierre who was always on her mind.

After a lengthy hesitation, he said, "I came because I felt bad about the last time we spoke."

She frowned at the memory. "You were rude."

"I was busy," he snapped. "I had three banquets that evening, and two of the kitchen staff phoned in sick. What would you have me do? You could have checked with me first, could have given me some warning. You know what it's like in the kitchen."

"Why didn't you tell me this at the time?" If he could snap at her, she could snap back. Then, because she did know how crazy life could get in a large hotel kitchen, she added, "Okay, I should've phoned first. But I didn't deserve to have my head bitten off. Besides, if I had called, you wouldn't have answered and then I would've come anyway, so it's irrelevant."

"How do you know whether I would have answered or not?" he demanded. "To say I would ignore a call from you is an insult."

"Then consider yourself insulted." Winter drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. It always ended like this. She'd be so happy to see Pierre, and then they'd start sniping at each other, and before she could figure out why, they'd be in the middle of an argument.

One look at Pierre told her he was as frustrated as she was.

"Why do we always fight?" she asked, sick at heart. No one else affected her this way. Only Pierre was capable of twisting her emotions into such an impossible knot.

Pierre was silent for a few seconds. "Why do we fight?" he repeated, as if he, too, had lost any hope of finding a solution. "If I had the answer to that, you and I would be married by now and starting our own family." His eyes went to the counter, where Alix was serving coffee and croissants.

They'd talked of marriage and children. That, at least, was a subject on which they could easily agree. It was everything else that ended in argument. Neither of them wanted this constant bickering and yet they seemed unable to avoid it.