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He gave her a final lingering look, his arms straining, seeming to mock her. See how sexy these arms are? You should see the rest of me. Finally, he dropped his hands from the frame. “I’m going to head for the shower. Catch you later.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you in The Cozy Cup,” she yelled at his retreating back. “Two o’clock. And don’t forget your book.”

He waved a hand in the air to signal he’d heard.

A few moments ago, she’d been crying, her mind full of Colin, of times she would never have again.

Now it was full of a strong male back, taut butt cheeks beneath thin athletic shorts. Piercing green eyes. The smirk of a sensual mouth. A naked male body under the hot spray, large hands lathering it with shower gel. Rivulets of soapy water sloshing over broad shoulders, across roped forearms. Down heavily muscled thighs.

With a groan she shoved the images away.

Objectively she could see Luke was good looking, but she’d been burnt by too many good-looking men not to have learned her lesson by now.

Still, she’d be on her guard. The last thing she needed was this unwanted, yet also undeniable, attraction towards him, morphing into something that would make the next few weeks more complicated than they already were.

* * *

Luke saw Anna before she saw him. As he was five minutes late—he’d gone to pick up his mail and got stuck in traffic on the return journey—he’d expected to find her inside the cafe. Not standing outside, staring through the window.

Tears streaming down her face.

“Can we maybe have a day when you don’t cry?”

He’d meant to mutter the words under his breath, but when her eyes snapped back at him, he knew she’d heard. “Fuck off, Luke. We can’t all bury our emotions, walk about like some sort of robot.” He flinched, ready to argue everyone grieved differently, but she wasn’t finished. “Some of us need to cry it out, to talk about how miserable we are, how hard this is, living in his condo. Going to places like this,” she flicked a hand towards the window, “when it’s stuffed full of so many memories of him, I almost can’t breathe standing here.” She gulped in some air. “So you need to suck it up.”

He figured anything he said now would be wrong, so he nodded and pushed open the door.

She bit into her lip and shook her head, a riot of curls flying over her shoulders. “I don’t think I can do this.”

He let the door swing shut and went to stand next to her.

“You go in.” Her voice sounded small, her face pale and kind of . . . flat. All the energy drained.

His heart gave a fierce tug and he kicked himself for his crass remark about her crying. Truth was, he found it desperately hard to see a woman with tears in her eyes. A shrink would probably put it down to his childhood, to seeing his mum cry, though she’d tried to do it in private when she thought he’d not been looking. Anna, like everything else she did, was up front, open. She wore her heart on her sleeve. And when that heart hurt, it was painful to watch.

“I’m not going in without you,” he stated firmly.

She turned her head to look at him, her usually vibrant blue eyes dulled, their color subdued. “One of us should do what Colin wanted.”

He shifted on his feet, painfully aware how out of his depth he was, how unskilled at finding the right words to say to a woman who wore her grief for all to see. “If you don’t go in with me, I won’t know which cake to choose.”

Her nose wrinkled. “You don’t like cake.”

“I understand even people who don’t like cake would like cake from here. Someone told me it’s the best.”

Her gaze flicked to him, watchful. Uncertain. “She must have good taste.”

“How do you know it was a she?”

A hint of a smile. “Women know about cakes.”

“And yet this was Colin’s favorite coffee shop,” he pointed out.

“Yeah.” Her smile was sweetly poignant. “Colin was special.”

“On that, we agree.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry about my earlier remark. I’m . . . not good at watching women cry.”

“Had a lot of experience with it, have you?” She remarked dryly.