hung out together so often that Brent had taken to calling them the Tre Amici—an Italian spin on the “Three Amigos” and a nod to Marc’s roots. But without her husband as the glue, she’d allowed herself to drift away from one of the only people who connected her to him. That was just plain wrong. And now Marc deserved to have the option to run the race without Brent and Wes. But calling out of the blue just to ask him about this wasn’t right.
As she careened into Maryanne’s office, Eva sent him a text, asking him if he’d like to meet and catch up.
“Sorry I’m late.” She shoved her phone into her back pocket and took one look at her boss before dread pummeled her in the stomach. “What’s wrong?”
3
Few places reminded her more of Brent than the Saturday-morning farmers’ market.
Eva soaked in the colors, smells, and sounds of life teeming around her. Even at eight thirty, the large parking lot hosted thousands of New Yorkers hunting for everything from fruits and vegetables to heritage meats, plants, textiles, fresh-baked breads, pickles, syrup, wine, and more. Children darted in and out of the white tents, chasing one another and laughing, absorbing the last moments of summer freedom before a new school year began on Tuesday.
Here, for a few hours, Eva was transported back to a time when she and Brent would peruse piles of produce in a rainbow of colors, daring each other to try at least one new food every time. They’d spend the morning selecting the plumpest bell peppers and the best-looking bundles of spinach and asparagus, plus whatever else looked enticing, and they’d take it all home for brunch. They had such fun exploring different foods—and many an experiment had ended with breakfast unfinished and forgotten as one flirty kiss led to more.
Eva averted her gaze and hurried past a booth of fresh-cut flowers, zigzagging toward a booth from a local farm that always had the juiciest berries. She greeted the tall man and snagged a carton of especially large strawberries.
“Let me get that.”
She turned, and Marco Cinelli stood next to her, his deep brown eyes filled with compassion. His light-scruff beard tickled her cheek as he leaned down to give her a quick hug.
“Hey, Marc.” He’d responded to her text yesterday in a matter of minutes, saying he would meet her wherever she wanted today. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.” Marc paid the vendor for the berries. “It’s been too long. How are things? How’s work going?”
As they wandered the booths, Eva fiddled with the top of the paper bag holding her strawberries. “Considering I nearly got fired from my volunteer position yesterday, just dandy.” Maryanne had expressed concern that several coworkers weren’t happy with Eva’s work. She knew a week of not screwing up didn’t really negate all the times she’d been bad at her job, but the words hurt nonetheless.
“I’m sorry, Eva.” He ran a hand through his short brown hair. “You know you always have a place at the business if you want one.”
“Thanks.” Months ago, when Charlotte had suggested she do something productive to honor Brent’s memory, she’d considered working at No Frills Fitness’s main office, but the thought of trying to replace her husband at the job he’d loved . . . no way. “I’ll stick it out. Brent was all about perseverance, so I will be too.”
They stopped at a vendor to sample a slice of honey beer bread slathered with butter. The crispy crust gave way to a soft, chewy inside filled with flavor—a nice blend of savory and sweet. “Mmm.”
“Holy cow, that’s amazing.”
The vendor, wearing a tight and rather low-cut shirt, eyed Marc. “I can share the recipe if you want.”
His eyebrows rose. “That’s a tempting offer, but I don’t have much time to bake these days.”
“Give me your number. I’d be happy to give you another sample sometime.” Her voice dripped with attempted seduction.
Eva turned her face away, biting her lip to keep from guffawing, but not before she caught the surprise in Marc’s eyes. The pretty young thing shouldn’t waste her time. Marc had always been committed to his job first, and he liked nice girls anyway, not ones who salivated over him as if he were a tasty cut of meat. His last girlfriend, Katrina, had been poised, lovely, and warm, but they’d gone their separate ways over a year ago when she’d received a job offer in Paris she couldn’t refuse.