Love and the Single Mum

She connected the final dot. “And you’re using my bistro as your job search headquarters.” Here was her chance to voice her objections, but all of a sudden she found she didn’t have any.

“Well, the coffee’s good and the food’s even better. Then there’s the atmosphere…”

He was looking at her in a very intense way. As if it wasn’t just the place he liked…but her. Margo gripped the edge of the steel counter, welcoming the feel of the solid, cold metal.

She ought to be encouraging him. A little flirting wouldn’t hurt. Instead she found herself panicking. Maybe she wasn’t ready to start dating, after all. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed the sign I have hanging on my counter out front. The one that says, “No cell phones please.” My daughter made it.”

“Your daughter.”

That seemed to bring him up cold.

“So the kids in the pictures last night are yours?”

“Two of them are. My son Peter is seven and Ellie is ten.”

His gaze dropped to her hands.

She swallowed, then added, “I’m divorced. It’s been about a year. My ex and I have joint custody of our children.”

“Oh.” He tugged on his tie again. “I’m never sure what to say to that. Sorry or congratulations.” He smiled nervously.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure, either.” According to the statistics, half of all marriages ended in divorce. But she’d never imagined that hers would be one of them.

She needed to change the subject. “So…how’s the job search going?”

He looked glad that she’d asked. “I’ve got a headhunter working for me and I’ve been calling a bunch of people I know, too. But so far I haven’t managed to nab so much as a first interview. They tell me the job market is tight right now. At least in banking.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something soon.”

He sighed. “I hope so. I graduated in the top ten percent of my class. Always got great performance reviews at both of the banks where I’ve worked in the past.”

“It hasn’t even been a week,” she reminded him gently. “Maybe this is an opportunity for you to take a little breather. Reassess your goals and your plans for the future.”

“Well, I did go sailing on Tuesday.”

“You took off a whole day, huh?”

He smiled at her teasing. “I made a few calls from the marina. So the day wasn’t a total waste. But seriously, I don’t need to think about my plans. I know what I want. No doubt about that.”

The confidence in his voice was compelling, but as Margo met his gaze, she was struck again with the incongruous notion that he was talking about her, and not the job at all.

She swallowed. “You know—”

They were interrupted again, this time by the ringing of the bistro’s phone. She went to answer it and was dismayed to find herself talking to a credit manager from Wells Fargo. As she conducted the brief conversation, Robert took a bite from one of the muffins. He didn’t look impressed. She turned her back to him.

“Three weeks. Yes, I understand. Goodbye.” She stared at the phone on the wall for a few moments. In her mind she pictured the account book upstairs, the files of loan statements and growing pile of unpaid bills.

“Bad news?”

Pride almost made her fib. But what was the point? Robert was a banker, maybe he could give her a few pointers. “You know how I said that I was making my loan payments?”

His expression grew serious. “Yes?”

“Well, I have been. But not the full amount. I was hoping to renegotiate my monthly payments. But now the bank wants to see my cash flow projections for the upcoming year. And they want them in three weeks.”

“Let me guess. You don’t have cash flow projections.”

“Should I?” He didn’t need to answer. She could see by his expression that she should. “Oh, Lord. I can barely keep up with the bills, the tax remittances and monthly payroll.”

“Are you doing all that yourself?”

“Partially. I bought a computer package that was supposed to integrate everything…accounting, payroll, taxes, inventory… But I’m not using it to its potential.”

“Restaurants survive or fail based on certain key numbers. Inventory management is one. Meal costing is another.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve read the manual that came with the package.” Well, she’d skimmed the manual. She simply didn’t have the time to go through it in detail. “Once I’ve got my feet on the ground, I’m going to hire an accountant.”

Robert gave her an incredulous look. He glanced up, as if inspecting the ceiling, then down to the concrete floor. Finally, he said, “I realize we haven’t known each other very long. But there’s something I have to tell you.”

Margo guessed this wasn’t going to be good news. “Yes?”

“You can’t wait until you have money saved in the bank. You need to hire an accountant now, or you’ll never get your feet on the ground.”

Margo knew Robert’s suggestion was well-intended. But he just didn’t have a clue. “I don’t have the money for any extra expenses.”

Robert considered that. “How about free soup and scones? Maybe the occasional cup of coffee, too.”

Was he offering to help her? “But you’re a banker, not an accountant.”

“Close enough. I’ve seen tons of cash flow statements. I ought to be able to figure out how to prepare one.”

She was sure he could. Better and faster than she could, anyway. “But—”

“It’s not as if I’m particularly busy right now,” he pointed out. “This’ll help fill my time until I get a real job.”

“That’s a generous offer. But it wouldn’t be fair for me to accept.” It might not be fair. But it was tempting. She’d love to put all the accounting worries behind her and focus on the jobs she knew how to do well.

“Are you worried about taking advantage of me?”

His eyes sparkled with humor and she knew she wasn’t imagining the double meaning this time. “You should be so lucky, Robert Brookman.”

He gave her a once-over. A thorough study that began with her swept-up hair and ended with the polished pink toes peeking out from her espadrilles.

“Yeah, you’re right. I should be so lucky. In the meantime, why don’t you show me your books and let me see if I can help?”

“Well…if you’re sure.” She led the way upstairs to the apartment she shared with the kids. It was a three-bedroom and quite roomy, but there was no space for a separate office, so she’d set the computer up in a corner of the living room.

The raspberry-colored sofa faced the television. On the opposite wall, a dark-blue, stained wooden armoire held the computer. Next to that was an open-shelf unit filled with labeled baskets. “Here’s where I keep my records.”