Page 133 of Just for Tonight

He grins, then frames my face in his hands, bending down so that his gaze bores into mine. “I love you, Mackenzie Rhodes.” Then he bends and kisses me as if he’s never going to stop. I close my eyes and hold on tight, so very, very glad.

We turn together to watch the party, which has continued as if no one has noticed us. I don’t believe that for a minute. Mrs. O’Neill is bringing out even more food. I feel Jake nod toward the party. “How long will this go on?”

“All night. Some of them will still be celebrating in the morning.” Another season over and done. It’s both happy and sad. “It’s our big finish. The seasonal workers will head home, starting Monday. Many of them probably figure they can sleep on the plane.”

“We never have a big finish like this at the greenhouses,” he says and I’m interested that he includes himself in the Cavendish team. “But then, crops finish out gradually for the year, some sooner than others. It kind of winds down with people leaving in groups as soon as August.”

His words remind me of the barrier between us, which must still remain. “But wait,” I say. “How are we actually going to do this? You’re going to be in Toronto and I’ll be here?”

Jake chuckles. “Ah, you’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg.”

“I thought it was a mountain.”

“Maybe it’s both.”

Someone turns on the music, probably Opa, and the dancing begins. I look up at Jake. “Get me out of here, please.”

“Where to?”

“Somewhere you can tell me about icebergs. Your choice.”

“Disneyland.” His eyes are doing that sparkle thing, a sure sign that he’s up to some mischief or other.

I can play along. “Too far.”

“Toronto.”

“Still too far. Somewhere closer.”

He considers this, finishing his Red Stripe, then meets my gaze again. “Port Cavendish.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. That’s where everyone went to park and make out when we were in high school. I never parked at Port Cavendish with anyone. Maybe it’s time to start.

“If we’re going to do it in the car, we’d better take mine.” I step away from him, catching his hand and we walk away from the party.

“Maybe not,” Jake says. “With all these vehicles, it’ll be Tuesday before you get it out of the garage.”

That’s true. Jake’s car it will be.

He’s still acting as if he has a secret. We walk past the many trucks and SUV’s lining the drive from the road to the house, and I stop cold.

“Where’s your car?”

“Right there,” he says and tosses his key fob into the air. He catches it but not before I see that the logo on it is Toyota, not BMW.

“You got rid of your car?”

“I rehomed it.”

I’m so surprised by this that it takes me a minute to absorb what he’s saying. “I thought you and that car were joined forever.”

“Fortunately not.”

“Why would you get rid of it?”

Jake nods solemnly. “Insufficient towing capacity.”

“What?”