Page 135 of Just for Tonight

“At Bradshaw & Weatherby. Daphne invited me and Richard said it was okay.”

I smile, because I’m glad she was there, and give her hand a squeeze. Once I know where to start, it’s easy to tell her everything.

I tell her about the new building that is going to block my old view and my decision to buy this place. I tell her about turning down the promotion that I thought I wanted more than anything. Then I tell her about giving Tyler a few cards to play and that makes her smile.

“Did she get the job?”

“No! This is the best part. They called to offer it to me again. She went to work for another firm.”

“The head-hunter.”

“He’s good. Besides, there was no happy ending that included Tyler working for the people who took advantage of her.” I earn a smile for that. “Unless it’s the one where they hire her back in a couple of years for vastly more money. That would work.”

“You don’t mess around, do you?”

“You’re telling me that you have a sudden affection for compromise?”

Mackenzie laughs. “No.”

I tell her about downsizing my condo, too, distracted by the fact that she’s looking at me as if I hung the moon. “And then there was Mike, and our presentation to the investors.”

“I heard you got the funding.”

“But it was a close thing. I was sure they were going to say no. I could feel it turning. You know how it goes.”

“I do.” She grimaces. “I hate when I feel that change.”

“Me, too. I hate losing, but they were slipping away. The numbers, as great as they are, weren’t compelling them. People love to say no, you know. It’s a power word, one that puts them in charge.” I realize I shouldn’t be confiding this right before I ask the one question that I don’t want her to refuse. “And so here I am thinking we’re dead in the water, and Merrie arrives.” I lift a hand, still amazed by this.

“Merrie?”

I don’t have to pretend to remember my surprise. “Merrie, with a cart and a toaster oven and all kinds of prepared dishes of food. She has that Colin kid with her and they start laying out a spread of appetizers, all made with Cavendish tomatoes.”

“Bruschetta,” Mackenzie says with a laugh as if she was in on this.

“With wine from Rhodes Vineyards.”

“A rosé?”

“Yes. Did you know about this?”

“Not really, no. Go on.” Her eyes are sparkling like the lake on a midsummer’s day and it’s all I can do to keep the thread of the story. I want to kiss her so much.

It’s funny how easy it is to talk to her, even confessing my own shortfalls.

It’s right and good.

“It turns out Mike had planned this catering to deliver the message about the superior flavour of our tomatoes. He pampered a dozen plants beyond the season to make sure Merrie had perfect fruit. But I’m thinking it’s all going to go sideways because of the suits.”

“The suits?”

“A great suit isn’t just a fashion statement. It’s a lifestyle choice. You eat to maintain the integrity of the suit. It’s a code.” I nod. “No spaghetti or sauces that flick, for example.”

“No mustard that can drip,” Mackenzie says, getting it.

“And no bloody bruschetta with little chopped bits of tomato in olive oil. That stuff is an avalanche waiting to happen.” My exasperation has to be clear because she laughs again. “But Mike didn’t get that memo with his great suit and Merrie rolled in with her bruschetta train.”

“Did they say no?”