Page 136 of Just for Tonight

“No, they did not. Because Merrie made single-bite bruschetta, and she toasted the bread right there in that conference room. And she talked about sourdough bread, and fresh basil and chèvre from local producers while she was making these delicious little bites. And when I choked on my presentation, Mike starting talking. He’s so earnest and so enthusiastic. He was telling them about different varieties of tomatoes, comparing the flavours, and Colin was pouring wine and the place smelled like Tuscany and it was a quarter to twelve.” I raise my hands. “They surrendered to temptation. They didn’t even pay attention to the last half of my presentation.”

Mackenzie laughs. “And Mike was unrepentant.”

“He said he couldn’t tell me about the plan because I would have nixed it. I would have. In a heartbeat. I would have said it was doomed.”

“But Mike knew better and you are a great team.”

“Apparently so.”

She taps me on the chest, delighted. “Tell me you ate the bruschetta.”

“Why?”

“You don’t eat tomatoes.”

I give her a look. “And I could have stood there, asking for investment in tomato greenhouses, then said ‘nah, not for me.’ Of course, I ate bruschetta!”

Mackenzie is laughing at me and I don’t even care. “Did you get it on your tie?”

“No.”

“Was it good?”

I take a breath. “It was fucking delicious.” I grin as she laughs and tug her back toward the house. “We got the funds, then everything worked out with the Graham farm.”

“When did they sign off?”

“Last night.” I heave a sigh. “So, I could finally come to you, mission accomplished.”

She smiles up at me, so delighted that I have to tell her everything before I ask.

“Full disclosure,” I say, because this could queer the whole deal. “You should know that I had a vasectomy, years ago.”

“I figured as much,” Mackenzie says easily.

“What?”

She smiles the mysterious little smile that gets me right where I live. “You were too sure. Condoms aren’t that reliable and you’re smart enough to know that.”

“Thank you very much.”

The best part is that she doesn’t look troubled by this dose of truth, which means it’s time.

I pull the little box out of my jacket pocket and her smile fades. I’ve been carrying it around ever since I picked it up at the jeweller. I’ve had it all day and have been trying to figure out all day what to say when I ask.

I still don’t know, so I just guess.

“A fling, a thing or a wedding ring,” I say and Mackenzie catches her breath. “It’s up to you.”

I open the box to show her, then say the words I hope will be the charm. “Marry me?”

The rings I chose are wide platinum bands with a little Celtic braid on each edge. They’re comparatively plain, but I could immediately imagine one on Mackenzie’s hand. It wouldn’t be something she’d have to take off for work. Having no stone is simpler for a 24-7 ring, to my thinking. I can buy her other jewellery that’s fancier.

In this moment, though, I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake and that she might be someone yearning for a huge diamond solitaire. She might be someone who would rather pick her own ring, thanks just the same. She might have different future plans, ones that don’t include me, or the vasectomy might be too much. She’s staring at the box as if it’s full of snakes, which means I might have made a bigger mistake than the choice of ring.

“Are you sure?” she asks in a whisper.

“I’m sure. It looks like you aren’t, though.”