Page 35 of Just for Tonight

I want to grin. She’s going to read my own playbook back to me. Could she be any more perfect? “Not me. I am the original hook-up guy.”

“There’s something worrisome about that statement.”

“Is there? If you want something done right, you go to someone who knows what they’re doing. Or am I wrong?”

“No, not wrong.”

“I hope we got it right,” I say very softly and watch her colour rise.

“I thought so, but it won’t hurt to double-check.”

“Won’t hurt a bit. I promise.”

The atmosphere in the car heats up a very acceptable notch.

It starts to rain, big drops landing audibly on the windshield.

Mackenzie continues briskly. “Here’s the story. You’ve come to the vineyard today for a tour and a tasting and to explore your interest in stocking our wines at your business –” she gestures, inviting me to contribute to the story.

“A small chain of boutique restaurants.”

“Excellent,” she says. “And since everything is going so well, I’m taking you to dinner to continue our discussions.”

“I am, after all, staying in the corporate condo.”

“Exactly.” She stops at a stop sign and gives me a fierce look. “And I will be picking up the tab tonight. Don’t even think of reaching for it. We always pay for dinners with potential clients and we always go to this restaurant.”

“Yes, ma’am, Boss Lady Ma’am.” I give her a salute and she drives on, fighting a smile. “I have no problem not paying for dinner.”

“Which is part of the reason you are Mr. Wickham.”

“What? I’m not Wickham…”

Mackenzie laughs. “I suppose I have Abbie to thank for the fact that you get the reference.”

“Abbie? No.”

“Who then? The one who got away? The romantic you dated and disappointed?”

She’s teasing me, but I decide on impulse that I will break my rule about divulging personal details. Mostly it’s because she doesn’t expect me to do that, and I like surprising Mackenzie. It’s only fair, given how often she surprises me.

“The woman I dated and disappointed was the least romantic individual I’ve ever known,” I admit. Mackenzie glances toward me so I continue to keep her from asking. “I know too much about movie adaptations because of my roommates in university.”

“How can that be?” she muses as if she doesn’t expect me to answer. “Your roommates were all women?”

She’s driven back into town and we’re turning around Big Red, the maple tree in the roundabout, to take the road to Havelock. I take a peek at The Carpe Diem Café, which is reasonably busy, then ignore the Maple Leaf Motel, where I was not compelled to stay.

“Eight of us rented a townhouse in third and fourth year. Four guys. Four women. Four bedrooms. Two up with bath; two down with bath. Ladies were on top. Guys in the dungeon.”

Mackenzie smiles at that.

“In the middle was the kitchen and a kind of a family room with a huge television.”

“It must have been crowded.”

“Not too bad. It wasn’t often that all of us were home. At first, on Thursdays, we guys went pub-crawling. We soon discovered there was a movie night happening in our absence, and started to come in earlier.”

“For the popcorn, the movies, or the vicarious thrill of seeing your roommates in pyjamas?”