Page 77 of Just for Tonight

I finish the Scotch, telling myself it’s good that she raised the subject. It’s good that we’re done. I’m glad that it’s happened.

It’s all a lie. I miss her already. I want to get in my car and drive to Empire, no matter what crazy hour of the night I get there. I want to carry her off to bed and apologize for hurting her feelings, even a little, in the best way I know. I want to convince her to give me another chance and even agree to having a thing.

But I know better.

So, I turn off my phone and pour another Scotch.

22

Mackenzie

Here I am in glorious British Columbia, sun sparkling off the ocean, a light breeze across the patio where we’re enjoying a fabulous lunch – and all I can think is ‘fuck Jake Cavendish’.

Not literally, of course. (I should be so lucky.)

My mom is thrilled that I took her advice and made the trip. The senior Rutherfords are charming and I can see why Mom likes them so much.

Darcy, the son, is handsome, fit, and wry. (Yes, his name really is Darcy. It’s his first name not his surname, but still. I think that’s funny and I can’t escape the fact that the one person who would also find that funny is Jake. Even when he’s out of my life, he’s in my mind.) Darcy is the heir to the throne and he knows it. He’s confident, well-educated, and well-dressed. He’s their winemaker and talks with the precision I’m accustomed to hearing from my uncle.

I should like him more than I do.

I would like him more than I do if he wasn’t so determined to slide his marital expectations into the conversation, over and over and over again.

By the time I’ve had one meal with the Rutherfords, I’m feeling badgered.

“Once you visit the Okanagan, you’ll never want to leave.” This is what Darcy says when we talk about growing up on working vineyards.

“I want to have three, maybe even four, kids,” he confides as our mothers go to peruse the dessert buffet. “I can’t help thinking it’s time to get started.”

I don’t say anything about him only needing to do the fun part, although I’m tempted. “You might want to find a partner first,” I say with a smile. “Her views on having family might be different from yours.”

He laughs. “I’m very persuasive.” His gaze lingers on me when he says this.

“How nice for you,” I say with a smile that is all teeth.

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t back off and he doesn’t cool down. He’s a man on a mission and I’m in his sights.

Mere moments later, he follows with this gem.

“How old are you, Mackenzie? Not to be rude, but you know, it is so much easier for women to have children before forty. It would be best to know where we stand before getting involved.” He smiles, assuming that I’m charmed.

I feel I know maybe five things about Darcy Rutherford – I’ll guess he knows fewer about me – and he wants to talk about my uterus and its baby-generating potential.

I am more than a womb for some guy’s dynastic ambitions.

There is a distinct upside to being married to my job. It doesn’t make assumptions about what I want, for example, or expect me to give up on my own goals.

“Are we getting involved?” I ask, diverting the question. “It seems a bit early for that kind of speculation.” I look at my watch. “It’s been maybe sixty-five minutes since we met.”

Is it wrong that I hear Jake saying “sixty-seven minutes”?

Yes, yes, it is.

It’s also wrong that Darcy doesn’t get the memo. I don’t want to talk about my uterus and its potential at lunch right after we’ve met for the first time, with three very interested older parties in attendance.

And that’s the thing: what I think doesn’t appear to be a variable. I don’t like that impression. I can’t like that impression.

But maybe I’m being too prickly. (Gee. Who would have tutored me in that?)