Page 29 of My Dearest Mackenzie

Plating the steaks and salad, she instructed me to get the taters—also her word. And being the dog with a bone, I did what I was told.

“Wanna eat on the sun porch? We can take our plates and wine out. I have two stools out there,” she said, somewhat hesitantly.

We carried all of our stuff out and I was looking forward to digging in.

Clearly, I had an affinity for good food thanks to Milly.

Then, not one bit shy or hesitant, she asked, “Tell me, what had you so deep in thought when I came back with the steaks?”

“There she is…my tiny sleuth.”

“Come on, fess up,” she said, sticking a potato in her mouth.

“The grilling had me thinking about the team, and that led to a dark time when I wished my mom would come to a game. I was the kicker—as you know—and I always hoped it would impress her. That’s all. It didn’t.”

“I’m sure that hurt.” Frances stopped eating and set her hand on mine. “I don’t know how she didn’t want to be at everything. I would have.”

I nodded, saying, “I know,” and ending this conversation. It was meant to be a fun night, and it was turning into one sad story after another. “Enough of my sob story,” I stated. “Tell me what you did to ring in the Fourth?” I wondered if she’d worked, knowing it could be a big day for retail.

“Ring, not exactly. I had a quiet day, reading and relaxing. I make my own schedule and most of my clientele was either traveling or in the Hamptons this week.”

I found myself admiring what a hard worker she was. Many people thought I’d been handed a golden egg with Silky. But they didn’t know how difficult it had been to take over my family business. My dad not quite believing in me and the pressure to succeed were quite the cocktail to choke down.

“So what did you do yesterday, ride around on a private yacht, drinking champagne?”

I chuckled. Secretly, I loved the way she ribbed me. “No private yacht. Not my thing, especially on holidays. I’m pretty much a ‘golf and head home’ kind of guy on these types of days.”

“What about the Hamptons?” she asked and took a small bite of steak. Another thing I found myself liking about Frances—she ate.

“I have a place, but I don’t use it much. My aunt Susie spends a lot of time in the area, and I try to avoid her.”

“Do you rent your place?”

I shook my head and had a gulp of wine.

“But you don’t use it?”

“When I want, I do.”

“Well, nice that you can just use it when you want and not have to rent it to make it all work from a numbers standpoint.”

I noticed she was sensitive to money, likely from her settlement and bearing the weight of what it meant to have money from that angle. I didn’t give a shit… I found myself tumbling fast for Frances.

I nodded, unable to come up with a good explanation from a numbers standpoint, other than I didn’t need the money. All the while, I kept thinking the small square footage of a balcony Frances had been left in her settlement was the answer to my problem. A sliver of public space and a healthy dose of fresh air was good for me when it came to falling for the woman next to me. I also made a note never to have her over to my place (again) because this evening was going to end with my having this beautiful creature after dinner if I didn’t get my shit together. And I didn’t do dessert.

The thing was, best-laid plans were never easy to execute, which was how I found myself the very next day, back in my study with Frances, with two coffees on the table, reading the remainder of the Milly letters.

At least I’d left my relationship with Frances firmly in the friend zone. The night before, I’d said good night after helping with the dishes, making up some excuse about an overseas zoom to Israel where they work on a Sunday. It happened occasionally for me, so not the end of the world, to tell a tiny white lie—right?

My Dearest James,

Thank you for the roses mixed with lilies. When I woke up and saw the bouquet of red and magenta in my window, all I could think about was you and when I could see you next. My heart pattered and beat a frenzy just thinking about you. Of course, I had to hide the beautiful arrangement in my closet, but I’m going to bring it out later to admire. And smell. I adore lilies, peaceful and energetic in their nature, and they smell best at night. Did you know that?

My mind went wild thinking about our company’s original scent—Rose’s Lily was its name. We’d always been in the skin care business, but my dad started the scent line around the time I was five. He’d been to a conference—I remember because it was the one time my mom stayed with me—and came back full of excitement over perfumes. He’d even brought my mom back some samples.

“What is it?” Frances sat across from me, reading a book, peering over the edge. She wanted to be there for support, but mostly she was here for any tidbits she could draw out of me.

“Silky’s first scent was called Rose’s Lily. I always thought it was a play on Milly’s name, a tribute from my dad. But this makes it feel differently to me. Milly found herself involved in the business after my grandpa died. Well, she made sure she was, and this was her collaboration with my dad.”

---