Page 20 of My Dearest Mackenzie

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe it. You’re a keeper, Frances Burns. You’re the type of woman men get a hold of and don’t let go. Secure, independent but not flashy with it, supportive alongside it. Caring, unconditionally. Men eat that shit up.”

“Are you drunk?”

A belly laugh rang between us. “No! I just know what I’m talking about.”

“Well, I think my ex would disagree with you.”

“Hmmm, an ex. Interesting, but not for now. Let’s change the vibe. Where did your Paps grow up?”

“Finally, we can talk about what I want. Brooklyn.”

He nodded. “Milly too,” he added. “And tell me what you found. What treasures of their past?”

“Is that snark I detect in your tone?” I came right out and asked. “Are you mocking me?”

He reached over and took my hand in his and small fireworks played out when our skin touched. It was one of those moments you read about and thought was bullshit, but then it was happening to you.

“Never. I wouldn’t dare not believe you and mock you.” His fingers gave mine a squeeze meant to comfort me, but it was laced with sarcasm. He was definitely questioning if my mission was believable.

As I was about to open my mouth and tell him this was true for certain, the salad and an enormous plate of fried chicken and artichokes arrived.

Mack offered me the plate first, and I took a smaller breast before watching him grab a piece and take a bite.

“Mmm,” he moaned, and under other circumstances it would have rattled my soul, causing me to be jealous because I wasn’t the reason for the sound. There was a time in my life that I’d brought moans out of mouths. Or a mouth.

But we were getting to my part, my mission.

Taking a nibble of my salad, I chewed and spoke. “I found letters after my Paps died. One from each week of their dating, just shy of a year. They spoke of the days prior, noting their experiences together, almost like she was documenting their time and love for one another. Each one ended with what they had to look forward to, always including a family and making their own way. She started every letter with ‘My Dearest James.’”

Mack dropped his chicken on the plate, wiped his slick hands on a napkin and stood. “You know what? I forgot I had to be somewhere. Don’t worry about the bill, Corey will settle up with them. Enjoy your evening.”

“What?” It was a whisper. My body was shocked—I was about to be deserted at a table for two. Definitely a first for me, and not something I’d expected out of Mackenzie Miller. I didn’t know why; he was a bona fide jerk.

He certainly had not shown much of his softer side.

“Good night, Frances.”

And in an instant, he was gone.

After a second piece of chicken, Luke approached and said the bill was taken care of, and asked if I wanted anything else. I didn’t think they had peppermint bark ice cream, nor was I willing to display my addiction in public, so I declined his offer and took an Uber back to my apartment on the Upper East Side, falling asleep with my makeup and pencil skirt still on.

The next morning, after a strong cup of coffee, two trips to the bathroom, and a vitamin C mask, I made myself get to work. Where, luckily, I had a slammed day. Several of my regular customers had weddings to attend in July and August, and all wanted summer-weight suits and linen pants for the rehearsal dinners. My day was a constant stream of pulling the aforementioned garments, sizing and fitting the men who paid my bills, and reassuring them their clothes would be ready for whatever weekend celebration they had in the Hamptons. I was too busy to even think about how I had nowhere to be any weekend of the summer or how I was just about too old for the nuptials circuit. Then my cell rang.

I happened to be in the back, steaming a shirt, when it buzzed in my pocket, and I yanked it out.

The screen said PRIVATE, but that wasn’t uncommon when it came to my clients.

“Hello, this is Frankie Burns,” I answered, hoping there wasn’t a wardrobe emergency on Fire Island. Some salespeople had been known to make house calls. Not me.

“Frankie, it’s Corey.”

With the phone tucked against my neck, this was a surprise, considering I didn’t want to hear from Mackenzie Miller after being ditched, let alone his assistant. “Listen, whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m at work, and it’s clear your boss is a coldhearted jerk.”

“He feels very badly about what happened last night.”

I set the steamer wand down, fearing I might scald the fabric or my hand. “I don’t care about what went down or Mack at all. Don’t get me twisted—I’m all about this mission of mine. But not at the expense of my fragile ego.”

“I don’t know what, but something triggered Millsy. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be at liberty to say. It happens from time to time, but he always rights it. Anyway, he asked me to call you and see if you wouldn’t mind having the letters couriered over to him. He said you’d know what he meant.”

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