Page 100 of Blindly Yours

Desmond is still on his phone. “Oh wow, there’s an F40 for sale just down the street. And look at that low mileage…”

I still in my seat, suddenly realizing George might be the only one here who knows who I actually am.

“I think one Ferarri is enough, dear.” Cynthia shakes her head as she says it so nonchalantly, like buying Ferarris is as simple as buying groceries.

Desmond lifts his eyes from his screen to look at me. “What do you drive, Nate?”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat and clear my throat. This is not going to go over well. “I drive a Ford, sir.”

“Oh? A GT?” he asks. “I saw one just down the street yesterday. What a beauty.”

“No.” I shake my head. “An F-150.”

He holds my gaze for a moment like he’s wondering if I’m joking. But no, I am not.

When he realizes that disappointing truth, he nods and brushes a crumb from his lap. “Nothing like a good, reliable American-made pickup.”

“My dad’s a mechanic,” I add. “I almost got into the business myself. I have a healthy appreciation for the automotive world.” I point toward his phone. “The F40 is an incredible piece of machinery.” And I’m not making this up. I actuallyaminto cars, though certainly not as much as Desmond.

Cynthia sets her wine glass down slowly in my periphery and glances at Rose. Desmond looks taken aback, and I know it’s not because of the car I drive. It’s because I told him my dad’s a mechanic. I come from absolutely no money, and it’s clear now that no one knew this. But he recomposes himself quickly and nods. “Very true. Though, it’s nothing to my McLaren. Best car ever built.”

“What do you have?” I ask, without a beat. “I saw a Senna once here downtown. But…” I rub my chin. “I take you as an F1 man.”

He grins and points his finger at me. “Ha! You know your stuff. Yeah, I’ve got an F1 down in the garage. Got it for an absolutestealback in ’99.”

“I’d love to see it someday.” I take a drink and lean back in my chair, draping my arm around the back of Rose’s.

She’s sitting perfectly still, staring at her mother, and she wants to disappear, I can tell. I want to be angry with her for not briefing her parentsat allabout who I am, but I’m mostly just disappointed. She’s afraid they won’t accept me. Won’t accepther. I knew it was bad, but notthisbad. I’m not sure what she thought was going to happen tonight. She must’ve known it would all come out eventually.

“Mom, can I pour you some more wine?” Rose asks, reaching for the bottle.

Cynthia ignores her, eyeing me closely. “So, Nate, what do you do for work?”

“I manage several buildings in Minneapolis, along with a team of employees I oversee.”

She tries and fails to appear impressed. “Oh? Would I know any of the buildings?”

Rose drops her forehead to her hand and massages it slowly.

I take a deep breath and hold Cynthia’s gaze. “Yes, actually. I manage Astor Tower.”

The terrace goes silent. George lowers his eyes to the table, Henry pauses with bruschetta in his hand, Helene peers through the doorway, and Cynthia looks back and forth between me and Desmond, who furrows his brow.

“I thought…” She hesitates. “I thought Joe managed our building.”

“Joe is my employee,” I correct her. “He’s assigned to your building, but I own the company as a whole. Hale Property Management.”

Desmond blinks quickly and shakes his head as if to clear it. “I’m confused…have we met?”

I smile genuinely at him. “You and I haven’t, actually. But I did meet your wife when she signed the contract three years ago, and just recently again when the pipe burst above Rose’s ceiling.”

Cynthia’s mouth hangs open for a moment before she tries to pull it together and smile. “Oh my goodness, yes, I can’t believe I forgot. I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you. I…thank you for your work on that.”

“It’s no problem,” I reply simply.

“I thought you met online?” Henry interjects.

“We did.” I agree. “Right around the same time we also met in your building.”

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