Page 122 of Just Like Starting Over
He nods agreement, his gaze sliding past me. “I hear the basil is up,” he says lightly.
“And the cilantro,” Sierra interjects.
Merrie rings the bell for a pick-up and I’m off to deliver duck confit to table five. Mike takes his time over his meal, lingering as he waits on me. Merrie throws us out at ten and I drive Sierra home, Mike following behind.
“Date night,” Sierra says with approval.
“Something like that.” But it isn’t. It’s my chance to tell him about his dad and my grip is tight on the wheel. I really don’t want to have a fight. “Check on Una, please.”
“Don’t stay out past your curfew,” she teases, then laughs as she dances toward the house. “Good night, Mike!” she shouts and he waves from beside his truck. He’s standing by the passenger door and opens it for me, giving me a hand into the truck.
We drive in silence to Port Cavendish, the rain beating on the roof of the truck. The road seems darker in bad weather andI remember other Friday nights of making this drive with him in a different truck. He parks overlooking the pier and we have the place to ourselves. There’s just the rain and the smooth surface of the lake, the slow roll of clouds across the sky.
And memories. That familiar tingle of expectation fills the truck. I look up to find him watching me.
“What is it? I thought you talked to your dad?”
“I did and silence ever since.” He casts me a weary smile. “No sale.”
I feel badly for him. He was so enthused about his plan and I wanted it to happen for him. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him about his dad’s threats, but he’s frowning out at the lake. What did he want to talk about? “There’s something else,” I say when he remains silent.
He tells me about Rupert, and the farm, and Rupert’s offer. Again, there’s enthusiasm in his voice. “I think I could manage it,” he says. “Since Rupert wants to finance it. Maybe divide my time between Cavendish Enterprises and my own place.”
“Could you research new varieties there?”
“Of course. He has a solid greenhouse, and I could add another in time. There are always hectic phases, mostly planting and harvesting, but in between, plants grow on their own. I think I could find those new varieties there, as well as build a home.” He clears his throat. “I think it might be good for Sierra to have time on the farm, too.”
“Ah, tractor lessons.”
“More than that.” Mike becomes very still and I turn to him, snared by the brightness of his gaze. “We could get married, Sylvia,” he says softly. “We could make a home there.”
My heart is clenched tight and for a moment, I can’t say a word.
“I know it’s quick and maybe too soon, but maybe you also need to know my intentions. I still want to get married, Sylvia.”
He’s not done, but I reach up and put a fingertip across his mouth before he can confess his feelings and make it impossible for me to say what I must. “But we have to sort out one last thing. We have to trust each other completely, Mike, and if you believe I lied to you about those letters, that’s something neither of us should ignore.”
He frowns and pushes a hand through his hair. “I don’t think you did.”
“But you don’t know what happened to them.”
“It could have been the housekeeper,” he says but I shake my head.
“It was your dad, Mike. Your dad took the letters.”
He’s visibly horrified. “No.”
“Yes. I called when you didn’t answer the first letter. I talked to your dad and he told me that he had intercepted my letter.” He’s watching me with what can only be disbelief, but I have to say this. “He said he had destroyed it. He said you had no interest in me and that I should leave you alone.” I don’t repeat the other things Patrick told me, how I was stretching above myself, how I wasn’t worthy of a Cavendish.
Mike is shocked, even at this increment of the truth.
“But Sylvia, I asked him. He said there were no letters.”
“Helied, Mike. He lied because he never thought I was good enough for you.”
“But…”
“Does he think we should be together now?”
