Page 25 of Just Like Starting Over
Sierra nods with enthusiasm, her eyes alight. “The café will be closed so Mom can come, too. You just have to convince her.” She pivots, smiling brilliantly at Sylvia who is bringing a steaming plate to my table, then hurries to the door to greet a pair of new arrivals.
I can’t take guests into our greenhouses when we’re in full production. The risk of introducing a biological souvenir is too great. But I’m thinking of Rupert’s little greenhouse and how he might enjoy talking to Sierra. Sylvia looks disinclined to be convinced of anything I say, but maybe, if the expedition is for Sierra and Merrie, I can make it work.
I have to try.
They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
Maybe the way to a woman’s heart is through her daughter.
I see Sylvia heading for my table and call Rupert quickly. I want to have my plan ready to present to Sylvia after dinner.
8
SYLVIA
How can Mike be here?
How can he sit there and eat, like he’s not destroying every barrier I ever built against him, just by being in my proximity? I’m keenly aware of his every move, his every response to the dishes that are placed in front of him. I can’t help but notice how he fills that corner, a large muscular man with no intention of leaving soon.
He wants to apologize.
And I want to let him.
I have learned nothing.
Apparently, I have no ability to resist him. I have the resistance of tissue paper. Wet tissue paper. I sneak glances at him, admiring his manners, loving how deliberate he is. He never rushes. He savours. He admires and appreciates.
And just watching him enjoy his paté makes me think of other ways he savoured.
Oh, it’s been too long since I’ve been with anyone, but I hate that I’m lusting after Mike.
“Easy on my dishes,” Merrie warns in an undertone half an hour after his arrival. “We haven’t paid for them yet.”
“How could he?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. It’s not just him being here. No, it’s that he was so perplexed when I mentioned the letters. Mike has always been completely straight-up, which was why it hurt so much that he just ignored me.
I knew it could only have meant that I’d fallen short of some moral code and that there was no room for negotiation.
But he wassurprisedthat there were letters. It makes no sense.
It feeds some crazy hope I don’t want to feel.
What if I didn’t fall short? My heart flutters like a hummingbird at that possibility.
“How could he what? Come to the best place in town for dinner? Maybe he was hungry,” Merrie says calmly, then places the plate of lamb before me. It’s a beautiful presentation, two slices of the roast leg cut thick and fork-tender, the gratin in pale golden contrast to the meat, the tomatoes cooked on top of the potatoes, the grilled asparagus glistening alongside. She adds a piece of fresh rosemary, then indicates that her work is done.
Sierra is, perhaps predictably, talking to Mike. I compose my expression.
Mike, Mike, Mike. He glances up and almost smiles, his eyes gleaming like sapphires as he watches me approach. My heart stops then races, but I try to keep my cool. “This meal is amazing, Sylvia.”
His praise is well-deserved, and it’s for Merrie, not me. I can’t brush it off. “Thanks. Merrie is brilliant.”
“You’re working hard yourself.”
I offer him fresh ground pepper and he nods,watching it fall on the meal. I’m not fooled. He’s going to say something, maybe something I won’t like.
He impales me with a glance. “I wonder if you might do me a favour.”
“A favour?”
