“I have a son and a daughter. Drew’s nineteen and just finished his first year of university. Paige is sixteen going on thirty. She’s in high school and doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life except torment her mother.” Her tone carries an edge of exasperation, though it’s easy to see her pride and love for her children.
Her eyes are luminous, and her smile grows as she continues. “Drew is smart, level-headed, and my rock. Paige is my sweet girl, lots of fun, and always up to something, but…” Her smile falls a bit.
I wait anxiously, hoping she’ll continue. She doesn’t. Instead, she picks up her coffee cup, and her pink lips pucker, blowing over the surface of the hot liquid. Holding it together takes every ounce of control I have while her lips tease the rim of that mug.
Settling back into my seat, I hope to put her at ease. “Go on.”
“We’re going through a rough patch.” Now she looks down at her plate in quiet contemplation. “It’s…complicated.”
I want to reach across the table again, to reassure her, to let her know she’s safe here. “Every family has them. Drew sounds like a good guy. What’s he studying?”
She gives me a grateful smile and relaxes. “He wants to be a lawyer. He’s got his whole educational path mapped out.”
“And their father?”
“I’m divorced.” She blushes, shaking her head.
“Phew, I’m not out with a married woman.” I exaggerate wiping my brow, and she laughs at my antics. “Tell me about your passion. You know mine—what’s yours?”
Beaming, she relaxes. “I recently started my ownbusiness, Cassidy Designs. I’m an interior designer.”
“You like it?”
“Yes, very much so. I love it.”
“And you just started? Why not sooner?”
She pauses reflectively before answering, “I guess because after I graduated, I got married. At first, I worked at a design firm for a short while, but when I found out I was pregnant, starting a family became my priority.”
I nod, not knowing what it takes, but imagining the commitment and energy needed to raise children. Then we move on to lighter things—more about her business, her love for design, how she built her company from scratch. I listen, genuinely impressed. She has drive. Fire. She’s the kind of woman who makes things happen. We have that in common.
On our walk back to her hotel, the air is warm and heavy, thick with the scent of street food. She lifts her hair off her neck, seeking relief from the heat. I want to reach for her, but I sense she needs the space to think, so I shove my hands into my pockets and keep pace beside her.
While we had a great lunchand she’s dropped the age thing for now, I sense it’s not been laid to rest.
In the lobby, she turns to me with a soft smile. “I had a great time.”
“I’m glad.” I take her hand, turning my palm up to link our fingers. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
Her laugh is light but uncertain. “Sam?—”
“Just dinner.” It’s hard to leave it there when we both know whatever this is between us could be so much more.
She studies me, weighing something in her mind. “I live in Toronto. I leave Monday. I can’t do this.”
“Do what? Have dinner with me? What? You don’t eat? You have to eat.”
Rolling her eyes, she tugs at her hand and I deliberately let go, not wanting to freak her out. It’s plain to see she’s struggling with this.
“Olivia, it’s only dinner and you’re leaving. I get it. Tomorrow’s all we have.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t answer. The push and pull between us is palpable—herreason againstmywant.
“Besides,” I add, teasing lightly, “you still don’t know how old I am.”
Her eyes narrow. “You promised.”
“How old do you think I am?”
