"That's all I'm asking for. I promise, once you meet her and get to know her, you'll fall in love with her too." He took back his phone. "We should be able to nail down the dinner location later today, and then I'll let Blossom know everything's a go. I'll let you get cleaned up, and then we can ride in to work together?"
"Sure."
"I'll wait for you in the living room."
I watched him walk out the door before making my way to the adjoining bathroom, shifting gears to the work I had to tackle when I went into the office.
I was currently working on a deal that had me pulling my hair out. A family with three car washes across the city had been duped into a predatory loan that was draining their profits. I was struggling to find a way to get them out of it before they lost everything.
I got into this business because I liked working with numbers and helping people achieve their dreams. I wasn't much of a risk-taker myself, so helping businesses expand gave me a senseof satisfaction and made me feel as if I were contributing to the long-term growth of my community. Finding out another banker had taken advantage of these people's naivety, which could cause them to lose everything, angered me.
"Not if I can help it," I mumbled, as I stripped out of my clothes.
As the cool water beat down on my face, I thought about my son and his engagement. When his mother and I divorced and they moved to Arizona, I was devastated. Fortunately, when he turned thirteen, he moved in with me. "To help him become a man," his mother had said, though I suspected she simply wanted him out of the way so she could start dating again.
I didn't mind. I was happy to have him back in my life and my home, and I liked to think I had done a decent job raising him to make the right choices in life.
I guess I'd find out how good of a job I'd done on Friday night when I met his fiancée.
Chapter 3
Jamison
Thanks to a cancellation at Knife & Fork, Mindy was able to get us a reservation. We arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early, which annoyed my son, but since I was driving, he had no choice but to come along.
I didn't like to rush and believed arriving early gave me the upper hand. With clients, it worked well, establishing right away that I was trustworthy and reliable, and it subtly gave them the impression they were stepping into an environment I controlled. In the case of Blossom and her mother, arriving early wasn't about leverage so much as preparation. I had time to settle, observe, and brace myself.
The dining room was packed, and though I hadn't been hungry before I arrived, the scent of sizzling meat and spices made my mouth water. I'd never had a bad meal here, so I was looking forward to dinner. The hostess led us to a well-appointed table toward the back, round and covered in a white tablecloth. We weren't near a window, but thankfully, we weren't in the middle of the dining room, either.
Manuel and I were browsing the menus when my son said, "There she is." His voice had taken on a hushed quality.
I followed his line of sight to the two women coming our way, and I was immediately struck by how clearly they resembled each other. Both were striking, with beautiful eyes and a confident bearing, but the similarities ended there.
Blossom was lighter, her curls cropped close to her head. Her mother, on the other hand, was several shades darker, with a chestnut-brown complexion. While Blossom's style leaned toward polished and modern, her mother's was unapologetically bohemian. She was so colorful that the rest of the room seemed gray in comparison.
Her waist-length dreadlocks were pulled back from her face with a red-and-gold scarf, the silk fabric knotted with casual precision. She wore a clay-colored blouse that was loose and flowing, the kind that skimmed rather than clung, with a modest neckline allowing several long necklaces to rest against her chest, layered and mismatched. A full skirt in vibrant colors swayed and whispered around her ankles as she walked, with flat leather sandals peeking out from beneath the hem.
I vaguely remembered Manuel mentioning she owned an herbal store and had a yoga studio, and she looked exactly like the kind of woman who did. A cloth crossbody bag patterned with oversized sunflowers hung diagonally across her torso, and bangles—too many to count—circled her wrists, chiming softly as they approached the table.
Her gaze boldly met mine, and my stomach tensed in an unusual way. I had the uncomfortable sense that, despite my early arrival, I didn't necessarily have the upper hand.
As I rose to my feet, my son rushed over to his fiancée and greeted her with a hug. I suspected if I and Blossom's mother weren't present, their greeting would have been more amorous. Manuel slipped an arm around his fiancée, his face lighting up with a smile bigger than the one he had worn when I bought him the bike he wanted many Christmases ago.
"Dad, this is my fiancée, Blossom Nabors."
Manuel's face beamed with pride and expectation, but I saw the moment he held his breath. I hated to see him so nervous and decided I would do my best not to spoil the night for him.
I put on my most gregarious smile, the one I used when meeting clients or having to smooth over a particularly thorny deal.
"Very nice to meet you, Blossom."
She had a good, strong handshake.
Green flag.
I turned my attention to her mother and noticed the diamond stud twinkling in her left nostril. Before me was a forty-something-year-old woman dressed like a carefree twenty-year-old, right down to the ring in her nose. I was mildly intrigued.
I extended my hand. "Jamison Harris. Nice to meet you, Ms. Nabors."
