She slipped on a pair of mid-calf boots with a low heel. No need to add height—she was already tall.
Her whole family was, except for her dad. Bert was awee Scotsman, born of Highland stock and stubborn pride.
The Robertson kids—two daughters, two sons—had all taken after their mother’s side: tall, athletic, and perpetually asked if they played basketball.
The Wine Bar was just a stone’s throw from Cary’s building—if you had a decent arm. Like Tyler and Kim, he was always on time.
When she arrived, Cary was sitting alone on the patio. This time, he made no effort to hide. No glasses. No beanie. Just a white T-shirt, thick blond hair neatly combed to the side, and the unmistakable air ofrock star.
Tyler giggled nervously as she approached.
They were dressed almost identically.
She in a striped top and jean jacket. Him in white and jean jacket. From behind, they could’ve passed for fraternal twins. The fashionable, denim-loving kind.
“Jean jacket weather,” Cary said, tugging his denim collar.
“Exactly.” She smiled, trying to play it cool while screaming internally.
How am I going to keep it together with him lookingso adorable?
“Did you know the Canadian tuxedo was named after an incident with Bing Crosby?” he asked. “The Hotel Vancouver wouldn’t let him in wearing denim.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You should try out forJeopardy.”
“Funny. No Rory?” Cary asked, sounding almost disappointed.
“No Rory,” she said with a playful grin. “I found some money in his harness. He’s probably off spending the ten dollars you gave him.”
Cary laughed, but she was already rolling up her sleeves. “I didn’t know we’d be sitting outside. It’s kind of hot, actually.”
His bottom lip turned into a cute frown. “Poor Rory.”
“Yeah.” She sank into her seat. “Poor Rory.”
A young man approached the table, pen tucked into the half-apron slung around his hips. “Hey, Cary!” he said with an easy smile. “How long are you in town, man?”
“Just for tonight.” Cary gestured toward her. “This is Tyler.”
Hearing her name was like angels singing.
“I’m Kevin,” the server said, flashing her a polite smile before turning back to Cary. “Do you want the Penfolds Grange, man?”
“2011? Is that good with you, Tyler?”
I don’t care. Just keep saying Tyler.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a wine connoisseur,” she admitted.
She hadn’t known a thing about wine until she watched a documentary on sommeliers—and even then, it looked nearly impossible to pass the test. Even with Rory’s nose.
“At industry events, it’s usually just the house red or white, so that’s what I end up with,” she added with a shrug. “I’m more of a beer person . . . though I’ll drink champagne on special occasions.”
“Go for it.” Cary passed her the beverage pamphlet. “Have whatever you want.”
She waved the paper away, not wanting to be a bother. “No, it’s okay. I’ll try the wine. My dad bought a do-it-yourself kit and he can’t wait to try it.”
“Good choice,” Kevin said confidently.
