“Certainly,” her waiter said. “We wouldn’t want that, either.” She took the proffered seat. “Would you like to view our wine list while you wait?”
“I come here so often I know your wines by heart.”
“Ah, but we just brought this one in today.” From the table over, he presented a decanted red wine, the exact one she’d mentioned offhandedly at the supper table once, weeks ago.
How long had he been planning this?
Her wine poured, he bowed. “Let me tell you about our specials tonight. To begin, we have a fine lobster bisque, the seafood captured from the bay of Safeway, steamed and settled in a cream sauce and flavored classically with basil and a glimmer of oregano.”
Next, “Jacques” described the entrée: the sirloin, aged and rubbed, and the vegetables, pliable yet robust.
“Hmmm...that’s sounds delicious. Could I take a peek at your menu, though?” she teased.
His smile didn’t fade. “By all means. One moment.”
He disappeared through to the back. All this for her. Jack must’ve been planning the dinner from the second he won the bet, maybe earlier. She hadn’t even started preparing until two hours ago. Well, okay, she squeezed in a haircut the other day, and rummaged through Krista’s jewelry to bling herself up, but it was nothing compared to what Jack had done.
He meant it. He really meant every single word about winning her back. And she wanted him to win her. Wanted him to carry on making her feel as if she was worth winning.
From out of the back, Jack returned wearing his tie and grey suit jacket. He breezed to the table and gave her cheek a swift kiss.
“Sorry I’m late, honey. The meeting went longer than I thought and traffic was horrendous.” He took the seat across from her. “I see you ordered a bottle of wine. Great choice.” He glanced around. “I don’t see the waiter. Should I just pour?”
“That’s odd. He was most attentive when I was alone. I bet the women love to tip him.”
Jack poured his wine as expertly as the waiter had done. “He better not try his so-called attentions with me around. Have you ordered?”
“No. He’s gone to get a menu. I think I’ll order the special, anyway. It sounds delicious. A lobster bisque to start, and then sirloin with grilled vegetables.”
“I’ll go for that, too.” Jack raised his glass. “To us.”
She touched her glass to his. “To us.” And sipped. “Oh. Oh my, I’m melting.”
“Only the best for you.” A dud line, but it went down like her wine—smooth, warm, tempting.
“Besides,” he said, leaning back, “business is good.”
“Oh? I know you and your partner were struggling.”
“We were,” he said. “but I really think we’ve turned the corner. She’s amazing.”
“Should I be jealous?”
“Not at all. She watches me in case I slip up. I have to be constantly on my toes.”
“Maybe she watches you because she likes what she sees.”
He held out his hand, palm up. She set her hand in his. “Know that I only have eyes for you.”
Another cheesy line, but she had to smother her smile with another sip of her wine. She made a production out of looking around the restaurant. “I’m hungry. Where has Jacques gone?”
“Burning his tip away. Here, how about I just go tell him?”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“I know. It’s as if I’m having to be the waiter, too.”
Jack returned to the back. Two mellowing sips of wine later, he reappeared. “Jacques apologized. Apparently, they are short-staffed this evening, and he had to take on the cooking duties, as well.”
“Oh, the poor guy. Well, if he cooks as well as he serves, we’re in good hands.”
Jack took her wineglass and set it down, then touched his lips to her hand. “It’s official. I am jealous.”
“Don’t be. He just reminds me of you.”
“That handsome?”
“Mmmm...” She picked up her glass and tipped back the last of the wine. “And the way he made me feel as if I was the only one in the room.”
“As if he’d closed the whole joint just for you?”
“And gone to the trouble of decorating it.” She picked up a pink petal. “Did you ask him to do this or did he do it himself?”
“It was my idea. You like?”
“I love.”
His eyes sparked, then turned to alarm. “Could you wait a moment? I have to...make a call.”
He dashed to the back, and from the kitchen such a clattering arose.
The noise settled and Jacques appeared at her table with the bisque. “My date came,” Bridget informed him.
“I am relieved to know that you’ll not go home alone,” he said and refilled her glass. “Though if he hadn’t showed, I would have seen to it that you did not.”
Bridget mock-gasped. “You better not let him hear you say that.” She lowered her voice. “He admitted to jealousy.”
Jacques replied back in the same hushed tone. “I don’t blame him. Every man here has been staring at you.” He straightened and spoke in a normal tone. “I will take the liberty of peppering the gentleman’s bisque.”
It wasn’t long after Jacques left that Jack rejoined her.
“Where’s your suit jacket?”
“Oh, I—I got a little warm while taking the call. How’s the bisque?”
“Incredible. I mean it.” She was tempted to ask if he’d made it himself, but she remembered in time that was a question for Jacques. “Compliments to the chef. Or Jacques.”
“You have to hand it to the guy. Both waiter and chef. Man must have incredible talents.”
“Be sure to tip him well. You never know. He may have children to feed.”
“A mortgage. Or a loan.”
She didn’t want Jack thinking of money. At least, for this evening. Perhaps she could provide a little distraction.
She stretched out her leg, arched her foot. “Do you like my shoes? I think Krista wants to marry them.”
Jack’s gaze dwelled on her foot, then ambled up her leg. “This is the most bare skin I’ve seen on you since the Canada Day charity event six years ago.”
“I admit I wore that particular skirt deliberately.”
“The Canadian flag had never been better displayed.”
“I—I was trying to make you see what you’d missed out on.”
His eyes met hers. “I knew. I’ve known since the day I broke off our engagement twelve years, seventeen days and eight hours ago.” He paused. “Give or take.”
“I wish you would’ve come back to me then,” Bridget whispered, because she didn’t have the strength to speak louder. Regret rose between them, making them slow their spoons. No, Jack had worked too hard to design this evening. She searched for a change of subject.
Jack took a pink petal, heart-shaped and veined, and touched its tip to a red petal. Not sure what was up, she played her part, placing red to pink. Back to soup. He slowly nodded as if she’d made a particularly ingenious move and, after careful pondering, set down his petal. She impulsively laid her petal next to his. The game continuing, the petals began to take a long, curved shape that she thought would produce a heart.
But in his last couple of moves, Jack had extended the arc outward into what she now saw was a circle. Her spoon scraped the last of the bisque from the sides of her bowl.
Jack excused himself and Bridget curled her toes in anticipation of the arrival of Jacques. He came, solicitous as before, inquired after her enjoyment of the soup and then whisked away the bowls. She hummed along to Michael Bublé as he serenaded about how it was starting to look a lot like Christmas.
Jacques arrived with the entrées, bright and sizzling and artfully arranged. She said she’d wait for
her date to return before she started. Jacques looked gratified and assured her that no man with any sense would leave her alone for long.
He was right; Jack returned not a minute later, rolling down his cuffs as he did. After a few bites and assurances that each of their meals was cooked to perfection—Jack really did have a chef’s flair—their game of the flower petals resumed. Jack seemed to have a very deliberate plan and Bridget was curious.
Through the rhythmic consumption of their meal, a largely silent duet of clinking cutlery and burbling of wine into glasses, the art piece was created. It was a circle, and when Bridget placed the last petal to complete it, she grinned in triumph at Jack.
But he continued, and at the top of the circle placed another petal jutting upward. He took up his cutlery again and ate his last piece of steak. Bridget wasn’t sure of her next move. She cozied her petal beside his. He snuggled hers against his. She curved hers against his. He smiled and responded in kind.
Curiosity had her cutting through her vegetables without giving them the attention they deserved. She’d settled on a wreath when Jack made his apologies and it was time for Jacques. He swept away their plates and returned with dessert. Chocolate cheesecake from last night, when Jack had told her that they’d run out. He’d broken the hearts of a half-dozen cheesecake lovers, jeopardized his tips, so that they could share this pure, sweet heaven.
When Jack returned, he settled back into the game. She felt like he was making art and she was filling in between his lines. When nothing except the melted chocolate patterns were left on their dessert plates, Jack took over completely and dropped petals in a rocky, crooked line on top of the wreath and then he sat back.
He smiled at her with a soft, yet intense expression.
“A wreath?”
He shook his head.
“A present with a bow on top?”
“Stand,” he said, “and look at it.”
She did and considered. A circle with a smaller, filled-in ball on top. What? What?
And then it hit her. “Jack,” she whispered. “Oh.”
From behind the candles—it must’ve been there the whole time!—he withdrew a small, unmistakable box and dropped to a knee before her.
He was really doing this. She needed to stop him.
He set the ring, a simple, elegant band with a strong and bright diamond, at the tip of her ring finger. “If I were to ask you again to marry me and tell everybody with this ring that we will be together for the rest of our lives, would you wear it?”
Every part of her screamed “Yes!” Every part except one. The one part that had gnawed away at her since he’d come back, apologized, shared shifts with her, wrapped minicinnis, slung coffee, joined her and the girls for bedtime stories, climbed up onto a roof for her—twice!—bragged to everyone about their date on the lake...and that one part had observed him the entire time and come to the same conclusion that now made her withdraw her hand from his.
“Jack, I don’t believe you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE RING TREMBLED as Jack’s fingers shook. Then he recovered, stood. “Do you mean because I spent money on the ring? Don’t worry. Every jewelry store at the mall has a massive sale going on. This was a lot cheaper than it looks. Not that,” he added hastily, “you don’t deserve the best. I’m just saying that you don’t need to worry. I’ve got this.”
“No, not that. I mean, you shouldn’t have spent the money now, but that’s not my point.” She played with the petals. The flower ring had occurred spontaneously to Jack, the perfect appetizer to the real entrée. “I feel as if this isn’t real.”
He held the ring between them. “It’s very real. Let me put it on you, and you’ll feel exactly how real it is.”
She pressed her fingers to her temple. “No, Jack. I don’t believe that you love me.”
Of course, how stupid of him. He’d planned every detail, except the official declaration of his love. He tugged her hand into his. “Bridge. I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. I’ve always loved you.”
She leaned forward, their faces as close as if they were about to kiss. No contact tonight. “That all feels like a bunch of lines you’ve unrolled because you think it’s what I want to hear.”
“Don’t you want to hear that I love you? Because I know I’d love to hear it from you.”
“Why? Because if I say it and you say it, then it must be true?”
All evening, she’d been flirty and soft with him. Right up until he’d presented her with the ring. Now he felt as if he’d fallen to the ice and was lying there, cold and winded. “For me it’s true. I can’t speak for you.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t told you that I loved you in a very long time, yet you seem to think that we can carry on where we left off.”
“I know where we left off and it was with us half a world apart and neither of us telling the other how we felt.”
“I am telling you now.”
Jack’s confusion slipped into sheer frustration. “No. You’re not. You’re telling me that you don’t believe that I love you. And you seem to be implying that you no longer love me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
They were going around in circles. He took a steadying breath, rested the ring on the petals. “I believe that our hearts have been joined together for a lifetime.” She fired him a skeptical look. “Fine. For longer than Isabella’s been alive.”
Bridge hissed, like when a water droplet hit a hot frying pan. “That,” she said, “is part of why I don’t believe you. It always circles back to me and the girls. To me as their mom. You completing your family.”
“But think about it, Bridge. I wanted to marry you years ago, before the girls. If we’d both opened up to each other back then, we’d probably be married with two, three kids of our own. Yes, I think you’d be great with the girls. And, yes, I am happy that the three of you get along. If the girls didn’t like you, then you can better believe that I wouldn’t be asking you to marry me tonight. You and the girls are my top priorities. You’re not going to make me choose, because I shouldn’t have to.”
Jack felt the rightness of his words. He didn’t have to choose between her and his work. Her or his home. Her or his girls. They were all one. Why couldn’t she see that? “What can I do or say to make you believe me?”
She gazed at the ring nestled in the red and pink petals, its facets glittering in the candlelight. “I think we need to wait. Let’s see if you’re still around in a year. If this place is still around.”
Jack stared at her, but her expression didn’t waver. He said, “You don’t want to change, Bridge. You love your sisters. Deidre. You love the girls. I don’t know, you might even love me. But what I do know is that you love staying exactly where you are more than anything. At this restaurant. In the house.” A niggling puzzle suddenly clicked. “That’s why you didn’t want to come to the mountains with me and the girls. You’re too scared to go anywhere.”
Bridget jerked, flattened her hands on the table. “That’s not true.”
“It isn’t? That phone conversation way back when. Remember that I asked you to join me, and you said you couldn’t see what you’d do there. It wasn’t me you wanted, was it? It was the life here.”
“I shouldn’t have had to make a choice, Jack. You were supposed to come back here, remember?”
“You had promised to marry me, Bridget. I never backed out of that promise. You did because you chose this place above a place with me.”
He picked up the ring, a petal catching in his fingers. He let it flutter to the table and inserted the ring into the box. “I think we’re done here. I’ll drive you home and come back to clean up.”
Bridget hadn’t moved. Her hands were still pressed to the tablecloth. “You go home. I’ll clean up. I want to stay here for a bit.”
“Of cours
e you want to stay,” he said, unable to keep bitter disappointment at bay. “Instead of being with me.”
She dipped her head, with its mass of dark, glossy hair. And said nothing.
It was an admission of what had happened between them, or what had not happened. And there was nothing he could do to make it better. Nothing he could give, no words of great joy to pass along, no meal he could cook or business he could rescue.
“You’re stuck,” he said. “You’re still up in your tree house, aren’t you?”
She remained unmoved, silent.
“I’ll walk home,” he said, dropping the keys on the table. “You come when you’re ready.”
* * *
HE WAS WRONG. Wrong. Bridget forcibly relaxed her fingers. She only wanted to avoid an awkward ride back to the house and an even more awkward good-night. She had provided a way out, but he’d thrown it back in her face.
She’d climbed down from the tree house a long time ago. She began to gather up the ring of petals, his great romantic drumroll gesture to introduce his proposal. She now understood that the entire evening had been one long drumroll, all building to the moment he opened the ring box and presented her with their future together.
Why had he forced the issue? Why couldn’t he have just left things as they were?
As they were. As they’d always been. She fingered a pink petal. By tomorrow, it would be wilting, without her doing a thing.
It was true that she didn’t like to travel. When she was a kid, she’d always worried that when she returned, everything would be gone. Like how food had vanished from her biological mother’s fridge, rarely replaced. She’d resisted every trip the Montgomerys took as a family, until it became easier for everyone involved to leave her with Auntie Penny while Krista and Mara left with Tom and Deidre. Then when she reached high school, she moved in with Auntie Penny. Eventually, Krista and Mara moved in, as well, when they reached high school. They’d moved on, and she’d happily stayed.
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