She refused to be rattled by the compliment. Since it was a Sunday, a day her office was closed unless she had a meeting scheduled, she’d selected a more casual look than her usual business wear. A racerback sheath dress that reached the tops of her knees in the palest periwinkle and flat gold sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot and she wore simple gold hoops at her ears and wrist. She did look good, but it was nice that he’d noticed. “Thank you.”
As Grace ushered him out of her office, she wondered again why she had agreed to go out for a meal with him when their time would be much more usefully spent in her boardroom or, better yet, discussing this by email so that she could consider his ideas and then get back to him with a list of possibilities. But she didn’t say anything as they headed down the sidewalk, the morning still cool despite the sun high overhead. It wouldn’t really heat up for a few hours and by then Grace would be back in either her office or her apartment. And it would be good to get some sustenance if she planned to spend the rest of the day working.
She lifted her face to the sun, appreciating the warmth that might disguise any lingering heat in her cheeks. She didn’t often spend time outdoors, a fact that her family—organic farmers—couldn’t understand or value. But then they sort of felt that way about her, too. The one who left home and the business. The one who studied business and commerce in university. The one who stayed on the mainland after graduation and started a business there. A commercial business that, according to her mother, “benefited off the backs of social conventions that no longer had a place in today’s world.”
Grace didn’t agree. She often rebutted her mother’s arguments with some of her own. That marriage created a sort of social stability, provided a cornerstone on which to rest. A minicommunity that spread out to embrace the surrounding areas. But the truth was she liked the romance of it all.
The promise to share a life together, to protect and support each other. Granted her parents had done the same thing without ever getting married. Cedar Matthews and Sparrow Monroe—though they disliked using last names, claiming it supported a patriarchal society—had been together for more than thirty years and fully committed to their family without ever making it official. But it wasn’t the same.
Grace shook the unsettling thoughts away. She was different than her parents, than her younger brother, Sky, who’d always been content to toe the family line, to learn the business of farming, and who, along with his girlfriend, lived in the small guesthouse built beside the main farmhouse where Grace had grown up. And she was okay with that.
They didn’t have to appreciate what she did or recognize the worth of the services she provided. She appreciated herself.
“So, tell me what kind of party you have in mind,” she said as they crossed the street and headed down toward the rows of restaurants and cafés that ringed Yaletown, a popular Vancouver neighborhood. No time like the present to get started.
“Let’s get settled first,” Owen suggested. As though she wasn’t totally unsettled by the mere fact that they were out together.
But Grace kept that insight to herself and nodded as they made their way down the cobblestone sidewalks that were common throughout much of the area. Most restaurants had tables pulled out that were exposed to the sun and already filled with customers eating and drinking.
Owen didn’t stop at any of the ones they passed, continuing down the sloped sidewalks toward False Creek and a view of the water. Grace was content to keep the peace and simply enjoy the silence of companionship. This was the kind of thing she hoped to make a regular part of her life with her future husband—being elegantly dressed for a casual brunch, enjoying a meal of eggs Florentine or seafood crepes while they discussed travel plans, art, music or theater.
Next year, she reminded herself. At the end of the five-year plan when her business was flourishing and she no longer needed to oversee every detail. When she had staff to handle meetings and make certain decisions without coming to her for approval. Then she’d block off some time specifically for finding the right kind of man to marry. She didn’t think it would take longer than a year, eighteen months at most.
She was an attractive woman who kept herself in good shape. She had her own money, a thriving business and a condo in the city. She was a good conversationalist, cultured and well-read. She was, in short, a great catch. Even in a city of great catches, she knew she’d stand out. Just as soon as she put herself out there.
Her eyes darted to Owen. He looked the part, but she knew he wasn’t. According to what she’d uncovered online, he was a regular at the city’s hottest nightclubs and a well-known playboy who rarely showed up to any event with a woman more than once. Not husband material. Not even close.
Owen stopped in front of Gascony, a popular spot for brunch thanks to its location on the water and fabulous food. The place was full even though it was still early for many people, but Owen seemed to know the hostess, who found them a small table for two by a window that looked out at the marina. Grace unfolded the cloth napkin and placed it in her lap.
She left her notebook in her purse, determining that while pulling it out might be useful for remembering everything that was said, it would be considered tacky. Gascony wasn’t the kind of place where people took notes or dictated business deals. As soon as she got back to the office, she’d write down everything she could recall and then follow up with an email to Owen to confirm.
A server came by and filled their water glasses. Owen ordered a pot of coffee and tomato juice, while Grace stuck with the more traditional orange juice. She waited until the drinks arrived and their food orders were taken before returning to the reason for the meeting. “So, about the party.”
Owen smiled. “I wondered how long you’d hold off. I had twenty that you wouldn’t make it to the restaurant.”
“Twenty with whom?”
“With myself.” He offered the cream and sugar to her, but she shook her head. She liked her coffee strong and black. Owen put the small tray near the edge of the table without adding anything to his cup, either. “It was a brilliant bet. I couldn’t lose.”
Grace pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile. It didn’t work.
But rather than acknowledge her grin or make another joke, Owen merely smiled back, seemingly content that he’d been able to make it happen. “And for the record, I’ve never planned an engagement party, so I was kind of hoping you’d take the lead.”
She was certainly capable of that. She had more engagement parties under her belt than she could remember. Grace took a sip of her coffee, enjoying the hot sharpness. “Are you sure you should be the one organizing it?” She didn’t mean to be rude, but in her experience, a party was more successful when the organizer had some sort of idea of what they’d like to see occur.
“As it happens, I agree with you.” Owen didn’t lose his relaxed pose. “But the family has decided that it should be my responsibility.” He shrugged.
Grace knew about living up to or not living up to family ideals and demands and didn’t push. “Fair enough. Then let’s talk basics. Time, place, that sort of thing.”
Owen nodded. “Soon, I think. I’d like to take advantage of the summer weather.”
“When? We’ll have to print and send invitations, book the space.” Grace began counting off the multitude of preplanning details that went into throwing a truly great party. “Decide on catering, make sure the bride and groom are available.”
Owen reached out and placed a hand over hers. His fingers were warm when he gave her a gentle squeeze and sent an unanticipated shudder through her. “It’ll work out.”
As it happened, Grace knew that wasn’t the case. Oh, sure, it might seem that way from the outside. That a fantastic party came together naturally and with ease, but that was usually because there was someone like her behind the scenes, making the phone calls, juggling the vendors and pu
tting out fires before they could morph into infernos. If things just “worked out” then she wouldn’t have a career.
She slid her hand out from beneath his and wrapped her fingers around the glass of chilled orange juice instead, allowing the cold and her common sense to seep back into her brain. “It’ll work out because we have a plan in place.” And a contingency plan, as well. But that was her job, not Owen’s. He was simply there to assist in the big picture. She’d be handling the minutiae. “The earliest we can schedule is probably the end of August.” At the surprised lift of Owen’s brow, she clarified. “First we need to select and order invitations. That’ll take a couple of weeks. Then they need to be mailed about a month before the party.”
He blinked.
“And that’s assuming we can book a location. Summer is a popular time. It’s possible nothing will be available.” Or nothing that would fit the type of party Grace expected the engaged couple would appreciate. Though she’d once organized a do that took place on the side of a mountain in a snowstorm, so she suspected she could make something work.
“The location won’t be a problem. We own three wine bars and a restaurant. We’ll use one of them.” He looked at her and Grace felt another shudder. Tinier but still unexpected. “I’ll take you on a tour.”
“Great.” Grace lowered her hands to her lap and curled her fingers into her napkin until the tingle under her skin eased. It really was too bad Owen didn’t tick any of the boxes on her husband list. No office job to let him be home with the future kids when she had a demanding wedding. No long-term relationships in his past, which she took to mean he wouldn’t or couldn’t settle down. And when he wasn’t wearing flip-flops, he was wearing sneakers. She focused on the reason for their meeting. The engagement party. “An evening reception, I assume?”
Owen nodded. “And probably on a Sunday, since Fridays and Saturdays are our peak times. Not that we mind shutting down for something special, but the guests are in the same industry. It’s hard for people to get away on busy nights.”
“Of course.” Grace was impressed he’d thought to mention it. Owen might not seem to be a particularly serious person, but he wasn’t dumb. She mentally upped the percentage of people who were likely to attend from 70 to 80 percent. Although there would still be some who would decline, holding the party on a Sunday meant a prior engagement was unlikely.
“So, what had you in the office bright and early on a Sunday morning?”
“Work.” She had a lot of it and she was grateful. There were many wedding and event planners who barely managed to make enough to pay the rent on their offices, so she wasn’t going to complain about being busy. Of course, she knew it wasn’t a long-term plan. Not only was it an impossible pace to keep up, but she also did have plans for her personal life. Although the money was excellent and it provided her not just the ability to hire more staff, but also the opportunity to have her name and her work on display for other potential clients to enjoy. Grace figured that come the end of summer and her busy season, she could revisit her business plan and make adjustments to get her life in better balance.
Perhaps she could hire another assistant. She could definitely raise her prices. She was good enough at what she did to justify that.
“What else did you do this weekend?”
“Actually, I had a lot of work to catch up on from the week, which is why I was in the office.” She didn’t explain that this had been her life for the past six months. It was both boring and none of his business.
“Well, then it’s a good thing I could convince you to come out for brunch.” Owen’s expression was cheerful, no sign of the admonishment that she’d see from her mother. Her parents understood the value of hard work but not at the expense of her personal life.
Grace nodded slowly. “Yes, it is.” And she wasn’t lying. “What about you?”
“I had to work last night, but I spent yesterday morning hitting some golf balls at the range. Today I went for a run before I called you. I like running in the morning before it gets too hot. And I’ll work tonight.”
So he worked, too, but made some time for himself. Of course, he wasn’t a sole proprietor, nor was he building something from the ground up. He’d taken over a business that was already stable and successful, so really not the same at all. Still, Grace felt a niggle of envy that he seemed to manage both so fluidly. She hoped she’d be able to do the same.
“What do you do when you’re not working?”
It had been so long since she hadn’t worked that Grace wasn’t sure how to answer. She liked gardening, but living in a downtown condo, she was restricted to doing so out of a container. She kept meaning to take advantage of one of the community gardens around the city, joining one close to home where she could avail herself of a larger plot of land to grow something more than herbs and sprawling annuals, but there never seemed to be time. When she was married and had a proper house with a proper backyard, Grace planned to have a full vegetable garden, one where she and the kids could pick ingredients fresh off the vine for that night’s meal. She liked reading, though most nights she fell asleep before she got through a single chapter. She worked out six days a week. Pilates three days and an hour on the elliptical machine the other three. But that was as much for health as for fun.
When she thought about it, it was kind of sad. “I have a patio garden,” she said. “I grew up on a farm, so it’s a way to keep in touch with that.” She wondered why she’d added the last bit. She’d never really thought about it, but she realized after she said it that it was true. She hadn’t followed in the family footsteps, but many of their lessons and beliefs had stuck. Communing with nature, the feel of digging her fingers deep into the dirt below the warm topsoil and into the coolness beneath.
“My mom’s a longtime gardener. And my dad has recently taken it up, too, though I’m not sure my mom always appreciates that.” Owen leaned forward as though to share a secret or private thought. “He took over some of her space and planted vegetables. And now they regularly battle over who actually owns the spot. I think he dug up some peonies to make room for some tomato plants.”
Grace smiled. “I wish him good luck with that.”
“So you’ve met my mother?”
This time she laughed. “I’ve not yet had that pleasure, but peonies are hardy plants and they’re perennials.” When he looked at her blankly, she explained. “They bloom every year and are difficult to get rid of once they’ve rooted. I wouldn’t be surprised if they continue to spring up around the tomato plants.”
Owen laughed. “Dad will love that.”
Grace smiled again. His story reminded her of her own family. Not that her parents ever battled over gardening space, not with twenty acres of land at their disposal, but the idea of working together, of being a team. She felt a small clutch in her stomach. It was a team she didn’t really have a place on.
“I like to run,” Owen offered and Grace was grateful for the distraction. “And golf, though I don’t get out as often as I’d like these days. And I love seeing live music, preferably at one of the smaller, less well-known clubs in the city.”
“I’ve heard,” Grace said, thinking of the photos she’d found of Owen at any number of clubs both well-known and not.
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Have you been checking up on me? I’m flattered, but you could have just asked. I’ll tell you whatever you like.”
Now she felt embarrassed and a little foolish. Not that she’d done the checking up—that was just good business—but that she’d let down her guard enough to admit it. She changed the subject. “What kind of food were you thinking for the party? Will it be a cocktail reception or a full dinner?”
Again, Owen eyed her closely, seeming to understand that he’d landed on something she’d prefer not to talk about. This time, he didn’t let her off the hook. “Have you been intern
et-stalking me?”
“No, of course not,” Grace lied without a blink. She didn’t like to lie, but she was good at it. A skill learned when she’d still been a teenager. A thirteen-year-old who only wanted to go to her friend’s house to watch Dawson’s Creek, since there was no TV at her house, so that she could be part of the conversation about who was cuter, Pacey or Dawson, that invariably sprung up at school. She hadn’t had a computer or internet access, either, and the only way she got to listen to music that wasn’t performed by a family member was on an old Walkman one of her friends had given her when that friend had gotten a fancy new Discman for her birthday.
Grace had loved that Walkman. She didn’t care that it wasn’t the latest in technology and that the only tapes she had were those donated by the same friend and her parents, and mainly consisted of ’80s hair bands. It provided an audio oasis. A way for her to shut out the rest of her world and indulge in something normal, in a life closer to the ones she saw on TV at her friends’ houses.
“Oh, re-e-ally?” Owen drew the second word out, clearly finding her lying skills lacking.
She met his gaze head-on. “Do you really think I have nothing better to do than plunk your name into a search engine and see how many hits there are?” Answer: about one million in 0.31 seconds.
“I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging.” His dark eyes twinkled with laughter. “But yes, that’s exactly what I think. Did you like what you found?”
Grace exhaled and sipped her coffee, choosing not to answer. The man certainly didn’t need the ego boost. “I thought this was supposed to be a business meeting.”
“It is, and it’s my business to find out if you’ve been researching me.”
“Why?” Grace put the china cup down on the saucer with a click. “Why would it matter?” Who cared if she’d looked him up or not? It had nothing to do with her ability to plan an engagement party, nor did it answer the questions of what kinds of things should be included.
One More Night Page 4