Jennifer McKenzie - One More Night

“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 internet-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.

“Because then I’ll know if you’re likely to agree to go out with me or not.”

Grace shook her head. “We’ve been over this. My answer hasn’t changed.”

Owen tilted his head to the side. His hair was a little long and fell across his forehead. “And yet here you are with me now. On a pseudo date.”

“This is a business meeting.”

“With coffee and food and conversations about our families. I don’t know. Seems kind of date-like to me, don’t you think?”

“No.” Grace adjusted her napkin on her lap, though it hadn’t shifted since she’d first put it there. But she was lying again. Here at a beautiful restaurant with the hushed conversation of other couples around them and the gorgeous view of the water, it did feel like a date.

“I like you,” Owen said.

“You don’t know me.” And she wasn’t going out of her way to change that. Owen Ford was dangerous. Dangerous to her life both professionally and personally.

“I’d like to get to know you.”

Grace ignored the flash of heat under her skin. She wasn’t here to be cajoled and flattered. Not even by a man who made her teeth sweat. “I’d like to talk about the party.”

“We can do both.” Owen leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. Grace hated that she noticed the muscles in them. Probably from swinging a golf club. “You answer a question about yourself and then I’ll answer a question about the party.”

“No, that’s not how this is going to go.” She was sure this had worked for him before. Probably many times in the past, but she was no starry-eyed twenty-year-old awed by his charm and banter. She was almost thirty and she had a job to do. “We’ll discuss your ideas for the party while we enjoy a nice meal and then I’ll return to my office and draw up some plans, which I’ll send to you for review.”

“That doesn’t sound nearly as much fun.”

He was right, but to Grace, it sounded infinitely safer.

CHAPTER FOUR

GRACE EXHALED SLOWLY, pushing thoughts of her date—no, it wasn’t a date—her meeting with Owen out of her mind, and focused on her line budget. Because the breakdown of costs for the engagement party Owen wanted to throw was far more important and interesting than how he’d rocked those dark jeans. Okay, more important, at least. And if she just hurried up and finished the stupid budget, she could work on something else. Something unrelated to Owen Ford and his family.