9. Daphne
9
DAPHNE
I ’m jangled in the morning, and not just because of the congestion on the drive into the city. I end up arriving downtown a little later than planned, but even that’s not what is throwing me off balance.
It’s Luke.
The way he looked at me the night before, the things he said—well, the one thing he said—kept me awake. It made me wonder about possibilities and probabilities. It made me hopeful, then I felt foolish for being optimistic. Was he just telling me what I want to hear? Was he spinning a story?
I can’t believe it, but at the same time, I want to believe in him.
I would have slept with him, no expectations, no strings attached. But after last night, I understand that he thinks he doesn’t want it that way. It’ll be full-on, shooting for forever, and I’m not sure I’ve got another leap like that in me.
No, it’s not the leap that would finish me. It’s the crash at the end, when it inevitably ends, when he walks away and forgets me. I’m not sure I can handle being jilted again.
Maybe Luke believes in forever, but I don’t.
Maybe Luke is wrong about his own intentions—this forever thing is all new to him, after all. Maybe it’s an idea he finds appealing, in this moment, but the attraction will fade.
I’m afraid that’s right.
Yet I want him anyway. Even being sure it wouldn’t end well, even knowing it can’t have a chance of being more than a one-off, I still want to know.
Am I crazy?
Let’s face it—taking a chance is all new to me. Luke’s not the only one who doesn’t have a map to this territory.
My friends stayed late, though we avoided the topic of Luke. It felt to me like he was the elephant in the room. My impression was proved right when I discovered that Cameron had left a brown paper bag full of assorted condoms in my mailbox this morning.
What made me smile was the little crocheted hedgehog that someone—undoubtedly Willow—left on my kitchen windowsill. It reminded me of the power of friends.
That’s why I sent Rafe a text first thing, asking him to meet me for lunch. We were best friends in law school and articled together at the same firm. We definitely should have been rivals. Instead, we became really good friends. Rafe always tells me the truth, even if he knows it will hurt. He’s the one who told me about Justin cheating. (I didn’t believe him, but he didn’t let it go until I did.) He’s a friend who goes above and beyond, and I need a bit of that today.
I always called him ‘the pirate king.’ It was one of those jokes that stuck. (I also told him he could make a fortune posing for romance novel covers, but he didn’t find that as funny.) I watch him approach as I wait outside the restaurant he’s chosen and am reassured that I had it right.
Rafe Rossetti is a beautiful man, with his dark hair and dark eyes. He could have posed for a Renaissance sculptor, and taught any one of them a bit about life’s fleeting pleasures. It’s obvious that success agrees with him—even in a bespoke Italian suit, a white shirt with French cuffs, shoes that undoubtedly have leather soles and a massive diamond solitaire in place of the gold earring that prompted my moniker, Rafe looks expensive, reckless and completely irresistible. He could be running guns for a dictator or defending hitmen. Who cares? He’s such serious male eye candy that women turn to stare after him in awe.
I can tell by the way his eyes are dancing that he loves every minute of it. He’s the adored baby boy of his family, the only son with four older sisters who doted upon him and a mom who thinks he hung the stars and the moon. Rafe has no lack of confidence, and yet, he’s a very sweet man.
It’s good to have some fixed variables in your world, and Rafe is one of mine.
“The glorious Daphne,” he purrs, seizing my hands then kissing my cheeks in turn. He smells really good and he winks at me, up close and personal, still bent over my hand, when I take a deep appreciative breath.
“Who is she?” I ask.
“On what evidence have you based this conclusion?”
“You changed colognes. I thought that would never happen.”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s gone but it’s not.” He spins me around outside the restaurant, making me laugh and women gawk. “Look at you! I love this suit on you. So chic. Why are you in town? Job interview?”
“Work.”
He lifts a brow.
“An errand.”
Rafe makes a skeptical sound. “With that bra? I don’t think so.”
I glance down. “You can’t see it.”
“Underwires.” He cups his hands and makes an appreciative growl. “The shape…Mmm.” He shakes his head. He’s having too much fun and I’m blushing to my toes. Apparently, Luke isn’t the only male with a fondness for lingerie. “I have it on good authority that you only tolerate underwires for special occasions.”
“Where did you hear such a scandalous rumor?”
“From you.” He guides me to the restaurant. The ma?tre d’ is watching with a gleam of indulgence in his eyes that tells me Rafe is a regular.
“Maybe I changed my mind.”
“Mmm hmm.” He leans down to whisper in my ear. “Maybe you’re getting some.”
I laugh at him to deflect the question. “Jealous?”
“How could I not be?”
“That must be because you aren’t getting any.”
He raises a hand to his heart as if I’ve dealt a fatal blow, and the ma?tre d’ guides us to a table. It’s a corner table near the front, as if we’re being displayed to prospective diners, and I smile because we probably are.
“Damn, we look good together,” Rafe says playfully. “Think of the beautiful babies we’d have.”
“We?” I demand, just as I always do. “You stop by for the fun part then I get all the work? Thanks, but no.”
He winks. “I’d be diligent about the fun part.”
“It can’t possibly make up for the next twenty-some years.”
He pretends to pout. “I keep hoping you’ll change your mind.”
“No, you don’t. I’d make you change the diapers in the middle of the night. You want someone you can wrap around your finger.”
Rafe laughs, unrepentant.
We’re left to peruse the menu after being informed of the specials and I look him in the eye. “When exactly are you coming to visit?”
He cringes at the suggestion just the way I knew he would. Rafe is an urban creature. I’m not sure he’d survive even the drive to Empire. All those open fields. He’s twitching because I’m thinking of them. “I will. One day.”
“You said you would come last summer. You promised.”
“Is that why you’re here? To harass me?”
“No, I just miss your sparkling company.”
He smiles again. “I’m guessing there’s not a decent hotel in town.”
“A motel.” I wait for him to grimace. “But I have a house and a sofa-bed.”
“Be still, my heart.” His eyes glint. “Is there a copier, at least?”
Once again, I’m blushing. Rafe and I almost got it on once, when we were articling together at the firm where he is now partner, in the copy room, on the copier. We were tired and desperate and stressed, and while it was fun for a few moments, we both agreed to cease and desist.
I do not recommend copier machines for intimate liaisons, by the way. They have hard corners and buttons. It does, though, add a certain je ne sais quoi if one of the participants inadvertently hits Copy. I thought I was going to get sunburn in a very personal location and that’s what brought us back to reality.
“We have inkjet printers,” I say and shake my head sadly.
He laughs heartily, making more than one person turn to look.
“I should despise you for that,” I say and he grins.
“But it’s just not possible between friends with so much common ground.” He picks up his menu. “Even though I did make partner six months ago. Any news of your pending partnership from the hinterland?”
“You know there isn’t.” I hear my dad telling me again about ten years of service before being offered a junior partnership. I sigh. “I’ll be forty before it happens, if it even does then.”
“I’ll be running this place by then,” he says with relish.
He probably will be.
I glare at him.
He smiles. “But my infinite charm keeps you from resenting me. That is friendship.”
“Nah. Your burn rate makes me pity you.”
“I like nice things. It’s not a crime.”
“You can’t possibly be earning enough to afford that suit.”
He holds up his fingers.
“Five? You have five suits like that?”
“One for each day of the work week. I think I need another, just to mix it up.”
“How much do you make?”
He drops his voice to a whisper to confess and I feel my eyes fly open.
“That’s outrageous.”
He brushes an invisible speck of lint from his lapel. “I’m worth every dime and don’t you ever doubt it.”
The truth is that Rafe probably is worth it. I never met anyone with such a quick mind. He’s more than clever. He’s devious, too. He works harder than he plays, and just because he makes it look easy doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate his mad skills.
He was born to be a lawyer. I was just expected to become one. It’s different.
I look at the menu. “Well, if I can’t pity you and you’re that rich, I might as well eat. You’re buying.”
“Of course. Have the lobster ravioli. It’s great.”
“And dessert?”
He raises his hands. “Have it all.”
I will. We quibble the way we always do over ordering in restaurants, making sure we each choose something we both will like, because sharing is part of our jam. Once that’s negotiated, we order and are left alone again.
Rafe locks his hands together in a gesture so familiar that I smile, braces his elbows on the table and leans his chin on his fingertips. He fixes me with a look intended prompt my every confession. “The truth now,” he orders. “Why are you in town today?”
“To bask in the glory of your radiance.”
“Besides that. Come on. This has got to be good to merit that bra.”
I tell him the whole story of Luke’s restaurant scheme, which sounds so bizarre in the telling that it makes him laugh. (My impressions of Patrick don’t hurt in that regard.)
In the meantime, lunch is served. It looks and smells divine. We dig in appreciatively, then share bites, just as we have since law school.
“So, you’re on a quest. What’s the name of that chef?”
“Meredith MacRae, apparently.”
He lowers his fork. For the first time in a long time, I think I’ve surprised Rafe. (There should be bonus points for that.)
“Oh. That changes everything.”
“Changes everything how?”
He taps a finger on the table. “Let me know whether you convince her or not.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because she’s brilliant and if she sets up shop in Empire, I am coming to visit.”
“No, you’ll be coming to eat.”
“Details, schmetails,” he says, stealing one of my ravioli. “Oh, by the way.” His casual tone is the only warning I get. “Heather moved out.”
My heart does a somersault. I know which Heather he means.
Rafe winces. “So, Justin is single again. I’d bet good money he deserved it but that doesn’t change the fact that he asked about you.”
Now I put down my fork. “No.” I don’t think I’ll be able to eat another thing.
“That’s what I said. No, no, and no. Anyone who pees in the pool is banished forever.”
I fight a smile. “You didn’t say that.”
He looks grim, just for a moment, a pirate king who has no regrets. “I chose a more colourful verb.” I get a fierce look. “And that, by the way, is why I asked you to meet me here instead of at the office. I didn’t want there to be any chance of him seeing you and even trying to make a move.”
I appreciate when Rafe gets all grumpy. It makes me feel like I’ve qualified to be another of his sisters.
“Thank you.” I reach across the table and touch his hand.
“What else is a friend to do?” he demands, then gestures to my meal. “Didn’t I tell you this was great? Oh, you haven’t tried my risotto yet. It’s worth every extra minute in the gym.”
Meredith MacRae is alone in the restaurant, or what used to be a restaurant. The sign is blacked over and the place is empty. It’s about three by the time I get there, but I can see someone moving around inside and I guess it’s her. I have to bang on the door and convince her—with hand signals—to unlock the door.
Only then can I see her clearly. She’s tiny but I have a sense of a forceful character. She has a cloud of curly red hair that falls to her waist and probably eludes most efforts to tame it. Her eyes are green and her gaze shrewd. She looks both worldly and innocent, probably because of the freckles across her nose and cheeks.
I have the definite sense that only fools underestimate her and am not getting in that line.
“There’s no more money,” she says bluntly, unlocking the door just a crack. “Take it up with the owner. I’m just packing up.”
“Where are you going?”
“Why should you care?”
“Because I have a suggestion for you.”
She braces a hand on her hip. “A suggestion,” she repeats, as if I’ve just said I could levitate a city block.
“Maybe even an offer you can’t refuse.” I smile, which only seems to increase her suspicions.
“I’m really good at refusals.”
“It’s a deal on an empty restaurant. Kind of a rent-to-buy offer.”
She looks me up and down. “Kind of.”
“It’s not really rent. Every payment goes toward the principle.”
“Debt.”
“Ten thousand dollars and the restaurant is yours.”
“I don’t even have that kind of money.” She starts to close the door and I wedge my foot in the door.
“A hundred dollars a month for a hundred months. You have to pay the utilities and property taxes, though.”
She stares at me. I fumble for the folder with the contract.
“A couple of hundred dollars a month should cover them, but the patron could cover them for the first year for you if that’s a dealbreaker.”
“What kind of crazy person would make me an offer like that?”
“My client prefers to remain anonymous at this time.”
She’s wary but curious.
And she doesn’t close the door. I conjure a card and introduce myself, shoving it through the space and watching her read it.
“A hundred dollars a month,” she muses. “That’s the net on four dinners. In a month.”
“If you say so.”
“Even being closed Sundays and Mondays leaves between twenty and twenty-two days to sell those four dinners.”
I nod my agreement of this impeccable math and she holds my gaze, then frowns.
“There are other expenses than the food, of course.”
“Of course, but a lot fewer of them in this situation.”
She looks at my card. “Empire. Should I know where that is?”
“North of Lake Erie, most of the way to Windsor.”
Her eyes narrow and her eyes flick, as if she’s reviewing some private map of her own. “There are greenhouses down there.”
“Mostly tomatoes and sweet peppers. Cavendish Enterprises.”
“And a vineyard.”
“Rhodes Vineyards is the biggest one.”
“There’s another?”
“One of the Cavendish clan has a start-up with fruit wines.”
She dismisses this with a gesture. “Other farms?”
Belatedly, I see what she’s getting at and feel dumb. She’s a chef . She cares about local sources of food. “Oh, yes. The farmers’ market in Havelock, the next biggest town, features organic produce, locally-made cheeses, meats raised without hormones locally, and a lot of heritage varieties...”
She opens the door so abruptly that I almost fall over, then waves me inside with impatience. It’s cool and dark, and the emptiness echoes a little. Tables and chairs are stacked to one side and the floor is big enough to dance. “They’re picking up the chattels tomorrow,” she says, inviting me to take a seat. “I’m just packing up my own things today.” She fixes me with a look. “I had a feeling I should be here.”
“Are you psychic?”
“No. I just smell when opportunity might come knocking.” She smiles. “Sometimes I wait too long for it to show up. Tell me about this place you’re trying so hard to unload.”
I do. I have the pictures I took of Queen Street, the front of the diner, even Big Red. I show her the parking space behind the diner, the loading dock, the empty apartment on the second floor, everything else before the diner itself. I’m worried that the sight of its neglect will nix the deal, but she pounces on the pictures of the interior. She rattles off questions faster than I can answer them, demanding to know how many seats, how much fridge and freezer capacity, is that a pizza oven, how long has it been closed, when was the wiring last updated, how big is the town, and just when I think there’s no way she’ll go for it, she pauses and sits back.
“What other restaurants are in town?”
I wince. “None.”
“None?” She’s visibly incredulous.
“We don’t have a donut shop or any fast-food places.”
“You have to have a Tim Hortons.”
I shake my head.
“No Golden Arches?” She’s incredulous, like most teenagers in Empire.
Again, I shake my head. “People have to go to Havelock for that, even for a grocery store. There’s a convenience store in town that has some essentials and there’s a taco truck there on Fridays.” I point it out on my map but she’s not interested. The glance at the map, though, reminds me of something. “Oh, and The Golden Lotus is open Fridays.”
“The Golden Lotus?”
I point it out. “Chinese-Canadian smorgasbord.”
She smiles at that, although I don’t know why.
“It’s a buffet,” I explain. “Or it used to be. All you can eat.”
“I know what a smorgasbord is, but that’s a Scandinavian word. It should have pickled herring and rye bread, not beef chow mein or General Tso’s chicken.”
I see her point. “Well, that’s what they’ve always called it. But Mr. Chang died and Mrs. Chang wasn’t doing so well on her own, so one of their sons came back from Toronto. I think Phil has a lot to manage with his mom’s care, so he’s only open for take-out on Friday nights, but not always even then. That’s why I forgot about it. He’s an engineer, but his dad taught him to cook.”
This is way too much information and I know it, but I’m not sure what she wants to know.
She tilts her head to look at me, reminding me of a bird. “Where does he shop?”
I blink. I’ve never seen Phil in the grocery store in Havelock. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll have to ask him then.” She looks around the empty restaurant but I know she’s not really looking at it. She’s thinking. I wait in silence, following her gaze and deciding it must have been an attractive place with lights, tablecloths and such. Crummy neighbourhood, though. I was glad it was daylight when I parked the Benz, and more glad that I got a spot right out front.
I look. The car’s still there.
“I have an unofficial partner,” she says finally. I nod, wondering if I should tip my hand that I know it’s Sylvia. “It’s only fair to check with her.”
“Of course.” I hide my anticipation. She’s actually thinking about it! I’ve got butterflies in my stomach and they’re cavorting happily in anticipation of good news.
I avert my gaze and stare out the window as she makes her call. When she starts talking, I get up and move to the window, gazing out at the quiet street without seeing it. I guess the rent here was comparatively cheap. Evidently, it wasn’t cheap enough.
I’m thinking all of this, my thoughts running like a gerbil on a wheel, in an attempt to not eavesdrop.
The strategy fails.
“The lawyer’s name? Daphne Bradshaw. Why?” Meredith’s voice sharpens. “What do you mean, you know her? How could you know her?”
There is a pause as she listens, one that seems tense.
“That is seriously against the odds. What do you know about this Empire place that I should know?”
Oh, I wish I could hear Sylvia’s response.
Meredith laughs a little. “Okay, keep your secrets. What do you think? It’s looking to me like the proverbial offer I can’t refuse.” Another pause. “Depends who’s asking. What does that mean? Are you going to explain? No, you won’t and I know it. Hang on.” Meredith raises her voice. “She wants to know who your client is.”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Even if it’s a dealbreaker?”
I shrug. Luke said not to reveal his name, so I won’t. I never considered that she might decline, just because the benefactor’s name is a secret.
“No dice. She won’t tell,” she informs Sylvia. She rolls her eyes. “She wants initials.”
I shake my head. “Still a breach of client confidentiality.”
Meredith’s eyes start to sparkle. “She wants to know if she can give you initials, and you can either agree or disagree.”
“This feels like high school.”
“There is that,” Meredith cedes. She listens, then looks up at me. “Is it someone with the initials M.C.?”
M.C.? Mike Cavendish? It makes sense Sylvia wouldn’t want him luring her back to town after she broke off their engagement. But then, why would he? And why now? How would he even know where to find her? The offer was for Meredith and, unlike Luke, Mike didn’t hop into Toronto for dinner. I wasn’t sure he ever left the property of Cavendish Enterprises.
Who else?
M.C. Martin Carmichael. He’s the old guy who runs the auto repair shop. I can’t imagine he’d even know Sylvia.
M.C. What’s the name of Phil Chang’s younger brother? I’m drawing a blank.
“Well?” Meredith says, reminding me that she’s waiting.
“No.”
She searches my gaze then turns away. “She says no. I trust her. You do, too?” She glances over her shoulder, smiling a little. “Daphne Bradshaw couldn’t tell a lie if her life depended on it.” She’s obviously repeating something Sylvia said and it makes her smile. “Is that so? Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?” My ears are burning, but Meredith laughs, says something quietly then ends the call. She tosses her phone on a table and goes to a cash register I hadn’t noticed. She presses a button and the drawer opens. She takes five twenties, then returns to put them on the table in front of me, her hand flat on top of them. “First payment.”
“I thought there was no money left.”
“There isn’t much. I figure this much of it is mine. Where do I sign?”
I pull out the agreement, those butterflies doing a mad tango that I do my best to hide. She reads it through, earning my respect, then puts out her hand for a pen to sign it. I exhale when she does, then witness the signature with my own and date it. Luke already signed all three copies, though his signature is tough to decipher. That’s maybe a good thing. I take one copy, fold it and put it in an envelope, then present it to Meredith.
“The other two?”
“Your patron and my files.”
“All official.”
“Pretty much.”
She makes a note of the address on her phone, and I guess that she’s checking the GPS. Then she nods approval.
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” she says.
So fast! So comparatively easy!
What will Luke say?
What will he do?
I can’t wait to find out, but I keep it business-like. “Give me a call when you’re on the way and I’ll meet you there. My office is right across the street.” I hand her the keys to the diner, not missing how her grip closes around them. I remember that satisfaction when I got the keys to my house.
“You’d better call me Merrie,” she invites with a smile that makes her look like a demon leprechaun. “Everyone else does.”
We introduce each other again and shake hands. She looks down at the keys and I watch her smile as she fingers them. It’s as if she can’t believe it. I know that feeling, too.
“What are you going to call the restaurant?”
Her smile broadens. “The Carpe Diem Café,” she says, as if she’s been dreaming of this place for a lifetime. Maybe she has. “A Farm-To-Table Bistro.”
“Seize the day?” I translate.
“That’s it. Call it my philosophy.” She laughs a little. “And I’m following it today.”
“I like it.” I pack up my briefcase and stand. “I might be one of your first customers.”
She suddenly snaps her fingers. “Wait. How did you get here?”
“I drove my dad’s car.” I gesture to the sedan parked at the curb and her eyes light. I’ve no idea why my car is so welcome until she speaks, and then it’s obvious.
“Take some stuff back for me?”
An hour later, I’m back in the Benz, the trunk and back seat loaded with saucepans and dishes—even I know she would never trust me with her knives—before I remember I need to text Rafe. It’s almost four-thirty. The 401, that fat snake of a highway that runs across southern Ontario, is bumper-to-bumper heading west, stop-and-go, all eight lanes of it. It’ll be like this through Milton, if not Guelph or Kitchener, but because I only have to do it this once, I don’t mind. It gives me another reminder of why it was good to leave the city.
As I come full-stop in the gridlock, I text Rafe. His reply is a thumbs-up emoji, repeated over and over again. Looks like I’ll have a houseguest soon.
I send another text to my dad to let him know I’ll be late and why. Then I load up my tunes and settle in.
I can’t help thinking about Merrie’s philosophy. Seize the day. Leap and believe the net will appear. Take a chance. Not my speciality, but maybe it’s time for a change.
If I take a chance on Luke and his pursuit of more, what’s the worst thing that can happen? He already turned me down and I survived. He might seduce me. I might seduce him. I can’t believe I’ll regret either option.
Maybe it’s worth taking a chance on what you want, just to see what happens next.
Maybe it’s time to find out.
I could stop at the Maple Leaf Motel on my way home, but I decide on a shower and change of clothes first. Maybe I’ll wear my hair down. Maybe I should stick with the underwire bra, though. You only get to seduce a man for the first time once, after all.
And the prospect of that makes me smile.