CHAPTER TWO #2
Nat’s expression softened into something almost convincing. “He tends to become overly definite when he’s upset.”
“I do not.”
“You told a complete stranger you were single.”
“You told the same stranger you had a fiancé who might or might not exist.”
Mrs. Gable’s stern mouth twitched.
Nat saw it too. “We’ve been under a great deal of pressure.”
“So I see,” Mrs. Gable said. “How long have you been engaged?”
Michael had not anticipated an interrogation before establishing basic facts. “Recently.”
“Three months,” Nat said.
He looked at her. “Three?”
“You said I could answer direct questions.”
“How long have you known each other?”
“Two years,” Michael answered before Nat could select a number based on instinct.
“Twenty-two months,” she added.
“That is nearly two years.”
“But more personal.”
Mrs. Gable crossed the room and lowered herself into a floral armchair. The movement suggested the five-minute viewing had become something more complicated. “How did you meet?”
“At work,” Michael said.
“A restaurant,” Nat said simultaneously.
Mrs. Gable waited.
Michael turned to Nat. “A restaurant?”
“You came to one of my events.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
He had authorized her to answer direct questions, not invent public appearances for him. “What kind of event?”
“A tasting dinner.”
“For what?”
“My website.”
Michael held her gaze. “I work in financial analysis.”
“Financial analysts eat.”
“Most people do.”
“It’s one of the reasons my profession remains viable.”
Mrs. Gable’s mouth twitched again, more noticeably this time. Michael began to suspect they were not convincing her at all. She was enjoying their failure.
“And what attracted you to Miss Tremaine?” she asked him.
Nat looked up at him.
The question should have been easy to evade.
He could mention her energy, her sense of humor, or any of the vague qualities people cited when they did not want to reveal anything real.
Instead, he noticed the flour on her sleeve again.
She had learned that her home was unsafe, abandoned her work, packed part of her life, and still arrived one minute early for an appointment that might save her.
She was reckless, but she was not helpless.
“She doesn’t stop when circumstances become difficult,” he said.
Surprise quieted her face.
Mrs. Gable turned to Nat. “And what attracted you to him?”
Nat did not answer immediately. Michael expected a remark about his portfolio or credit score. When she spoke, her voice had lost its playful edge.
“He came here with everything anyone could possibly ask for, but when he realized I had nowhere to go tonight, he stayed to hear me out.”
Michael had no response to that. It was true, but it made his decision sound kinder than it had felt.
Mrs. Gable rose. “You are not a convincing couple.”
Nat’s shoulders dropped.
“However,” Mrs. Gable continued, “most convincing couples have had years to practice.”
Michael tried to determine whether this was encouragement or refusal.
Mrs. Gable walked to the fireplace mantel and picked up two application packets. “I do not approve tenants during a first meeting. Complete these separately. I will check your employment, references, and financial history. If everything is satisfactory, you may return tomorrow evening.”
“Tomorrow?” Nat asked. “My building closes at six.”
“You may place your belongings in the storage room beside the courtyard for one night. It is dry and secure.”
Relief moved across Nat’s face so quickly and openly that Michael felt an uncomfortable tightening in his chest.
“Thank you,” she said.
“There is one more condition. I host supper on Wednesday evenings for the residents of the building. Tomorrow, you will join me.”
Michael looked at Nat. A shared meal would require more than a ring and an improvised argument.
Mrs. Gable handed each of them an application. “If you are asking me to believe you intend to build a life together, you should be capable of surviving one dinner.”
“We’ll be here,” Nat said.
Michael did not contradict her.
Mrs. Gable led them downstairs and opened the front door. On the sidewalk, Nat inhaled deeply, as if she had been holding her breath since entering the building.
“That went well,” she said.
“We told five contradictory lies in approximately twelve minutes.”
“But she invited us to dinner.”
“She invited us to an evaluation.”
“With food.”
“That does not change its purpose.”
“It improves most purposes.”
Michael looked at the application in his hand. “We need to establish facts.”
“We have facts. We met at a tasting dinner twenty-two months ago.”
“We did not.”
“They’re our invented facts.”
“Those require greater consistency than our actual facts.”
Nat glanced down the street. “There’s a coffee shop on the corner. We can work out the details there.”
“I have to be at my office by noon.”
“What time is it?”
Michael checked his watch.
Nat smiled. “See? Useful.”
He should have left. Instead, he followed her to the coffee shop.
They took a small table beside the window. Nat ordered coffee and a cranberry-orange scone. Michael ordered tea, then watched her break the scone in half and slide one portion onto his napkin without asking whether he wanted it.
“I don’t eat between meals,” he said.
“It’s eleven fifteen. This is either a late breakfast or an early lunch.”
“It is neither.”
“That must be why it tastes so illicit.”
Michael moved the scone aside and opened his portfolio. He removed a legal pad, wrote Proposed Housing Arrangement across the top, and drew a line beneath it.
Nat leaned across the table. “That lacks romance.”
“It is not intended to be romantic.”
“We’re trying to convince a woman who considers a building a sanctuary for enduring love.”
“This document is for us, not Mrs. Gable.”
She sat back. “You’re actually considering it.”
“I am determining whether the risks can be controlled.”
“I’ll take that as a yes with emotional difficulties.”
“It is not a yes.”
“Then why are you making a heading?”
“Because decisions require structure.”
Nat took a bite of scone and watched him write. “Do you carry legal pads everywhere?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Situations arise.”
“I suppose this qualifies.”