25. Jake
Jake
I’m the bear.
It would be funnier if it didn’t feel true. I’m experiencing violent urges toward the dapper older man dining with Mackenzie. I would like to go grizzly on Knightley, give him a little taste of what predators like him deserve.
Instead, I do the one thing that is guaranteed to drive him bonkers: I ignore him.
It’s a complete fluke that I’m even here, in the right place at the right time.
I was in good shape to shave seventeen minutes off my best Toronto-to-Empire door-to-door when I realized that The Carpe Diem Café would probably be closed by the time I got there.
I’m starving. I don’t know Havelock well enough to find that restaurant again, but I remembered the name of it and the GPS did the rest.
Turns out I arrived in the nick of time, like some bloody knight in shining armor. Not my usual role, but I don’t mind making an exception.
I took the barest glance at him when Mackenzie accosted me – and I mean ‘accost’ in the best way possible.
I’m warm to my toes, thanks to that fleeting kiss, and feel as if I’ve been jolted back to life after a long dull drive – but I will not even glance their way again.
If I looked, it would mean he was important or a threat to me.
The so-called Knightley is no more significant than a fly on the wall.
I am content to dine, confident that my supposed girlfriend’s attention can’t be stolen away.
I am the rock in her foundation and I give every appearance of knowing it.
Of course, I want to study him. Of course, I want to glare at him. But I know his type and I know how to shake his tree.
The fact is that my thoughts are on Mackenzie.
I like that she asked me for help. I like that she appealed to me, even if she did cast me as the bear.
And I really like that she flushed when she checked her phone.
She even glanced over her shoulder at me, looking guilty and pleased, a perfect touch for her audience but one that got me right where I live.
Because she looks like that – a little pink, a little flustered, a little out of control – right before she comes. And once I realize that, my thoughts head to a very predictable destination.
She has me tied up in knots and the only smart thing is to make sure she never knows it.
I will not think about the crown prince trying to lure her away to British Columbia.
Mackenzie is beautiful, and she’s particularly so tonight.
She’s twisted up her hair in an updo similar to the one she had when we met, which reminds me of pulling out the pins and watching all that blonde wavey goodness tumble over her shoulders once we got back to my place.
She’s wearing a sleek black dress, which looks plain but is cut (or fitted) perfectly to show her figure to advantage.
It’s modest, yet somehow also sexy as hell.
To be honest, she could wear nothing at all and be sexy as hell.
Wait. That isn’t right. She could wear anything at all and be sexy as hell.
She’s wearing black suede spike heels which do delicious things to her calves and (again) remind me of sliding my finger beneath the satin of her pumps that first night we shared together, running it along her arch and making a celebration of removing that shoe.
Actually, undressing her that night was a complete indulgence, one that I took slow and savoured all the way.
Talk about a reward, having Mackenzie, all sleek and golden, naked and willing at the end.
I am not thinking about dinner.
But no one would guess. (I hope.)
I also will not think about the other contender, the one whose existence is probably the reason I haven’t heard anything from Mackenzie since our late-night chat. Did I convince her to dive into that relationship, regardless of her doubts? I can’t believe she would walk away based on my advice.
Where exactly does she stand with Darcy? I’d give a kidney to know for sure.
Instead, I do my best impression of a man at leisure as I consider how I might just ask Mackenzie without giving her any idea of the depth of my interest. I chat with the waitress about the specials.
We compare and contrast the daily pasta I had last time with tonight’s offering.
I order a bottle of wine and make sure it’s from Rhodes Vineyards.
I choose my meal. I pretend to read a book on my phone while I wait, a man in complete confidence of his romantic situation.
I text Mike to make sure it’s okay for me to stay at the house tonight and get a thumbs-up.
He’s probably still in the greenhouses and I shudder at the very prospect of tomatoes.
Tomorrow, though, tomorrow, I will be surrounded by them. Ugh. The business plan is good but needs some oomph. I’m down here to find it.
I give the meal my undivided attention and it is really good. And then I stretch out my legs, sip my wine, and pretend to read on my phone again.
I am a courtier awaiting the favour of my lady’s attention – not perhaps a guy remembering the precise sound Mackenzie makes when she comes, the way she fights for control right to the last second, how clearly she’s surprised to be overwhelmed and how much she loves it.
I can feel the way she clenches around me, the graze of her teeth on my skin, the impression of her nails, and the soft slick sweetness of her that threatens to drown me every time.
What a way to go.
This is not exactly the best direction for my thoughts, not on this night of nights.
I have no idea what the evening holds for me or Mackenzie, but I have to assume that the presence of a man in her life who is itching to propose means that Mackenzie and I are friends.
Friends formerly with benefits but no longer.
Just friends.
The guy glares at me on his way out the door. I feel the look but don’t glance up to intersect it. Instead, I’m smiling at Mackenzie who is walking towards me. Beautiful, yes, but so much more than that. Glamourous. Confident.
Relieved.
I made that last bit happen and I’m proud of it.
I stand up when she reaches the table and she slides a hand around my neck, kissing me as if we meet like this all the time.
My hand is on the back of her waist again, her perfume is surrounding me, and even if this is fiction for one specific observer, I’m not about to cut it short.
It is, after all, the sum of my reward for playing the bear.
I pull out her chair. “Silver Volvo?” I ask.
“Two door sedan,” she agrees softly, then recites the license plate number. She touches the wine bottle. “Did you save me a glass?”
“Absolutely. Or something else, if you’d rather.”
“This Cabernet Franc would be perfect. Thanks.”
At my gesture, the waitress brings another glass and pours for Mackenzie, then tops up mine with the rest of the bottle.
Mackenzie has her back to the door and keeps her gaze fixed upon me.
“And we’re off,” I say as the silver Volvo pulls out of its parking spot and vanishes down into the darkness. I feel the magnitude of Mackenzie’s relief and decide not to say anything else.
“Thank you,” she says softly and I salute her with my glass.
“All’s well that ends well,” I say lightly.
Mackenzie sips and smiles, her gaze locked on me. I look out the window because I have no way to ask about her availability.
“Careful, Jake,” she says softly. “Your cover’s slipping.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re being nice.”
“I’m being the bear.” It’s a feeble joke, but she smiles a little.
“You’re not being an asshole and there are witnesses.” Her eyes widen in mock-horror, as if she’s uttered a secret out loud. I manage to hide my own response, I think. To my relief, she lets it go. “Where are you staying? I didn’t see a booking at the rental.”
“At the house.” I roll my eyes. “We have an early start tomorrow so I thought it would be simpler.”
“And a trip down memory lane.”
“No,” I say. “No. That’s ancient history.”
Mackenzie eyes me for a moment, sensing that I’m protesting too much. I’m actually a bit concerned about setting foot in that house again, the one where we grew up. But if there are ghosts, whatever they have to haunt me about is between them and me.
No, there is no what if. I am an island. I am an asshole. I am a fortress.
I am alone.
Yes, I’m isolating myself once more. It’s for the best. Mackenzie isn’t for me, and I’m not for her. Her future is with Darcy in BC.
I can still privately despise the guy.
I pay the bill and walk her to my car, watching as she elegantly slides in. What a view.
“You’re staring,” she chides, a hum of laughter in her voice.
“They’re great shoes.”
“Thanks for the ride, Jake.”
“No worries. Rhodes Vineyards is practically on my way.”
“I mean for everything.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Soon no one’s going to believe your PR,” she teases when I start the car. “You helped Candace. You helped me.”
“I would always help you.”
Her smile is so radiant that it gives me ideas. No. She’s escaped the desires of one man tonight, and besides, I’m a bear. I’ll take her straight home.
We ride in silence until she suddenly seizes her purse.
“For fucks’ sake,” she mutters, rummaging in it and coming up with her phone.
Once it emerges from her purse, I can see it vibrating.
She had it set to buzz instead of ring. “Yes,” she says when she answers, her voice hard enough to cut glass.
“Because I was busy,” she explains and I wince in sympathy for the caller because this conversation is not going to go well.
Mackenzie is mad.