8. Sylvia
SYLVIA
H ow can Mike be here?
How can he sit there and eat, like he’s not destroying every barrier I ever built against him, just by being in my proximity?
I’m keenly aware of his every move, his every response to the dishes that are placed in front of him.
I can’t help but notice how he fills that corner, a large muscular man with no intention of leaving soon.
He wants to apologize.
And I want to let him.
I have learned nothing.
Apparently, I have no ability to resist him. I have the resistance of tissue paper. Wet tissue paper. I sneak glances at him, admiring his manners, loving how deliberate he is. He never rushes. He savours. He admires and appreciates.
And just watching him enjoy his paté makes me think of other ways he savoured.
Oh, it’s been too long since I’ve been with anyone, but I hate that I’m lusting after Mike .
“Easy on my dishes,” Merrie warns in an undertone half an hour after his arrival. “We haven’t paid for them yet.”
“How could he?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. It’s not just him being here. No, it’s that he was so perplexed when I mentioned the letters. Mike has always been completely straight-up, which was why it hurt so much that he just ignored me.
I knew it could only have meant that I’d fallen short of some moral code and that there was no room for negotiation.
But he was surprised that there were letters. It makes no sense.
It feeds some crazy hope I don’t want to feel.
What if I didn’t fall short? My heart flutters like a hummingbird at that possibility.
“How could he what? Come to the best place in town for dinner? Maybe he was hungry,” Merrie says calmly, then places the plate of lamb before me.
It’s a beautiful presentation, two slices of the roast leg cut thick and fork-tender, the gratin in pale golden contrast to the meat, the tomatoes cooked on top of the potatoes, the grilled asparagus glistening alongside.
She adds a piece of fresh rosemary, then indicates that her work is done.
Sierra is, perhaps predictably, talking to Mike. I compose my expression.
Mike, Mike, Mike. He glances up and almost smiles, his eyes gleaming like sapphires as he watches me approach. My heart stops then races, but I try to keep my cool. “This meal is amazing, Sylvia.”
His praise is well-deserved, and it’s for Merrie, not me. I can’t brush it off. “Thanks. Merrie is brilliant.”
“You’re working hard yourself.”
I offer him fresh ground pepper and he nods, watching it fall on the meal. I’m not fooled. He’s going to say something, maybe something I won’t like.
He impales me with a glance. “I wonder if you might do me a favour.”
“A favour?”
“I wonder if you might humour me, when things slow up a bit here.” His gaze is steady and sincere, twin lasers annihilating my defenses.
“What do you want?”
“I told you.” His eyes darken. “You can’t have forgotten that I came by to apologize.”
“But you did already.”
“No. I started. That was just the preamble.” He eyes me again. “I want to do it right, Sylvia, and I respect that it might not make any difference, but I’ve owed you this apology for a long time and it needs to be delivered.”
He did say he wanted to talk later.
I figure I can hold fast for a couple of sentences, and I would prefer to hear them when there’s no one else around. Sierra is already heading for the back door to be home with Una. I ask the question before giving myself time to reconsider. “What does your wife think of that plan?”
He smiles. “No wife, Sylvia. No girlfriend or significant other.” He sobers and looks a bit bleak. “Just tomatoes. So very many tomatoes.”
I can’t help but laugh at him and he grins at me, his eyes glowing. “Okay,” I say on impulse, as if that’s never gotten me into trouble.
Mike looks triumphant, like I’ve given him the keys to the kingdom. “Good,” he says. “Thank you, Sylvia.”
“You’d better eat while it’s hot,” I say, then head back to the kitchen.
Gah. When did I start sounding like Una?
I have a lot of expectations and am filled with assumptions. I could make a list of what I’m expecting Mike to say and do, and I compose my frosty replies to each and every possibility while we finish out the dinner service.
You can probably guess that he takes me completely by surprise.
But first, he has dessert, and Merrie takes it to him.
She likes to do this when things slow down, says it’s a good practice to get out and talk to her customers.
That she chooses to talk to Mike feels like a betrayal, but I smile on through it, even when she lingers to chat with him.
He’s clearly complimenting her and she’s loving it.
I know because she takes him a Calvados in a warmed glass to enjoy with his dessert.
I give her a look and she shrugs. “He ordered a brandy. I told him this would be better. Like every wise man on the planet, he took my advice.” She gives a little sigh, one that sets my nerves on edge. “He knew I used crème fraiche in the potato gratin. He even guessed where I got it.”
This is high praise from Merrie, who favours a perceptive eater over any other kind. I slant a glance at her, guessing there’s more.
I’m right.
“ And he told me of another small dairy locally, one I didn’t know about. They have goats, which means local chèvre , which is giving me palpitations.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Careful. I feel my resistance eroding fast.”
Then she sails off with the apple brandy.
It’s not fair. He can’t be nice to my friend and win her over without me.
That sounds so stupid that I can’t believe I even thought it.
I go rinse plates for the dishwasher, once again more annoyed with myself than Mike.
I have zero desire to be eighteen and gullible but it would be nice to be hopeful again.
To feel alive. To feel attractive, like a person in my own right.
Even one slow smile from Mike makes me feel all that again, which is what makes him dangerous.
I have definitely been on my own for too long and should fix that soon.
Meanwhile, I try to brace myself for whatever he’s going to say or do.
By the time Mike finishes his meal, the place is almost empty.
I like this time of the evening. The café is warm and smells like good food as well as the fire.
I extinguish some of the candles on empty tables, letting it get darker.
Outside, Queen Street is quiet, too, few cars visible and even fewer pedestrians.
I feel the soles of my feet and my lower back at this point of the day, and am glad that we don’t have any call for late meals here.
I’ll be home with my feet up before nine, which is a glorious thing.
But first, Mike.
Might as well get this apology over with.
I take off my apron as I head toward his table and he glances up, then puts away his phone. He’s standing by the time I get close, looming over me like always. He looks a bit nervous, which makes me want to console him.
Instead, I fold my arms across my chest and wait.
“I’m sorry, Sylvia,” he says, not wasting any time. “That night, I was angry that you chose to go with Luke when we had a date.”
“You didn’t own me.”
“No, of course not.” He rubs the back of his neck, his words faltering for a minute, and looks so rueful that my heart clenches. “Well, you might as well know. I was leaving for university in August and I wanted you to know that it didn’t mean we were done.”
My throat is tight. That’s exactly what I thought.
That was why I left him at the party that night.
I can still hear all those people from high school talking about their university plans, excited about the future, and feel my heart sinking because I wasn’t going anywhere.
I didn’t belong with them. I felt like a loser.
The peasant girl who foolishly fell in love with the crown prince.
A pregnant loser who had served her purpose.
Mike frowns. “I was going to propose and I was nervous as hell. I was sure I’d make a mess of it but wanted to do it that night. It was important, I thought, to have things clear between us.”
I stare at him, unable to believe my ears. Mike was going to propose?
“But then Luke was there, and he was flirting with you and you were flirting with him, and it all felt doomed.” He closes his eyes as I stare at him, then holds up his hands before himself.
“Like sand sliding through my fingers. Everything I ever wanted, disappearing before my eyes, because you wanted to be with Luke and not me.”
Mike sighs, evidently missing the sound of my jaw hitting the floor.
“Luke. Of all people, Sylvia.” His eyes flash.
“If it had been anyone else, anyone with a scrap of respect for women, anyone who might have treated you properly, I could have stood back and done the honourable thing. But Luke .” He meets my gaze and shrugs.
“It just seemed unfair. I was so in love and I was sure that things could only go right for us, but then, you chose Luke. I should have been gracious and wished you well, but I was too devastated to make a good choice, and I’m sorry for that.
Your decision was never my business and it wasn’t mine to authorize or approve.
I was way out of line to say what I did, and I wish I’d found a way to apologize to you sooner. ”
He was going to propose. I’m stuck on that confession.
Mike must be interpreting my silence as skepticism because he turns to indicate a parcel I noticed earlier beside his table.
It’s on the next table now, a package wrapped up in brown paper and twine, just the way they used to wrap things up at the art supply store in Havelock.
That table is for eight and he’s cleared it off to make room for this enormous bundle.