by Amy Harmon
* * *
“We’ll go by your hotel first and get you ladies checked in and then we’ll head over to Alan’s house.”
“Sounds good,” I said. When Meg didn’t respond, I looked back at her. She was asleep, her head on a pillow against the window.
We checked in at a Marriott close to Pikes Place. I was thankful Meg and I had separate rooms and wouldn’t be required to make small talk. I carried my bag to my room. Meg pulled one of hers and Matt pulled the other.
“I’m impressed you could fit all you need into such a small bag,” Meg said. She didn’t sound impressed at all.
Meg’s room was across the hall from mine. Matt put her bag inside her door. “You don’t mind if I change real quick, do you?” Meg asked. “I always feel so icky after traveling.”
“You should go ahead and change for dinner,” Matt said. “We won’t have time to come back here first.”
“I’ll change now too,” I said trying to keep my voice bright.
“I’ll meet you down in the lobby,” Matt said. Meg closed her door slowly, watching us.
“See you in a few minutes,” I said and let my door swing shut. Just before it clicked, Matt stopped it and knocked.
“Is your room okay?” he asked from the open door.
“It looks great. Thanks Matt.”
“No problem.” He didn’t leave but just stood there in the open doorway.
“Meg said she’d share a room with you, but I thought that might be uncomfortable for you.”
His thoughtfulness warmed me. I could only imagine what plans Meg would have had if we were in the same room. I would have had to sleep with one eye open. I walked back to the door. “This is perfect. Thank you.” I pulled Matt down as I stood on my tiptoes. When our lips met, Matt’s arms came around me. He pulled me close and he kissed me again. “I’ll see you downstairs,” I said. Matt walked toward the elevator. As my door closed, I noticed the peephole in Meg’s door and hoped she hadn’t been watching.
* * *
I got to the lobby before Meg. I was surprised to see Matt had changed clothes. “Alan’s running a little late,” he said, patting the couch beside him. “He’s going to meet us at the restaurant.”
We listened to a jazz pianist play for a few minutes while a muted television showed sports highlights.
“I’m so excited to go to The Herbgarden,” Meg said when she finally appeared in the lobby. “Milo used to work there. He said it’s amazing.”
“Who’s Milo?” I asked.
“He’s the chef who catered my New Year’s Eve party. He moved to Portland a little more than a year ago. Anyway, he said we had to try it so when Matt asked me where we should eat this weekend, of course, I thought of the Herbgarden.”
I was suddenly glad I hadn’t eaten anything on the drive up. If the food was anything like the food served at Meg’s party, I was happy to be ravenous.
The Herbgarden was a half-hour drive outside Seattle. We turned down a narrow road that led to a cottage-style restaurant that looked like the inspiration for every Thomas Kincaid painting—aged stucco, small-paned windows, and wrought-iron fixtures. Lights glowed from inside the restaurant and from small glowing globes around the grounds. Mature shrubs and trees surrounded the house. A short walk away were raised gardens, stone walls and fountains. It felt old-fashioned and English.
After a valet took the car, we entered the warm, enchanting restaurant. We waited in the old-fashioned salon, where a large fire burned in an enormous fireplace. Meg sat down on a Victorian-style sofa and began leafing through a coffee table book full of artistic photographs of herbs and spices.
Everything around us felt like it belonged to another time. I didn’t feel like bank teller Lizzie from Portland, Oregon. I felt proper and significant. I stood with my back a little straighter and hoped we’d have witty and important conversations. I imagined myself in that time and place. In perfect gentleman form, Matt took my hand through his arm and we walked to the window to watch for Alan.
I looked at our reflections in the glass. Matt looked good in his gray trousers and light blue dress shirt and I felt pretty in my black and white houndstooth A-line dress and green cardigan, but I wished Matt was wearing breeches with a tailcoat and cravat and I was in a white gown with an empire waist, my hair pulled up and pinned with tiny white flowers.
I sighed at the thought.
“What are you thinking about?” Matt asked quietly, looking at me in the reflection of the window.
“I was just thinking this place is perfect.”
“What do you like about it?” he asked.
“It makes me feel like I’m a character in a Jane Austen novel.”
“Ah. You do like Jane Austen. And which character are you?” Matt was humoring me.
I nudged him and smiled. “I’m Elizabeth, of course.”
“Of course. So that would make me…”
“Dude, there you are.” A man’s voice boomed through the quiet room. Matt detached himself from my arm and in two long strides he and the man I figured was Alan were shaking hands and slapping each other’s backs.
“Yes,” I whispered. “That would make you Mr. Darcy.”
“How was the drive?” Alan asked.
“Great. Good weather. We made good time.”
“It’s great to see you, man,” Alan said. His use of “dude” and “man” successfully brought me back to the present.
“Hey, what about me?” Meg said moving between the two men. Her lips were actually set in a pout.
“Ah, Meg.” Alan kissed Meg on the lips. “It’s always great to see you. All grown up. You look stunning.” And she did. Meg’s hair was pulled up in a sophisticated twist and she was wearing a brilliantly simple, form-fitting black dress and diamond earrings.
“I’m not in high school anymore,” Meg said flirtatiously.
“You can say that again.” Alan looked Meg over appreciatively.
“Alan, this is Elizabeth,” Matt said.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, putting out my hand. Alan’s handshake was limp and soft and seemed unrelated to his boisterous carriage and loud voice.
“You too. You too.” He barely looked at me before he turned his attention back to Meg. Of course I didn’t mind the lack of attention from Alan, but suddenly I felt very young and plain in my dress and cardigan and flats. I was a mouseketeer next to Audrey Hepburn.
A hostess showed us to our crystal and silver-laden table with a card that said “Dawson Party” in delicate calligraphy. Three small bouquets of roses and sparkling votive candles adorned the center of the table.
The meal that followed was like the Olympics of fine dining—nine courses of impeccable food, each course better than the last. We had oyster and cucumber soup, olive-oil poached lamb, lemongrass sockeye, and figs with truffled cheese. When the waiter brought us each a trio of desserts, I gave Matt my blackberry rose geranium ice cream and he gave me his hazelnut cheesecake tart.
Alan had a sarcastic and irreverent sense of humor. Some of his jokes made me uncomfortable but I was glad he kept the conversation lively and Meg occupied. Matt was sweeter than he’d ever been. He ate the food without any complaints and made sure I was included in the conversation even when the subject turned to opening the new bookstore.
We had finished dessert when the waiter brought out “an assortment of small treats.”
“More dessert?” I said. “I don’t know if I can eat another thing.”
“Could you wrap this to go?” Matt asked the waiter.
“Certainly.”
“Mine, too,” Meg said.
“Why don’t you just wrap them all,” Alan said and the waiter took the tray away.
“They could have skipped that. I’d have been happy with eight courses,” Alan said.
“But that extra tray of treats lets them charge $150 per person,” Meg said.
I nearly choked on my water and turned to Matt who was smiling at me. “Don’t look so sho
cked.” He laughed and kissed my cheek. When the waiter returned with four boxes wrapped in silver ribbon, we left.
“I’ll drive Meg back,” Alan said. “and let you two be alone.” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively and I felt my cheeks burn. Meg, who’d been flirting all evening with Alan, shot me a dirty look.
“We should walk around the gardens before we leave,” Matt said.
“Ugh, I’m not in the right shoes for traipsing through gardens,” Meg said. “I guess I should have brought walking shoes.”
“Oh no, Babe, you definitely wore the right shoes.” Alan looked at Meg’s five-inch heels and her mile-long legs. “Let’s leave the gardens to them,” he said to Meg and winked at Matt. Meg looked like she was going to explode, but she smiled at Alan and took his arm.
“See you later,” she said in a syrupy voice.
* * *
A wide stone path led away from the gentle piano music of the restaurant. Soft lights lit the flowerbeds and herb gardens. A bubbling fountain at the end of the trail was surrounded with benches and flowerpots. Twinkling stars dangled from the indigo sky.
“Are you cold?” Matt asked.
“A little, but I don’t mind,” I said. “It’s so beautiful here.”
“Let’s sit down for a few minutes.” Matt guided me to a bench by the fountain. The lights from the restaurant glowed in the distance. He put his arm around me and his fingers traced circles up and down my arm.
“I’ve never had a dinner like that,” I said. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“Sorry they didn’t have your kind of food.”
Matt laughed. “I liked the food just fine.”
I leaned against Matt’s shoulder and he rested his cheek on my hair.
“This place is like a dream,” I said.
“Or a fairytale,” Matt said.
Actually, it was more like Jane Austen’s England, I thought. I didn’t want to leave. I’d never felt so close to my dream. Matt had never behaved more like Mr. Darcy, and even Meg and Alan could be tolerated when I thought of them as Caroline Bingley and Mr. Wickham.
The drive back to the hotel was lovely. Twinkling lights reflected in the water as we crossed the long bridge back into Seattle. Matt’s hand was warm holding mine. I was happy I’d come.
“Seattle’s a great place,” Matt said.
“Do you come here very often?” I asked.
“I’ve come several times since Alan moved here. There’s so much to do here and so many interesting people.”
“Do you wish you’d have moved to Seattle instead of Portland?”
“There was a time I thought I might have liked Seattle better.” Matt pulled my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. “But not anymore.”
I sighed.
Chapter Eighteen
I dropped my overnight bag beside the couch and sank into the soft cushions. With as little movement as possible, I kicked off my shoes and burrowed my toes into the thick area rug.
It had been a very long day. After breakfast we’d met a realtor who took us to see the house Alan had found. It was an old Victorian in West Seattle. It was larger than The Pink Salamander in Portland and had twice as much gingerbread detail, but the front porch was smaller and the inside had been renovated and modernized.
After we looked at the first house, the realtor took us to three others she thought might be a good fit. In the end, Matt and Alan decided on the first house, so we returned to look it over again. The realtor drew up an offer and told us she’d call as soon as she heard from the seller.
We went to a deli a few blocks from the house and ate sandwiches while Matt, Alan, and Meg made plans.
“Are we all happy with this one?” Matt asked.
“It was my first choice,” Alan said.
“I really liked the third one, but I know it was a little small,” Meg said. I was surprised how opinionated she was about Matt and Alan’s business. “Now, about the color.” She gave me a warning look. “I don’t want to go with something wild or garish. Absolutely no orange or red.” I almost laughed. Because purple and pink were so sedate.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Matt said. “I think we should stick with pink. Just keep them the same.”
“I love the idea of purple,” Meg said. “And we’d go more lavender so it wouldn’t be too much.”
“I just don’t think The Purple Salamander sounds good and if we stick with pink, we’ll have continuity. It will be better for branding,” Matt said.
“I think he’s right,” Alan said. “It makes sense to keep them the same. Hey now. Don’t go pouting.” He laughed and patted Meg’s arm.
“Just remember, I’m putting in just as much money as you two. You can overrule me on the color but if you two start voting together on everything, I don’t want to be your partner.” Now I understood why she was so opinionated. The three of them were partners. It suddenly felt wrong for me to be sitting in on these discussions. I had nothing at stake and no good reason to give an opinion. And no one asked for one.
When the meeting had gone on for nearly two hours, Matt turned to me with a look of surprise. “I’m sorry. I’ll bet this has been awful for you.”
I smiled weakly. “It’s fine. There’s a lot for you to work out.”
“You’re a good sport,” Matt said. He rubbed my back as he talked to Alan and Meg. “I think we can take care of any other details over the phone.”
“And if we get the house, you’re coming up again next weekend, right?”
“Right. I’m sure I’ll be up here plenty. We’d better head home.”
We said our goodbyes and soon we were southbound for Portland. Meg steered the conversation to the bookstore most of the way home. I was tired and had no part in the conversation, but I didn’t dare fall asleep and risk becoming the topic of their conversation again.
It was good to be home. Except for the lovely few dinner hours, it had been a pretty uncomfortable trip. I loved my cozy couch and relished the sound of quiet—no shop talk, no icky Alan jokes and no Meg.
I had just closed my eyes when someone knocked on the door. I groaned and pulled myself up to answer it.
“Miss me yet?” Matt asked.
“What are you doing?”
“You forgot your ‘assortment of small treats,’” Matt said mimicking the waiter’s tone. He handed me the pretty box of little candies and cookies from The Herbgarden.
“Thanks, Matt. That was so sweet of you,” I said.
“Meg said I should just wait and give them to you tomorrow, but I thought you might want them before then.”
I glanced at Matt’s car sitting at the curb. Meg had moved to the front seat. I resisted the little tug of annoyance that I’d been dropped off before Meg.
“I think I’ll have one right now. Thank you for running them back.” Matt gave me a quick peck on the cheek and hurried back to the car. I waited at the door until he was gone and then snuggled back into the couch to wait up for Janessa.
* * *
“Hey, welcome home.” Janessa gently shook my shoulder.
“It’s good to be home,” I said, stretching and shaking off the grogginess. “What time is it?”
“It’s a little after eleven.”
“Wow, I slept for three hours?”
“You should have just gone in to bed.”
“No way. I was waiting up for you. I wanted to share my assortment of little treats with you.”
“What are you talking about?” I tucked my feet up under me and Janessa sat down.
“We went to this insane restaurant last night. It was nine courses of the best food I’ve ever tasted. This was the last course.”
“Looks impressive.”
“It was.” I picked up the box and untied the silver ribbon with a flourish. Janessa leaned over to look inside at the display of little truffles and cookies and cinnamon sticks.
“This is fantastic!” Janessa pulled out a chocolate
truffle with little sprinkles.
“This was mine. We all got a little box like this.”
“Mmm, this is good,” Janessa said.
I pulled out a little macaroon with chocolate drizzles and popped it in my mouth. “You should have seen this place. It looked like a cottage with English gardens surrounding it. I wish you’d have been there.”
“Maybe we’ll have to take our own road trip sometime,” she said.
“Only if someone else is paying. It was $150 per person.”
“So I just ate a $10 truffle.”
I laughed. Then I surprised Janessa and myself by reaching over and hugging her.
“What was that for?”
“I missed you this weekend. And I’m so glad you’re normal.”
“Hmm. Thank you?”
“That came out wrong. I’m glad you’re not fancy.”
“And it just keeps getting better.”
I pushed the box toward her and we each picked another treat. “I’m going to quit talking but I promise I mean all of this as a compliment.”
“I know you do. I’m glad you’re not fancy either.”
We finished the treats while I told Janessa about the trip. An hour later I went to bed with a sick stomach. The treats had been a little too rich.
* * *
“You’re going to do what?” Matt asked. He didn’t sound happy.
“I’m going to use my vacation to do the remodel job.”
“I thought you were going to fit that in during the evening and on weekends. It seems like you’re going above and beyond if you’re using your vacation time as a favor to these people.”
“Matt, this isn’t a favor to them. This is a job for me. A job doing what I want to be doing. They don’t live close enough for me to go work during lunch and every night this week I’ve been placing orders and shopping. I’m going to need time to do actual work at the house.” Matt shook his head. “I don’t want this job to drag on forever. They’re without part of their house while I do this.”
“I thought they were okay with you taking longer than usual, since you have a full-time job.”
