by Peggy Bird
“Technically, Nate and I are equals because we’re both partners.”
“But you still think of him as your boss, don’t you?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“The way you relate to him. Let’s get back to the unofficial official policy of not dating clients. Do you really mean it?”
“I don’t know right now. I guess I think it’s the right approach most of the time, but maybe there should be some exceptions.” He wasn’t sure which was muddling his mind more, the alcohol or the warmth of her touch.
When he didn’t continue with an explanation of what those exceptions might be, she shook her head. “Okay, let me see if I have it right so far. In a nutshell, what you’ve told me is, you’ve never been attracted to someone without a plan in mind for the relationship, so when you felt this chemistry ... and please tell me you feel the same chemistry I do ...”
She waited for him to nod before continuing. “So, you were wrong-footed by feeling this chemistry without a plan, then undone when you found out I was a sort-of client, which is, I am to assume, the reason you didn’t call. And today, in spite of all that, you debated for approximately ...” She looked at her phone. “Approximately fifty-nine minutes about whether you should come down to the bar to meet me.”
She smiled at him, a bit wistfully, he thought. “I’d even go so far as to say you probably hesitated when you got to the bar door, trying to decide if you should come in. And now you’re trying to rationalize sitting here with me by thinking up some exception to a rule that really doesn’t exist even though you obey it.” She shrugged. “Have I about covered it?”
“It didn’t sound quite as absurd when I was thinking about it, but, yes, I guess you have.” He finished his glass of wine. “You’re not at all like anyone I’ve ever met.”
“That makes me happy.” This smile crinkled her eyes in a most appealing way. “I like being different from other people in your life.” She waved to the server for their bill.
“Let me.” He reached for the check as soon as the waiter put it on the table.
She moved it away from his hand. “Nope. I asked you here. I pick up the tab. Besides, one glass of wine is hardly worth arm-wrestling over, is it? You can pay for dinner.”
He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. “Dinner?”
“Yes, you know the meal you eat in the evening. Sometimes even with someone you think might be good company.”
“Ah, yes. Dinner.” It took a moment for it to sink in. “Right. Dinner. You mean tonight? You and me?”
“Yup.”
“Okay, I’ll get dinner. There’s a French bistro I like a couple blocks from here. Sound good to you?”
He wasn’t sure if she was having second thoughts or was stunned when she didn’t answer right away. “Wow,” she eventually said. “That was easier than I thought it would be. I was thinking I’d have to put up a fuss to get you to ask a client to dinner, it being against your rules and all.”
“I thought you said you weren’t a client. But even if you are, you were the one who did the asking, weren’t you? So, technically, I didn’t make the request. I was invited.”
“Let’s not get hung up on details.” She signed the credit card receipt the server put in front of her. “I’m hungry. I have no plans for dinner, and I’d like to continue this conversation.” She rose from her chair and handed him her raincoat so he could help her put it on. “You interest me, Taylor Jordan. I want to find out what makes you tick. So, however you parse the words, we’re having dinner together and you’re paying for it.”
As they walked out of the building, the same stupid second thoughts wormed their way into his mind. He was going to have to work hard to keep her from doing what she said she wanted to do. If she ever found out everything about him, he was doomed. Yet he couldn’t seem to keep himself from wanting to spend time with her. He didn’t know what the hell was going on—all he knew was he both wanted to be with her and thought he shouldn’t. So far, tonight, the wanting was winning.
• • •
Bella didn’t know what had come over her. She’d never flirted so obviously with any man. Had never had to. She’d spent most of her life since adolescence being the flirt-ee, not the flirt-er. The interchange with Taylor showed she liked turning the tables.
Six months ago, she’d have never thought to declare her interest in getting to know a man or asking him to take her to dinner. Without a doubt, her time with Summer and BU/MU had built her confidence, made her a stronger and more self-reliant woman. She’d assumed the sense of purpose she was developing would be reflected primarily in her professional life. But she was wrong. It seeped into her personal life, too. Like tonight. When she took a chance and got what she wanted—dinner with Taylor Jordan and a chance to see if he was as interesting up close and personal as he was at first meeting.
As a bonus, she was in a restaurant she’d never have found on her own. As soon as they walked in, she knew it would be good. The smell of something delicious made her realize how hungry she really was. She decided to let him order and wasn’t disappointed with his choices. He asked for a bottle of a Northwest pinot noir and a charcuterie platter, laden with interesting cuts of sausages and pâtés. Then their server brought a large plate of melted raclette cheese with potatoes and pickles on the side. She not only liked the food, she loved he had ordered only things to share.
Conversation over dinner came more easily than she expected, given the rather awkward circumstances of their being together. They talked a little about where they grew up and went to college. He waved off any talk of work, which she assumed was because of his “no client dating” rule. It was when he asked if Nate’s comment was correct about her having done or seen nothing other than work since she moved to Seattle, that things got interesting.
“I’m afraid he wasn’t exaggerating. If it’s not in my apartment, my cubicle, or the MBA office, I haven’t seen it,” she confessed. “I’ve been so busy trying to sort out what’s going on with the expansion, I haven’t had much time to find out what’s going on in the city.”
“You haven’t been to the Pike Place Market?”
She shook her head.
“The outdoor sculpture garden?”
Another head shake.
“Ridden a ferry? Gone to the symphony? Visited The Museum of Flight?”
“No, no, and no.”
“As a native of the city, I’m appalled. You’re missing out on the real reasons to live in Seattle. If you don’t enjoy things like that, all you’re left with is rain and traffic congestion.”
She laughed. “I certainly didn’t mean to let down the locals. I promise I’ll ride the monorail and get myself to the Space Needle soon.”
“It’s touristy and there are other places more interesting, although the view of the city from there is pretty spectacular.” He scooped up the last bit of cheese from the platter. “I think Nate’s right. You need a tour guide to show you around.”
“Do you know anyone who’s qualified?” She was hopeful she knew where this conversation was going, but she fought hard not to have her face show it.
“Yeah. Me. What are you doing tomorrow?”
“You don’t have to give up your Saturday because Nate made a silly comment. And what about that rule of yours?”
“First of all, I’m not volunteering because of Nate. I’ve enjoyed tonight. I think it would be fun to show you around tomorrow. Second, I’m not dating you. I’m acting as your tour guide to introduce you to the city I love.”
“Of course. Sorry. How could I have possibly misunderstood?” She could feel her heart rate kick up a notch or two. He was interested. “I’m absolutely free tomorrow. And I’d love to have a native show me around the city. Where shall I meet you and what time?”
“Let’s start with Pike Place Market. About two. Wear warm clothes. We might do something near the water. And if you’re up for it, we can have dinner in an Italian place I know nearby.”
He grinned. “Oh, I’m willing to throw myself on this particular grenade. For the good of the city, of course.”
“Right. The good of the city.” She grinned back. “Okay, then, the Market, dinner, and whatever else you have in mind sounds great.”
“I’ll make reservations at the restaurant, assuming they have a table available. They’re busy on Saturdays because they have interesting entertainment as well as good food.”
By the time they had firmed up their plans for the next day, they were on the way out of the bistro. “Thank you for dinner. It was fun,” she said.
“You’re welcome. I enjoyed it, too. Do you have a car around someplace?” he asked.
“In the garage near your building.”
“I’ll walk you there.”
From the look in his eyes when they reached her little Kia, she thought he might be about to kiss her. Instead, he merely touched her face with the tips of his fingers and said, “See you tomorrow, then.”
Every cell in her cheek woke up and told its neighbor to pay attention to what was going on. The awareness of his touch went down her face to her neck and chest and would have traveled even further if he hadn’t moved his hand.
It took a deep gulp of oxygen to unscramble her brain so she could pay attention to what was going on. His mouth was doing something. Not kissing her, sadly, but maybe saying something. At least she thought he was talking about something. It was difficult to tell when she was this discombobulated.
“Do you know where it is?” he was asking when she tuned back in to him.
Unfortunately, she had no idea what he was talking about. “Where what is?”
“The place in the Market where the guys throw the fish around.”
She hoped it was too dark for him to see how fast she was turning red from embarrassment but managed to get out, “I think I do. It’s at the main entrance, isn’t it?”
“Exactly. Meet me there at two.”
Chapter Eleven
Excited about the day ahead of her, Bella got to the Pike Place Market well before two. While she waited for Taylor, she watched the two men behind the seafood counter put on a show for their customers, as well as anyone else who cared to watch, with an entertaining line of patter and fish tossing. She was so engrossed, she didn’t realize Taylor was standing behind her until she heard him say close to her ear, “Fun to see, aren’t they?”
Not nearly as fun as feeling his warm breath on her neck, she decided, but it wasn’t a good idea to jump right to such an intimate comment, so she merely laughed and nodded. “After I watched for a while, I wondered if the job interview for fishmonger here includes a test to see how proficient you are at throwing and catching seafood,” she said.
“I’ve never thought to ask, but I imagine the answer’s yes.” He held out his hand to her. “If you’ve had your fill of salmon tossing, we’re burning daylight here and we have a lot of things to see before dinner.”
There it was again, the tingle from contact with his hand. But she barely had time to enjoy it before he was tugging at her to come with him. So she held on to his hand and followed, taking much bigger steps than normal to keep up with his long legs. He was obviously serious about showing her around, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.
After a couple hours, however, she said, “I surrender. There is way too much here for me to take in on one visit. The craft choices alone are overwhelming. I have to remember those handmade puzzles when the holidays roll around. My nieces and nephews would love them. And my father would have told the glass artist we saw he belongs in the Museum of Glass, not a farmers’ market.”
“If you know about the Museum of Glass, you’re not the new arrival in the area you pretended to be yesterday, are you?” His raised eyebrow and half smile said he wasn’t too worried about being hoodwinked.
“Nate asked what I’d done in Seattle since I moved here, and I told him. I wasn’t asked if I’d been here before. But, no, I’m not a complete newbie. Two or three years ago, I came up to a baseball game. On another trip, I went to the Museum of Glass in Tacoma and the Chihuly Garden and Glass museum here. Both trips were with my father.”
“He hasn’t brought you back since?”
“He died eighteen months ago.” She turned her head so he wouldn’t see her fight to control the tears that were unexpectedly welling up in her eyes. “We took a lot of road trips the last year or so of his life. There were things he wanted to see one last time before he died, and I made it happen for him.”
Taylor stopped and brushed away an escaping tear with the pad of his thumb. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sad subject.”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. It’s been a long time since I cried about his passing.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped at her eyes. “We had a lot of fun that last year. Drove all over the Northwest. Well, the part west of the mountains. He was never much of a high plains guy.” Another tissue was necessary for her nose. “I don’t know. Maybe it was seeing the beautiful glass. He was a serious collector of studio art glass and was always sure one day he’d discover the next Dale Chihuly or Silvia Levenson. He never did but he kept trying. The closest he got was buying a piece of Amanda Sinclair’s before she got too pricey.”
“I know who Chihuly is. Who’re the two women?”
“Levenson does glass casting mostly. Pale pink glass hand grenades. High heel shoes with barbed wire inclusions. Sinclair is a Portlander who does mostly minimalist landscapes in thick blocks. Lately she’s been using a lot of metals and reactive glasses.”
“Sounds like you know something about the subject yourself.”
“It was hard not to learn about it. I lived with my dad for the last years of his life and helped him take care of his collection.” She shoved the tissues into her jeans pocket. “There. Trip down memory lane is over. Sorry to be Debbie Downer. I promise I won’t do it again. Maybe my caffeine level had dropped too low. How about we grab a quick cup of coffee before we move on to whatever else you have planned?”
“Not a problem. There’s a bakery back that way, across the street ...”
She glanced at the storefront he indicated. “Oh, I saw some beautiful little hand pies in the window when we walked past. It looks perfect. But first, can we go back to the pig sculpture? I forgot to rub her snout for good luck.”
“What do you need good luck for?”
“Not for me. It’s for Summer’s project. We need all the luck we can get.”
She saw his jaw muscles clench and his lips thin. He looked like he did yesterday when he’d found her in Nate’s office. Something had made him tense up. “Is there a problem with backtracking?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t what she’d suggested.
Without answering her question, he reached for her hand again and headed for the sculpture. When they got there, she noticed he didn’t participate in the ritual of touching the nose and making a small donation. She couldn’t decide if he was anti-superstition, annoyed she’d upset his plans, or something else. Something she couldn’t figure out.
As they headed back to the bakery, she said, “Thank you for indulging me. The pig thing is silly, I know. But ...”
“It’s part of the Market’s culture, and I’m glad you reminded me about it. Now let’s get you some caffeine and sugar so you’re stoked up for what’s next.”
And there he was; the Taylor she enjoyed was back. He’d turned his attitude around on a dime, and she couldn’t figure out how or why any more than she could figure out what had made it tense only a few minutes before. All she could do was go with it. So she asked, “What is next, by the way? Or are you going to keep me in suspense until we get there?”
• • •
Taylor got her settled at a small table in the bakery before he went to order their coffee. Now that he had his back to her and she couldn’t see his face, he let his guard down and fro
wned. He should never have started this. Never gone into the bar last night. Never asked her out for today. Didn’t his immediate guilty reaction to her request to go back to the pig sculpture to wish for luck for her project prove he was wrong to have anything to do with her?
He should never ... oh, hell, what was the use? He’d been attracted to her from the first minute he saw her, and this was the logical outcome. He either had to accept that he was metal filings to her magnet—which sounded faintly dirty, come to think of it—or else find a way to turn her into something to repel him.
Which, so far, had been impossible. He snuck a peek at her. She was sitting at the table playing with her smart phone, checking e-mails, probably. How could anyone so beautiful repel any man in his right mind?
He couldn’t remember the last time he noticed in any detail what a woman wore, but he seemed to always be aware of what Isabella had on. Maybe it was because she knew how to wear clothes to showcase her considerable assets.
Today her jeans outlined her butt and legs; her bunny-soft, sky-blue sweater hugged the curves her jeans didn’t cover. A dark red puffy jacket made her look tiny and delicate until you saw the kick-ass boots she wore that came halfway up her legs and had heels high enough to make him wonder how she had ever kept up with him as he strode through the crowds in the Market. She even smelled good, like a sugar cookie. Vanilla, maybe.
It was time to man up, admit he was in trouble with her and enjoy it. Instead of thinking of all the reasons he should get the hell out of here and head for home, he should be thanking his luck he was having the best Saturday he’d had in months.
With a woman who was kick-ass, sexy, sweet, and funny. A woman who delighted in what she saw around her and allowed herself to show vulnerability in a way he couldn’t begin to comprehend. He never talked about his family in any but the most general terms. Never let anyone know what his childhood had been like or how estranged from his family he’d become as an adult. He told himself it was because he didn’t want anyone’s pity. But it didn’t take a shrink to figure out it was really because it was too painful to think about, let alone discuss with someone else.
