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“Fine,” Sophie said, casting a conspiratorial look at Olive that put me on edge.
“I’m serious, Soph, drop it.”
She held her hands up defensively. “Consider the matter dropped.”
I didn’t believe that for one moment, but I took the out that was offered. “So, we’re good?”
“You mean, do we want your resignation and to dissolve the partnership? Do we, Olive?”
“No,” she said easily. “We don’t.”
“You heard her. We don’t. But, if you want Oliver, go after him the right way. Don’t sabotage our existing clients. Paying clients,” Sophie added, that Worthington steel in her gaze and her tone.
“Not even a problem. But if you’re concerned, maybe you should take over helping him.”
“Nah, we trust you.” Maybe so, but I didn’t trust Sophie’s evil smile for one minute, or the hopeful one that Olive wore like a designer dress. “You can handle Oliver March on your own. I’m sure of it.”
It felt like a set up, but since I managed to escape the day without losing my friends or my business, I left well enough alone and buried my face in an unprecedented third cup of coffee.
This was a long day and it wasn’t even noon yet.Oliver“This doesn’t look like taking it easy to me, Mirabelle.” I spotted Eva’s mother struggling to open the door to the supermarket between the obstacle of her cast and the oversized shopping cart.
She looked up at me, gray eyes twinkling with delight and amusement as she waved off my words. “I’m not much for being told what to do, something I hear we have in common.” She laughed at my stunned expression and shook her head, walking through the door I held for her. “Can you spare a few minutes to help an old lady?”
“I don’t see any old ladies, but I’m happy to help a friend in need.”
Mirabelle laughed again. “Goodness, the charm just rolls off you, doesn’t it? How my Eva hasn’t succumbed to your charms yet, I have no idea.”
“Who says I’m trying to make her succumb?” I wasn’t even using my moves on Eva, because it would be useless. She had already decided what kind of man I was, and I didn’t want to change her opinion. Much.
“Oh, please, for men like you, chasing after women is in your DNA. You wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t chasing skirts. It’s what scares you so much about settling down—what will you do with all the free time?” She laughed again. Her words held no venom as she tested tomatoes and then a watermelon, nodding for my assistance when she was happy with her choices.
“You act like it’s some well-thought-out plan when it really isn’t like that at all.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, placing a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good man who’s just scared to trust in love. I know it because I married a man just like you and spent the best years of my life with him. Marriage came easy to him, because he went in of his own free will.”
That managed to pull a laugh from me. “You actually believe that?”
She nodded. “I do. I walked away, happy to do so because we didn’t want the same things. He was the one who changed his mind a few weeks later. It does happen, Oliver, even to the best of you.”
I mulled over Mirabelle’s words as we wove up and down the aisles of the grocery store, helping her with high shelves and heavy items. “Why isn’t dating enough, Mirabelle? Why does it always have to lead to more?”
“Because a woman in love, and a man, too,” she added with a knowing smile, “want the certainty marriage brings. Of knowing this person doesn’t just love me, but that they wake up each and every day and they choose me. Choose to be here with me, to laugh with me and weather the storm with me. That’s the more they want.”
I didn’t know what to say about that, because it sounded so foreign to me. “I never heard it put that way before.”
“Of course not—a handsome, virile man like yourself is focused on what you have to give up with marriage instead of thinking about all the things you’ll get.” Mirabelle shook her head. “You’ll see, I’m sure of it. I just hope I’m around to see it.”
I laughed and flung an arm around her shoulder. “You’re an evil woman, Mirabelle.”
“Me?” she asked innocently. “I’m just an old woman with a lot of stories.”
“Now who’s not being truthful?”
Her laugh echoed in the freezer section. “Okay, and I’m, as you call it, husband hunting.” The glare she sent my way was curious, so I had to ask.
“Are you listening to my podcast, Mirabelle?”
“Maybe. You’re good, but entirely too cynical for a man who’s never been in love before.” Her laughter was twice as loud at my stunned expression. “It’s not hard to figure out. A man who’s been in love before, even if it ended badly, has no trouble understanding why his friends would give up nights out, poker evenings, and one-night stands just to be with one woman. Only a man ignorant of the beauty of love could wonder such a thing.”
