Page 44 of Tastes Like Summer

“Sag Harbor, huh? I actually have a house around there.” He scratches the back of his head, his cheeks suddenly a pale pink. “If you’re around and free… I don’t know. Maybe we can take a rain check on today’s drinks, and I can take you to dinner sometime?”

My jaw drops. He can’t be serious, can he? “Like a… date?”

“Yes.” He smiles, suddenly marginally more confident than he was just a few seconds before.

“Um. I… I don’t know if that will get me in trouble. Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something?” I gnaw on my lower lip, not knowing what to say.

On the one hand, what? On the other, maybe this will be good for me? It could be an opportunity to find out whether whatever crush I have on Michael is only because he’s attracted to me like Jonathan, and I haven’t been with anyone who has shown any interest in me in years, or whether what I feel for him is real.

“If it’s a conflict of interest, then…” Jonathan shrugs, “Then I guess we won’t do it. But I think you’re nice and smart and beautiful. And I’d really like to see you again. I can come to you—you don’t even have to worry about coming into the city. I have some stuff I need to take care of out there, anyway, so you’d really be saving me from a boring trip. And there’s this special place I could take you to—a place I’d love to take you to.” He smiles and it’s tender, his eyes soft. Like he really does mean everything he says.

Odd.

“You don’t even know me,” I say, shaking my head, almost in awe.

“No. Not yet. But I have a feeling.”

But I don’t, I almost say. Though to be honest, who am I to say? The last time I went on a first date was a million years ago. I mean, low-rise jeans were still in, and we were all for it, for Pete’s sake. And maybe this will be a good way to get Michael out of my head. Not that I’d admit to him being there to begin with. Because he’s not.

Ugh.

Stupid Michael and his stupid dimpled smile and perfect body and the adorably considerate speech he gave me and the way he makes me feel and that hot almost-kiss.

Ugggghhhh.

“Um. Okay. I guess that would be fine.” My voice is small, hesitant.

Jonathan laughs softly, his eyes warm. “I’ll try not take offense to that level of enthusiasm.”

I laugh and shake my head, feeling a blush creep up my neck. “No, no. I mean yes. An enthusiastic yes.”

But is it enthusiastic? Is it really, Diana?

His eyes shine with humor as he presses his lips together. “How about this: how about you think about it? I don’t want you to feel pressured or coerced into it. You can give me your number or I can give you mine. Or both?”

“Okay,” I say softly. “I appreciate that.”

“Okay, then.” He nods and asks for my number, which he saves right before immediately sending me a text with his name.

“We ready to go?” Edgar comes up behind me, Max in tow, and I jump, lucky they weren’t there to overhear the conversation. I’m not sure exactly what my boss’s reaction would be, but chances are, he’d rather I not date the biggest client he’s been able to score in decades.

“Yes,” Jonathan says.

I head home on the Long Island Railroad, so lost in everything that’s happened today I almost miss my stop. Between the meeting, Emi not feeling well, how amazingly Michael handled her crisis, and now Jonathan asking me on a date, I’m exhausted. All I want is a glass of wine and a shower, but I need to make sure my girls are fine before I can even consider relaxing tonight.

“Hey, there she is!” Michael greets me as I walk through the pool sliding doors into the house.

There’s a wide smile on his face, green eyes bright, as if the day had gone as smoothly as butter. Momentarily, the deep happiness reflected in his expression at my arrival distracts me. It throws me off, something inside me tighten and loosening at the same time; it makes my skin heat but covers me in goosebumps. I still don’t understand this new thing blooming between us, and I know it’s something I’m going to need to really analyze soon. But right now, there’s something much more pressing I need to attend to.

“Hey. How’s Emi?” I ask as I shrug off my blazer with one arm and hold my purse with the other.

Michael takes both from my hands after placing my bag on the kitchen counter and hanging my jacket carefully on the back of the island stools.

“She’s fine,” he whispers. “She’s in the other room with the girls watching TV. I didn’t want to make too big of a deal about it when we got home because she was really sad and felt self-conscious with Rachel. I heard her crying in the bathroom, so I waited until she came out and reassured her that Rach wasn’t going anywhere because of this and that these things happen. So I know you want to go in there, mom guns blazing, but, if I may, I think it would be best to keep the anxious questions in private for her sake. Like, pull her aside or wait ’til we’re gone. I don’t know.”

I stay rooted to the spot, stinging building behind my eyes. “Are you sure?” My voice cracks. “Because I feel like running into that TV room right now, bursting into tears, and hugging my daughters forever.”

He takes my right hand in both of his. “Hey. I know. And you can absolutely do that. I just think you should let her have this.”