Page 84 of Never Your Valentine

Now, he sits across from me and unfolds his napkin. “See? Cloth napkins, just like I promised.”

“I think these are linen.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Sure,” I say. “Linen says you’ve made it. Cloth says you tried.”

We both laugh. This is what we do. We joke. We keep it light. Even when there’s something heavy between us. Especially when there’s something heavy between us.

The server comes over, cheerful and polished. “Welcome to Le Pont Bleu. Here’s our beverage menu. I can give you a moment, or answer any questions.”

Grant doesn’t even look at the heavy folder. “We’re drinking wine.”

The server smiles like she’s trying not to laugh. “Of course, sir. Red? White?”

Grant regards me across the table with mock seriousness. “Do you feel like a red wine woman tonight?”

“What’s a red wine woman?”

“We could find out.”

I narrow my eyes. “I feel like you’re stalling because you don’t know anything about wine.”

Grant taps the wine menu. “I know plenty. Red is red. White is…not red.”

“There it is,” I tell the server.

“We have an excellent merlot,” she says. “It’s from Leelanau Cellars.”

“We’ll trust your judgement,” Grant says.

“And just like that, I’m a red wine woman,” I say when she walks away.

We admire the decor and read through our menus. It’s not in French, thank goodness, because I like to know what I’m eating.

When the server returns, we go through the ritual of wine pouring and wine tasting. We both approve. We lift our glasses.

“To Truly Penrose,” I say.

“And Western Greetings.”

My stomach does a small, unhappy flip.

Grant’s gaze sharpens. He’s sensed the shift. “But?”

“No buts,” I say. “This is what I’ve worked for, sending card after card into the void, hoping someone would see me.”

“They saw you all right.” Grant sips his wine. “And now they want to see you in person.”

I nod, too fast, too enthusiastically. “If this works out, I’ll have my own line of cards. My own office. My own staff.”

“What does the staff do?”

“Don’t know. I’ve never had staff.”

His gaze wavers. “I’m trying to picture you in California.”

“Is that so hard?”