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“Yeah, most of it were little tchotchkes I bought when I traveled with Dean,” Eric says. “It seemed like time to get rid of them.”
Okay, good.Maybe that’s all it is, an attempt to ease some of the heartache.
“I don’t blame you. Stuff like that can get in the way of starting fresh.”
After Derrick died, Emma didn’t save a single keepsake of their life together, not even photos of the wedding.
“I know you have more wonderful trips in your future, Eric,” Emma adds. “Either solo or with someone new. And you can start another, evenmorefabulous tchotchke collection.”
Eric laughs. “I’m going to take your word for it, Em. See you tomorrow.”
As soon as he’s out the door, Emma hurries back to her desk and locates the Miami folder in the electronic file she shares with Eric and Dario. It contains contracts for the breakfast keynote and the Avignon speech, her travel itinerary, and even a letter from the Avignon communications director confirming details about the event, as well as the estimated head count. But no guest list.
She’s still certain there’s no way Tom could’ve been there. And tonight she’ll be able to confirm it.
What’s your ETA?she texts Tom.
7. You?
Same.
Good. Btw, Brittany’s seeing a movie with a friend so we’re on our own.
Great,she thinks. She’ll have Tom to herself over dinner.
Emma reviews the client presentation one more time for good measure, and when she finishes up, she notices it’s already a few minutes after seven. As she dashes up the path, she spots Tom setting the patio table. He’s already changed into jeans and a navy T-shirt, which emphasizes what good shape he’s in.
“Sorry I’m late,” she calls out. “Traffic was a bitch tonight.”
“Ha! I popped two of the premade meals in the oven and they should be ready any second.”
They embrace when she reaches him. “Let me throw on a pair of jeans, too, and I’ll be right back,” she tells him.
By the time Emma returns downstairs, Tom’s already plated the food and set it on the table along with a bottle of sparkling water. As they settle into chairs opposite each other, she notices he picked up a bit of a tan on the golf course and looks even more handsome than usual.
“How nice to have the night unexpectedly to ourselves,” he says, pouring them each a glass of water. “Just a reminder—I have that client dinner Thursday night, and you and Eric are off to the author event on Wednesday, right?”
“Right.” She and Eric are planning to hear a talk by the author of a book on lying because one chapter touches on why people sometimes fail to tell the truth on the type of research surveys Hawke and Company does. “You and Brittany should go ahead and eat without me that night.”
“Will do. She seems to understand that Friday night is generally date night for us, so we’ll have that to ourselves, too.... So, tell me about your day, sweetheart. I heard your talk at Halliday was a smashing success.”
“They seemed to like it, and they asked terrific questions. Was it Taylor who mentioned it?”
“Not her, but several others.”
Emma laughs. “They’re brownnosers, but I’ll take the praise. By the way, Taylor said something kind of weird that I wanted to ask you about.”
Tom’s about to slice off a piece of shrimp and he pauses now, his knife and fork hovering above his plate. “Something weird about the agency?” he asks.
“No, not about Halliday. She seemed to think you and I were at a dinner together before we officially met.”
“A dinner here in Westport?”
“No, in Miami. Back in January a couple of years ago.”
“Miami? Oh right, during that crazy boutique retailer convention. There was a dinner thrown by a client of ours that you presented at.”
Her jaw nearly hits the flagstone.
