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“I guess I should head home,” I said, giving him the opportunity toleave.
“I was hoping you may have time forlunch.”
“I thought you’d have to go, sell businesses and allthat.”
“It’s Sunday, I don’t sell businesses on Sunday, just one of my little rules.” He gave me that smirkagain.
“Why were you here?” Isaid.
“I didn’t say I didn’t work, I just don’tsell.”
“I’m not sure I’m dressed for lunch,” I said, looking down at my jeans andConverse.
“You don’t need to be. Come on,” he said, not giving me an opportunity to reply as he strodeoff.
I jogged to catch up. We walked into one of the many underground car parks and towards his car. He clicked a button on his key fob, and I saw the boot rise slightly. He placed my purchases in, shut it, and then walked to the passenger side to open the door forme.
“You didn’t pay for the coffee,” I said, as I lowered into the seat and not entirely sure why that thought had just come tome.
“I own the shop,Lauren.”
He shut the door and walked to his side. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever truly get used to being in the wrong side of a car and on the wrong side of the road,” he said, as he climbedin.
“How do you know it’s the wrong side? Maybe it’s the right side, and you’ve been doing it wrong all thistime.”
“I don’t do thingswrong.”
“Ever? I don’t believethat.”
Once the barrier rose, we pulled out into the waitingtraffic.
“I do things that don’t have the result I was hoping for, but never anythingwrong.”
“Why? How do you know what’s right if you don’t makemistakes?”
“I make mistakes, but that’s not what you asked. I don’t choose to do anything wrong. Like I said, if it doesn’t work out, that’s a problem, not awrongdoing.”
It was a twenty minute drive before we pulled up outside a small bistro nestled in a back street. It didn’t seem the kind of place I’d expect him to dine at, but then, he hadn’t done anything so far that I’dexpect.
I wasn’t sure he was even legally parked as he turned off the engine and climbed out. He opened my door, held out his hand to help me, and we walked into therestaurant.
“Do you own this as well?” I whispered while we waited to beseated.
“No, I just like the food. I eat here alot.”
The restaurant wasn’t busy and we were quickly shown to a small table. Mackenzie pulled his chair away from being opposite to me and rearranged it to the side. Only the corner of the small table separated us. We were handedmenus.
A jug of iced water was placed on the table and two glasses of white wine. I hadn’t ordered any wine. A waiter stood waiting to take our order, not giving me enough time to even read through the wholemenu.
Mackenzie chose a rare steak with sautéed vegetables. Because I wasn’t given a chance to decide, I chose thesame.
“So,” Mackenzie said, as he slid one glass of the wine slightly towardsme.
“So,what?”
“Did you think on what I said, in mytext?”
I took a sip of wine, so I didn’t rush into ananswer.
