not the kind of man she saw herself settling down with in the future.
Grace strode back to the desk and grabbed her purse, hoping the flames in her cheeks weren’t visible.
“You look good,” Owen noted, leaning against the wall, easily, as though he’d been here a million times and had long since picked out his spot.
She refused to be rattled by the compliment. Since it was a Sunday, a day her office was closed unless she had a meeting scheduled, she’d selected a more casual look than her usual business wear. A racerback sheath dress that reached the tops of her knees in the palest periwinkle and flat gold sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot and she wore simple gold hoops at her ears and wrist. She did look good, but it was nice that he’d noticed. “Thank you.”
As Grace ushered him out of her office, she wondered again why she had agreed to go out for a meal with him when their time would be much more usefully spent in her boardroom or, better yet, discussing this by email so that she could consider his ideas and then get back to him with a list of possibilities. But she didn’t say anything as they headed down the sidewalk, the morning still cool despite the sun high overhead. It wouldn’t really heat up for a few hours and by then Grace would be back in either her office or her apartment. And it would be good to get some sustenance if she planned to spend the rest of the day working.
She lifted her face to the sun, appreciating the warmth that might disguise any lingering heat in her cheeks. She didn’t often spend time outdoors, a fact that her family—organic farmers—couldn’t understand or value. But then they sort of felt that way about her, too. The one who left home and the business. The one who studied business and commerce in university. The one who stayed on the mainland after graduation and started a business there. A commercial business that, according to her mother, “benefited off the backs of social conventions that no longer had a place in today’s world.”
Grace didn’t agree. She often rebutted her mother’s arguments with some of her own. That marriage created a sort of social stability, provided a cornerstone on which to rest. A minicommunity that spread out to embrace the surrounding areas. But the truth was she liked the romance of it all.
The promise to share a life together, to protect and support each other. Granted her parents had done the same thing without ever getting married. Cedar Matthews and Sparrow Monroe—though they disliked using last names, claiming it supported a patriarchal society—had been together for more than thirty years and fully committed to their family without ever making it official. But it wasn’t the same.
Grace shook the unsettling thoughts away. She was different than her parents, than her younger brother, Sky, who’d always been content to toe the family line, to learn the business of farming, and who, along with his girlfriend, lived in the small guesthouse built beside the main farmhouse where Grace had grown up. And she was okay with that.
They didn’t have to appreciate what she did or recognize the worth of the services she provided. She appreciated herself.
“So, tell me what kind of party you have in mind,” she said as they crossed the street and headed down toward the rows of restaurants and cafés that ringed Yaletown, a popular Vancouver neighborhood. No time like the present to get started.
“Let’s get settled first,” Owen suggested. As though she wasn’t totally unsettled by the mere fact that they were out together.
But Grace kept that insight to herself and nodded as they made their way down the cobblestone sidewalks that were common throughout much of the area. Most restaurants had tables pulled out that were exposed to the sun and already filled with customers eating and drinking.
Owen didn’t stop at any of the ones they passed, continuing down the sloped sidewalks toward False Creek and a view of the water. Grace was content to keep the peace and simply enjoy the silence of companionship. This was the kind of thing she hoped to make a regular part of her life with her future husband—being elegantly dressed for a casual brunch, enjoying a meal of eggs Florentine or seafood crepes while they discussed travel plans, art, music or theater.
Next year, she reminded herself. At the end of the five-year plan when her business was flourishing and she no longer needed to oversee every detail. When she had staff to handle meetings and make certain decisions without coming to her for approval. Then she’d block off some time specifically for finding the right kind of man to marry. She didn’t think it would take longer than a year, eighteen months at most.
She was an attractive woman who kept herself in good shape. She had her own money, a thriving business and a condo in the city. She was a good conversationalist, cultured and well-read. She was, in short, a great catch. Even in a city of great catches, she knew she’d stand out. Just as soon as she put herself out there.
Her eyes darted to Owen. He looked the part, but she knew he wasn’t. According to what she’d uncovered online, he was a regular at the city’s hottest nightclubs and a well-known playboy who rarely showed up to any event with a woman more than once. Not husband material. Not even close.
Owen stopped in front of Gascony, a popular spot for brunch thanks to its location on the water and fabulous food. The place was full even though it was still early for many people, but Owen seemed to know the hostess, who found them a small table for two by a window that looked out at the marina. Grace unfolded the cloth napkin and placed it in her lap.
She left her notebook in her purse, determining that while pulling it out might be useful for remembering everything that was said, it would be considered tacky. Gascony wasn’t the kind of place where people took notes or dictated business deals. As soon as she got back to the office, she’d write down everything she could recall and then follow up with an email to Owen to confirm.
A server came by and filled their water glasses. Owen ordered a pot of coffee and tomato juice, while Grace stuck with the more traditional orange juice. She waited until the drinks arrived and their food orders were taken before returning to the reason for the meeting. “So, about the party.”
Owen smiled. “I wondered how long you’d hold off. I had twenty that you wouldn’t make it to the restaurant.”
“Twenty with whom?”
“With myself.” He offered the cream and sugar to her, but she shook her head. She liked her coffee strong and black. Owen put the small tray near the edge of the table without adding anything to his cup, either. “It was a brilliant bet. I couldn’t lose.”
Grace pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile. It didn’t work.
But rather than acknowledge her grin or make another joke, Owen merely smiled back, seemingly content that he’d been able to make it happen. “And for the record, I’ve never planned an engagement party, so I was kind of hoping you’d take the lead.”
She was certainly capable of that. She had more engagement parties under her belt than she could remember. Grace took a sip of her coffee, enjoying the hot sharpness. “Are you sure you should be the one organizing it?” She didn’t mean to be rude, but in her experience, a party was more successful when the organizer had some sort of idea of what they’d like to see occur.
“As it happens, I agree with you.” Owen didn’t lose his relaxed pose. “But the family has decided that it should be my responsibility.” He shrugged.
Grace knew about living up to or not living up to family ideals and demands and didn’t push. “Fair enough. Then let’s talk basics. Time, place, that sort of thing.”
Owen nodded. “Soon, I think. I’d like to take advantage of the summer weather.”
“When? We’ll have to print and send invitations, book the space.” Grace began counting off the multitude of preplanning details that went into throwing a truly great party. “Decide on catering, make sure the bride and groom are available.”
Owen reached out and placed a hand over hers. His fingers were warm when he gave her a gentle squeeze and sent an unanticipated shudder through her. “It’ll work out.”
As