“Sea-Tac Airport. About to board a flight up to YVR. It’s been a whirlwind of back-to-back meetings since I last saw you. I miss you.”
I blinked. “I . . . This is so weird.”
“What is?”
“I thought I just saw you.”
“Where?”
“Vancouver. Downtown.”
He laughed. Warm. Because everything Martin did felt warm. That familiar feeling of attraction, affection, curled through me.
“I must have a double. Look, I’m going to be landing in Vancouver in a few hours. I’ll be there for two days. Can I see you tomorrow night, El? Dinner, maybe? I know a special little place in Deep Cove. I’d love to spend longer with you this time.”
“I . . . I’d like that.”
We made a plan to meet at the restaurant, and the call ended. Dazed, I stood in the stinking, cold stairwell for a moment, trying to regroup. My old therapist’s words played through my mind.
“We go through life mishearing and mis-seeing and misunderstanding so that the stories we tell ourselves will add up. We fill in gaps that make no sense because we want to believe something.”
That was it. I’d so badly wanted to see Martin that I’d believed I had.
THEN
ELLIE
Just over two years ago, January 22. Vancouver, BC.
“God, you look good, El. More beautiful than I remembered.”
“And you—you’ve been in the sun. Where’d you get the tan?” I’d known the moment I saw him sitting at the table by the window that it was not Martin I’d seen yesterday. The doppelgänger had not had a tan. And the doppelgänger’s hair had been longer. Martin was sunbrowned and his hair had been trimmed short. He looked good. All my subterranean qualms had evaporated as he stood up and kissed me on the mouth.
“Spain,” he said as he poured wine for me. “Five days on a yacht off Marbella.” A broad smile cut across his face, his teeth white against his bronzed complexion. “Even in winter the Med weather can be stunning.” He set the bottle back into the ice bucket. “I hope you like it. Pinot gris. Sloquannish Hills. It’s a small vineyard in—”
“In the Okanagan. I know. Coincidentally, it’s one of my favorites.” The last time I’d had this wine was at my father’s expense at the Mallard Lounge. Two bottles of it.
“Well, then, I approve of your taste.” He lifted his glass. “Cheers. To seeing you again. I’m glad you could make it, Ellie. I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.”
“I’m glad, too.” We chinked glasses. “Was the Marbella trip for pleasure or business?” I took a sip and felt the lovely spread of warmth through my chest.
“Business. However, I did manage to conduct it on a friend’s yacht. The Spanish financier is backing my marina development in New South Wales. It’s all systems go.”
“Congratulations.”
“I know, right? All the more reason to celebrate.”
I opened the menu, but Martin placed his hand on mine. “I’ve ordered.”
“What?”
He smiled. “We can change it if you like, but I’ve ordered the bouillabaisse. For both of us. It’s the specialty here. I want you to try it, Ellie.” He paused. “I have a reason.”
I felt a vague unease. “What reason?”
He gave a sly grin. “Later,” he said. “First we eat. You might not like the dish, then I shall have to restrategize.”
I set my glass down. “Actually, I have a reason of my own for wanting to see you again.” I took a small box out of my purse. I placed it squarely on the table between us.
A flicker of concern darted through his eyes.
“Open it,” I said.
He opened the box. His gold cuff link winked in the candlelight. He glanced up, met my gaze.
“You dropped it in the elevator. It’s why I phoned you. I wanted to let you know I’d found it. In case it meant something to you.”
He picked the cuff link up out of the box. “Thank you. I was hoping you’d called because you—”
“I went to the hotel to look for you on Monday morning,” I said quickly before I chickened out. “To return it.”
His gaze locked with mine. I watched his face carefully.
“You weren’t there, Martin. You weren’t ever registered as a guest at the hotel.”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “No? Are you sure?”
“I’m certain.”
His mouth flattened at the shift in my tone. “Perhaps Gertrude registered us under the company name.”
I felt my cheeks heat. “Gertrude?”
“My personal assistant.” He looked at me oddly. “Is everything okay, Ellie?”
I glanced down, fiddled with the stem of my glass. I felt like an idiot. “Was she—does Gertrude travel with you?”
“Sometimes. Depends on the trip. She did accompany me on the Vancouver trip—I needed her to handle a bunch of stuff, and to entertain the wife of an investor from Spain. Turned out well—it was his yacht I was on in Marbella.”
“Oh, oh, that’s . . . good.” I cleared my throat. I didn’t dare tell him I’d badgered the barman at the Mallard, too. But it would explain why The Rock might have seen Martin with a woman in the Mallard Lounge. I was spared any further embarrassment by the arrival of the entrées.
The server placed two steaming bowls of bouillabaisse on the table along with small bowls of rouille plus slices of grilled bread. When the server left, Martin took the cuff link box and slipped it into his pocket. “Maybe I dropped it on purpose.”
“Excuse me?”
He crooked up a blond brow. “Maybe I dropped the cuff link like a glass slipper at the ball in the hope you’d come and find me.”
I laughed, maybe a little too loud, but it was a relief to move on from my embarrassment.
The bouillabaisse was fabulous. We ordered more wine and spoke about art, the galleries he’d visited in Europe, paintings he liked, a work he’d recently acquired for his office in Toronto—he showed me a photo
