“Hi.” I set my basket down and gave him a hug.
He braced my shoulders, pulled away, and looked me up and down. “You’re glowin’, lady. Did you have a good morning?”
My irritation vanished. “Sounds like you’re getting familiar with this type of look?”
“Well, yes, I won’t lie. Ashley has been glowing nonstop for the last couple of weeks.”
“Are you careful with her?”
“Yes, we are.”
I smiled. “Good boy. What are your plans with her?”
“She really wants to go to Berkeley next year, so I’m gonna try and get into the music program at the University of San Francisco.”
“That’s wonderful, Dylan.”
“And I’ll be close to you guys.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you were going to Napa?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Kate, you told me yourself.”
“I did? When?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and looked up to the ceiling curiously. “Do you not remember anything before you were attacked?”
“I remember stuff, I just don’t remember that day very well.”
“Jamie sent you a letter asking you to marry him.”
“I knew that.”
“Well, don’t you remember what you told me?”
Searching my mind, I shook my head slowly. “No, I don’t remember. What do you remember?”
“I remember your exact fucking words.”
“What, tell me?” I poked him in the chest with my index finger.
“You said you were gonna quit the Crier, go out to Napa, finish your book, and say absolutely one hundred percent yes to Jamie. I’ll never forget the way you looked that day, all bright-eyed and glowing, kind of like you are now.”
“Holy shit, I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yep.”
But did I still want that?
? ? ?
Jamie hailed a cab at the front of my building, which took us to a Vietnamese restaurant on State Street. It was a perfect day for pho. It was in the low thirties but not snowing—just windy and very cold—so the warm soup in a super intimate setting was nice. I didn’t want to talk about what I would ask Paul. I just wanted to have a nice lunch and enjoy my time with Jamie.
I stared at him from across the table. He wore a black T-shirt and black jacket with dark jeans and combat boots. His hair, although much shorter, still revealed streaks of blond. It was mussed in a sexy way on top. For some reason, when he was completely clean-shaven, it made his eyes look greener and the dimple on his left cheek deeper. His lips were always pale pink and healthy looking. I watched him slurp up the noodles in his soup like a little boy. Jamie was, by far, the most unpretentious billionaire in the world. He lived for the moment. He loved his life and just wanted to share it . . . with me.
“Jamie?” I said into my soup.
I felt him look up. “Yes, baby?”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“I haven’t said this, but I’m truly sorry about the article and jumping to conclusions. I’ve been running away from making connections with people most of my life, but I’m finished with that. I want to go back to Napa with you. I want to try it.”
He reached over the table and took my hands in his. “I would love that.”
We walked several blocks in the freezing cold. I stayed tucked against Jamie’s side until we reached Starbucks. It hit me as soon as I walked in that I didn’t know what Paul looked like or how I would find him, but I didn’t have to. He found me almost immediately.
“Kate?”
I turned to see a handsome man, probably in his late forties, much younger than I imagined. He had salt-and-pepper hair, brown eyes, and a thin, fit build. There was something very familiar about him. He was dressed nicely in a sweater and pants, the perfect picture of a distinguished gentleman.
“Paul.” I stuck my hand out but he hugged me instead.
“I could have spotted you a million miles away. You’re as striking and beautiful as your mother was.”
“Thank you,” I said, taken aback.
“I’m Jamie, Kate’s fiancé.” Jamie stuck out his hand and Paul shook it.
“Nice to meet you. Shall we have a seat?” Paul gestured to a table in the corner.
“I’ll get us coffees,” Jamie said.
I sat across from Paul and scanned his features. “So you dated my mother?”
“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking.”
“Oh?”
“I was much younger than her. In my twenties. She was close to forty.”
“Actually, I was thinking that you look very familiar to me.”
“Well, I’m a writer. Maybe you’ve read one of my novels?”
“Yes, that’s it!” It hit me instantly. The man I was sitting across from was the award-winning, bestselling author Paul Sullivan. “What an honor to meet you. I’m a writer as well. I write for the Crier.”
“Oh yes, I’m familiar with that paper. That’s wonderful, but honestly, I’m not surprised. Your mother was a huge fan of the written word.”