When they reached the door together, Marise stood close beside her. Kathleen turned to her, hands clutching her coat loosely at the collar. “Thank you,” she said, voice low. “I had a really great time.”
“So did I,” Marise said. “You surprised me.”
“Oh?”
“You weren’t what I expected.”
Kathleen smiled. “Neither were you.”
Marise leaned forward, close enough to kiss her cheek. “May I come in?”
There was a pause. Kathleen’s smile didn’t fade, but she shook her head. “Not tonight.”
Disappointment curled through Marise’s stomach. “I understand.”
Kathleen took a half step closer, then whispered, “Goodbye,” and slipped inside.
Marise was left alone, wondering what had happened. She hadn’t expected a knock back.
She turned, pulled her coat tighter around her chest, and walked back to the cab, already replaying every word. Where had she gone wrong?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kathleen closed her apartment door and stood for a moment in the silence. She could still smell the faint scent of garlic and red wine on her clothes.
She let her coat slide to the floor, moved to the kitchen and switched on the light. She’d stepped back into her life, but it didn’t seem to quite fit now. The dinner tonight had been wonderful. Veronica had been charming—there was a quiet ease to her, a way of holding eye contact that made you feel like you were the only person in the room. Notseen,but understood. Even when Kathleen dodged questions about her work, Veronica hadn’t looked away.
But when they'd stood at her front door, and that soft voice asked to come in, she’d said no. Not that she didn’t want her to— God, shewantedto—but her nerve failed her.
She felt...inadequate. Not pretty enough. Not experienced enough. Not anything enough.
Veronica was poised, stylish, probably used to candlelit lounges and penthouses with walk-in wine cellars. Kathleen had half a bottle of white in her fridge and mismatched towels in her bathroom. She couldn’t compete.
She filled the kettle, turned it on, and didn’t bother making tea. Her mind had already drifted to the invitation tucked into her inbox. A gallery exhibition opening. Natalie Carson, her old friend from Harvard, was the artist. They hadn’t spoken in a while, but Kathleen had been meaning to go to support her. At the time she’d thought she would cancel.
Now, she’d ring the Langford agency in the morning.
At work the next day, she waited until nine then reached for the phone. She opened her contacts, found the agency number, and hit call.
A moment later, a woman’s voice answered. “Good morning, Langford Services. This is Elise.”
“Hello,” Kathleen said, trying to sound offbeat. “This is Kathleen Knowles. I’d like to make another appointment.”
There was a pause then Elise replied as if there was nothing odd about her ringing after the dinner date. “Certainly, Kathleen. What day and time?”
“Friday night, around seven. It’s a gallery exhibition. A friend of mine from university is showing her work. I’d like… company.”
“Of course. Any preferences for your companion that evening?”
Kathleen cleared her throat. “Yes. Veronica please.”
There was another pause, then Elise was brief and professional. “I’ll check Veronica’s availability and confirm with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” She lowered her voice. “Please tell her… I’d really like to see her again.”
“Noted,” Elise said, with a smile audible in her voice. “We’ll be in touch soon.”
The call ended.
