Seize the day.
Because yes, I am hoping for one specific result from this evening’s event.
How long has it been?
The thing with living in a small town is that you have to be discrete about your indulgences. Take a local guy home and everyone in town will know what you’ve been up to before you finish breakfast the next morning. Date somebody from Empire and everyone will feel obliged to provide updates of his activities when you aren’t together – as well as abundant details about his past relationships. I can do without all of that, which means I only indulge when I’m elsewhere.
Conferences and conventions have a similar dynamic. Eventhough we’re all adults, the winemaker’s community is similar to a small town, but one spread around the planet. Everyone knows everyone, and people everywhere love gossip.
So, it’s vacation sex for me, and I don’t have to tell you how often I take a vacation. The last one was three years ago. I’m past due for intimacy by any accounting.
I know that heads turn as I walk into the sparkling ballroom on the top floor of my hotel, Toronto’s newest addition to the array of luxury hotels in the downtown core. I decide to take more spa days in future.
The windows are floor-to-ceiling and the entire city sparkles at our feet, like a constellation arranged for our pleasure. The music is muted and elegant, and there’s that hush of expectation and muted conversation. There are waiters circulating with silver trays, each one loaded with champagne glasses, the bubbles sparkling away. The hors d’oeuvres are beautiful and delicious. There is laughter and playful conversation, familiar faces and unknown ones.
I wave to Emma, also looking very glam tonight, who is with the Niagara crowd. She mouths a “wow” before she smiles. I gesture to her sleek black sheath and make a chef’s kiss, the two of us almost breaking into laughter after that. But I don’t want to stand among the triumphant Niagara people while they claim every award.
People stick to those they know, I guess. I recognize some greenhouse growers from around Empire, mostly because they’re standing together, and wave a polite greeting. The Prince Edward County group is tighter and they’re all together regardless of their crop. The winemakers are mingling with the brewers, bakers and boutique farmers. They’re as far east of Toronto as Empire is west, also along the north shore of a lake – but theirs is Lake Ontario and ours is Lake Erie. I’m considering the merit of just walking up to agroup of strangers and introducing myself, and then I see him.
He’s very still. He’s very handsome. He’s very trim and his tux is not a rental.
Better yet, he’s watching me avidly.
I can see even from here that his eyes are blue. His hair is dark and his eyes are thickly lashed. His little smile is appreciative and very alluring.
I smile back.
Because the only thing better than a gorgeous man in a tux, is the gorgeous man who haunts your dreams in a tux. If he’s looking at you as if you’d make the best possible dessert, that’s just the icing (ha) on the cake.
Against every expectation, Jake Cavendish is at this reception, for reasons I can’t bother to figure out when he’s looking at me like he is right now.
I know he doesn’t recognize me. I’ve changed since high school, after all. He probably doesn’t expect to see anyone he knows here. And the glint in those eyes tells me that he has only one agenda item.
Funny how I suspect it’s exactly the same as mine.
We eye each other for a potent moment, one in which time stands still, then a waiter passes close to me. I stop him with a gesture, taking the barest glance away from Jake, and claim two glasses of champagne. When I look back, Jake’s watching me with interest.
I don’t take time to reconsider my impulse. In a way, this is Cameron’s night or certainly her influence. I walk directly toward Jake, and he straightens, his gaze becoming more vehemently blue. His smile widens just a little, like I’ve surprised him and he likes it. By the time I’m standing before him, offering the glass of champagne, I don’t care whether Rhodes Vineyards wins any awards or not. The Niagara bunch canhave them all. There’s only one thing I want, one thing I’ve wanted for a long time.
Our fingertips brush in the transaction and he moves closer, his voice dropping low. “I’m Jake Cavendish,” he murmurs and I know for sure that he has no clue who I am.
That means there’s zero chance of anyone in Empire guessing that I seized opportunity when it knocked.
Carpe diem.It’s the choice I’m making right now.
I lean toward him, inhaling the scent of his cologne, and murmur in his ear. “I am Isobelle,” I breathe, surprising myself when I put on a French accent.
“So very pleased to meet you, Isobelle,” he says and touches his glass to mine. Our gazes hold as we sip and there’s no one else in the room anymore. No one but Jake and me – and whatever we’re going to do together tonight.
I have a very good idea what that’s going to be and I can’t wait.
30
SYLVIA
Iget home later than I’d hoped, only to find Cameron sitting in one of the new Muskoka chairs. I can see the blue light from Sierra’s phone inside the trailer and hear her talking excitedly, undoubtedly to Lila. The fairy lights are twinkling and Una’s windows are dark. My disappointment that Mike’s truck isn’t there must be obvious, because Cameron smiles.
“He said he had to go. I promised to wait until you got home.”
