“I bet that’s what you wish Tyler said to you last night.” Vaughn turned his phone around and dropped his jaw.
“Wait, let me see.” Lindsey stepped around the tripod and gawked at Vaughn’s phone screen. “Ummm, does he look like that in person?”
Emma slumped against the counter. “No. Even better.”
* * *
Tyler sat back at the desk in his apartment and picked up the robust roast beef sandwich he’d just made himself. He stared at the search results on his screen after typing Emma's name into the search engine. Once he’d visited at least five websites, he decided he needed food for this venture.
Where to start. He didn’t normally search up girls he met online. Actually, this may have only been the second time. The first being Serina in Toronto, who nearly begged him to look up her acting reel on YouTube.
He clicked on Emma’s official website and stared at her laughing expression, focused just off-camera as if someone was standing there making snarky comments.Three different laughs.This was the look she’d given him when she’d discovered he knew what a Bieber Brew was.
He shifted in his chair and took another bite of his sandwich, then scrolled down to read her bio.
Hi! I’m Emma, a dedicated food stylist with a passion for culinary elegance. Merging the worlds of art and cuisine, I transform ordinary dishes into compelling stories that will elevate your brand. Every plate is a canvas, and with precision, creativity, and a keen eye for detail, I take pride in bringing each culinary creation to life.
He kept scrolling through her portfolio and scanned through the photos. Sunny windows with freshly baked breads, pizza on a wooden peel in front of a stone hearth, a steaming cup of coffee. Her work was good.
Tyler paused when a picture of Emma came up, her brow pulled together slightly as she adjusted an apple on top of a fruit bowl. Her dirty-blond hair was pulled back, and the white sleeveless top she wore made her green eyes pop.
He swiped over to another tab and opened her initial messages to him, then clicked on her profile. He’d looked at this before but hadn’t dug much deeper than her first few posts.This wasn’t spying. Her profile was set to public.
He scrolled down her page and took in photos of Emma with friends, one with Sean and an older couple that had to be their parents—Emma looked exactly like her mother. Then he hit a dead zone. No pictures posted, only articles and comments from friends. He checked the date stamp. December 2021.
Tyler frowned. No Christmas or New Year’s photos. Nothing. He finished off the last of his sandwich and was about to scroll back further when his phone rang. The name ‘Troy Bowen’ flashed on the screen.
Tyler hit ‘answer’ and put the call on speakerphone. "Hey, what's up?" Tyler asked, trying to sound casual and not like he was fantasizing about a woman he barely knew as he looked at her pictures online.
"Ty, I need to go over some accounting adjustments with you," his father said, diving straight into business.He hated when he called him Ty,like they were close, which they weren’t. He was sure his father thought they were, but only because he didn’t know how to be close to anyone. If Tyler hadn’t been able to watch his mother and see the difference between the two of them, he likely wouldn’t have known there was another option.
Troy Bowen allowed people to skate over the surface of his life, but never let them crack the ice and fall in. His mother was the opposite. She always offered gaps and openings for people to dive deep and swim if they chose to. He wished he had chosen to more often.
They discussed numbers and strategies for a while, but when Tyler attempted to steer the conversation toward his father's recent medical appointments, he was met with the typical deflection and vague responses.
“Oh, you know doctors. Never wanting to commit.” If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle.
“Right, well I’m here if you need me.” He’d moved to Calgary to help him, not just with the renovation projects but with his life. The last time he had pancreatic cancer, he’d been bedridden for months during and after treatment. Troy had opted out of treatment this time, and Tyler couldn’t blame him. Frankly, he was lucky to have survived the first time. Now he was in his sixties and the prognosis wasn’t hopeful either way. Better not to waste your last years or months wasting away in a hospital bed.
The doctor had told them when Troy’s body started to crash, it would be hard and fast. Seemed he would have to wait until then before Troy would be willing to ask for help.
“Everything's fine, Ty. Don't worry about it. See you for dinner Sunday, yes? Ok.” Troy hung up before he could answer.
Dinner Sunday.He wished he’d tried harder to set up dinner another night so he wouldn’t miss Sunday Supper at Sean’s. He’d attended those with the team for the past few months now. How had he never noticed a picture of Emma when he’d been at the house?
Probably because he hadn’t been looking. He’d only walked from the entryway into the kitchen and dining room, then down to the basement to play ping pong and air hockey. There was a family photo there, but Sean and all his siblings looked like they were still in grade school.
He stood and took his plate back to the kitchen. In some sick way, he knew this was his father trying to connect. Have him meet at a Michelin star restaurant with whatever woman he was trying to impress, then laugh and joke as if they’d done this for years.
He could expect comments about how the two of them were cut from the same cloth. Troy would ask about his love life, then clap him on the shoulder and say,“Good man. Always keep your eyes open for the right woman and enjoy the others in the meantime.”
He’d wink at his date, presumably to assure her she was the right woman he spoke of, though of course she never was. This Sunday he was bringing Melanie. That was three dinners in a row for her. She’d lasted longer than most.
Tyler sat and leaned back in his chair, scrolling up and moving his mouse over Emma’s smiling face in front of l’Arc du Triomphe. May of 2022 she’d been in Paris.
Suck that, André. He did know some French.
ChapterSeven
