The Truth

“I’m okay with planning some of our spontaneous outings. A plan doesn’t negate the intention,” Daniel says, ever ready to put this in order, on an agenda, while following protocols.

We use Daniel’s phone as a guide and take the long way home. Every once in a while, Daniel turns us off our route, claiming that it’s going to be a shortcut. Of course, each one invariably turns into an extra-long cut.

But it’s in those extra-long cuts that we make and enjoy the day. Like the roadside fruit stand, where we buy some late season apricots and enjoy them, sitting in the dusty parking area and listening to the insects buzz.

Or the historical marker we stop to read, even though I don’t care who General this or the War of that was. If it gives me more time with Daniel, I’ll read every word of the engraved plaque. Twice.

It’s too early when we get back to the city and to Daniel’s place. “I don’t want to leave,” I tell him as we sit in the parking garage, “but I have to go home.”

“You could stay,” he suggests, his voice quietly intense. “Why do you think I came here rather than your place?”

I shake my head, taking his hand across the console. “I need to get ready for work tomorrow, and I suspect you had work planned for this weekend, right?”

I can tell I’m right by the look on his face. He’s a workaholic, and one weekend away isn’t going to fix that. Not that it needs fixing, exactly, but it is who he is. He sighs, giving me a hopeful smile. “It can wait until tomorrow. That’s the benefit of being the boss.”

I smile at the joke, knowing he doesn’t believe that in the slightest. He is not a man who takes advantage of his CEO title. He works just as hard to keep it as he did to earn it. Besides, there’s a more important reason. “I want to start this between us right,” I tell him, patting his hand. “And that means not hurting your work, too. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to call an Uber, go home, and call Harper to apologize for bailing on her again. And then you can go upstairs and do your thing.”

“That sort of sucks.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “No, what’s going to suck is that reheat meal you’re going to have for dinner. But that’s okay, we’ll work on that another time.”

Daniel sighs again but nods. “You’re right . . . and thank you. But what about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, we’ll be two people at the office,” I reply, giving him an out because I’m still a little scared that there’s a part of him that wants this weekend to just be this weekend.

If he’s going to break my heart, then I’d prefer to be let down easy.

But Daniel’s eyes say more. “And after that?”

Hope flares inside me, and I can’t hold back my little smile. “Tomorrow night, you mean?”

He nods.

“Well, what do you usually do on Monday nights?” I ask, and he frowns.

“This time of year? About five miles with Ricky.” He pauses and gives me a pointed look. “But Ricky could use more time with Miranda.”

Inside, I’m squealing because it sounds like he’s making plans, not only for the future, but with me. “Well, five miles is just too damn much. Maybe three, but my pace. Not Ricky’s and for sure not yours.”

Daniel’s frown flips upside down into a teasing smile. “Miranda might just bring you a thank you cupcake when I tell Ricky. She’ll be able to take the night and—”

“Nope, nope, nope . . . not picturing big Ricky and his prime-time Shania Twain Miranda having a Grand Ol’ Opry of a time.”

“Huh?” Daniel asks, totally confused.

I shake my head, raising my hand to signal I’m telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. “That’s what Ricky called her sometimes before they were dating. His Shania Twain. I guess it was his version of flirting? Now, to me, that’s totally ineffective . . . but I guess it worked on Miranda.” I shrug, still not understanding even after hearing it and seeing its results.

“Okay . . . well, then . . .” Daniel says.

We go quiet for a moment, looking at each other. I want to say something profound about how the last twenty-four hours have changed my life, but that seems a bit overly dramatic and would probably scare off any reasonably sane person.

Daniel lifts a brow, reading something on my face before sighing. “Fuck it.”

He reaches for me, pulling me to him and kissing me deeply. It’s not quite as lip bruising as last night, but still soul claiming and intense, leaving me breathless when he lets me go. “See you tomorrow, Tiffany.”