“That’s great news.”
“So, what’s up?” He put his car in reverse and backed out of the drive.
“The client on my Tampa project is pushing back on the design approval. I’ve spoken with him at length over the phone and Skype, sent him revised sketches, but the man just will not sign off. I hate to ask you, but I think he needs a personal visit. If he doesn’t get onboard within the next week, the project timeline will be shot to hell.”
Damn. Jack let the car drift to the curb and closed his eyes. “Okay.”
“I’m so sorry, Jack.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault. Just life, right?” At least it was his life. “Shoot me all the information, and I’ll have Penny coordinate with the client.”
“I promise to make it up to you when I’m back in the office,” Kelsey said.
“Not a problem.”
“Jack, I hate to tell you this, but it’s starting to look like we’re going to need you back in the office sooner than we thought. The junior architects are flailing under the burden. Once you get your father’s company financials cleared up, maybe you can come to New York during the week and head back to your father’s on weekends.”
Jack closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple. “I understand. I’ll take care of Tampa. Let’s play it by ear after that. Take care of yourself and that baby.”
Jack disconnected with the weight of the world on his shoulders again, which was when he realized just how good he’d been feeling without it.
18
Miranda paced the waiting area of Bourbon Steak, an upscale restaurant in the heart of downtown Nashville, where the waiters wore black uniforms and white aprons. Where the tables were draped in linen and the drinks cost more than an entire meal at fifty different restaurants in town.
She’d dressed as well as her wardrobe allowed: black jeans and a thin floral-print sleeveless blouse with small ruffles at the shoulders. She only owned four pairs of shoes—work boots, cowboy boots, cross trainers, and flip-flops. Of course, the cowboy boots won out.
She leaned her shoulder against a wall, crossed her arms, and silently rehearsed what she’d tell Jack. She’d had no idea he was connected with Pinnacle. She’d been too shocked when she’d seen him at the site to behave appropriately. That everything he’d told
her in confidence would remain in confidence. Of course, then she’d have to open up even more about her life now. He’d want to know how a woman ended up as a welding foreman. Everyone did.
She rocked tension from her shoulders. After so many years of assumptions and judgments by others, she shouldn’t be concerned how this man viewed her. All they had between them was sex. Great sex, but still just sex. Part of her was looking forward to telling him everything. To getting it all out in the open. To seeing how he reacted. She also hoped it would open up a discussion about Alex, because he was Miranda’s friend and she wasn’t about to start ending friendships because it suited someone else.
She pulled out her phone, checked the time, and looked for a message from Jack just as the restaurant door opened and he walked in. He wore tan pants and a chambray shirt, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. As soon as his gaze fell on her, he smiled. Happiness sparkled in his eyes. Miranda’s heart squeezed. She extended her hand, and he took it, pulling her close.
He cupped her face, stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, and offered a husky “Hi.”
She grinned and fingered the open collar of his shirt. “Hi.”
“You look amazing.” He lowered his head and kissed her. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a week.”
“Your table is ready.”
The host’s voice broke them apart, but Jack kept his hand in hers as they moved through the restaurant to a spacious booth by the window. They accepted menus and placed drink orders, a local IPA for Jack and Miranda’s signature club soda and lime.
When the host was gone, they just grinned at each other. All her ideas of breaking things off fell away when she was face-to-face with him.
She reached across the table and took his hand. “How are you?”
“Great, now. You?”
“Same.”
A waiter came over with their drinks, and it took a minute for them to resettle.
“How’s your dad?” she asked, hoping to segue into her news.
“Better.” He nodded and held her hand in both of his. “A little better every day. He’s recognizing people, remembering things. He’s stronger. It’s good. Really good.”