“No, that would be because you don’t floss. And it won’t sell princess cakes on my watch.” Though maybe he could do a bit of an honorific with some sort of drink—bright pink and sweet enough to rot teeth. He made a mental note to consider it later.
“Mal might like you better if it did.”
“Well, then, princess cakes are back on the menu. If only I’d known it was so simple.”
Owen laughed. “Speaking of, have you talked to her?”
“Not since you dragged her across the backyard during your wedding reception. I think she’s avoiding me.”
“You’re probably right. She can be a little hardheaded sometimes.”
“She’s not being hardheaded.” Travis had never told Owen what had happened between him and Mal, and he had to assume from the fact that he and Owen were still friends that Mal hadn’t shared that piece of history, either. “I deserve it.”
“Oh?” Another thing he liked, Owen would stop showing interest if Travis cut the subject short.
And he did so now. It wasn’t his place to tell Owen. Yes, Owen was his closest friend but Mal was Owen’s sister. And if she didn’t want him to know, Travis had to assume it was for a good reason. “If your sister wants you to know, she’ll tell you. I’ll only say that she’s not out of line with her anger.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Travis could imagine Owen shrugging off the comment. “Mal can hang on to things too long.”
“I hope I’m not one of those things.”
“No, you’re the thing she’s trying to throw off the cliff, but you just keep hanging on.” And Travis had no plans to stop. “Let’s get together this week for dinner. We need to catch up and I’d like you to get to know Grace.”
“Sounds great.” It did. Travis stretched. His head bumped the wall, but he couldn’t slouch down any lower unless he put his feet on top of the footboard. Just another reason to get his own space. A bed that fit. “As long as you keep your sex life to yourself—I don’t think Grace would appreciate your sharing it.”
“That’s because you don’t know her very well.”
He didn’t, but Travis had a hard time believing Owen’s pretty blonde wife would find sex an appropriate topic for dinner conversation. “You willing to lay a bet on that?”
“No, but her mother did offer me condoms the first time I met her. True story. I’ll tell you about that over dinner. Sunday at eight? Elephants?”
“I’ll be there.” And not only because he had nothing else to do.
They chatted for a few more minutes, about the beaches in Fiji, the Vancouver hockey team and whether or not Travis was going to buy a car. Assuming he bought a condo in the downtown core, there was no reason he couldn’t walk to work and everything else he needed. He could join a car co-op which allowed him access to a car a certain number of hours a week on those rare occasions that he might need one.
But then he wouldn’t have his own car that was at his disposal any time he wanted it, wouldn’t have the ability to pack a bag, toss it in the back seat and just drive somewhere else. He exhaled. There was something about the freedom of owning a car. The freedom to convince a certain brunette to hop in with him and go away for a weekend in Seattle or Whistler or to visit his family. And he’d need a car when he visited his family.
Buses in Duthie River were so rare as to be practically nonexistent, and his parents shared a car since his dad had to drive past his mom’s hair salon on his way to the logging site. He could have borrowed his grandmother’s Buick, but Gram had sold it last year when the doctor recommended that she stop driving. She’d turned around and given the money to his younger brother Shane.
Shane had used the car money to buy a new truck—one with four-wheel drive, undercarriage lights, a hemi engine and a custom paint job that Travis had been relieved to learn didn’t include flames.
Travis didn’t resent the gift. His grandmother had given him money for his education. She hadn’t had much and he hadn’t wanted to take it, but she’d insisted and it had motivated him not to waste her generosity. And Shane had never seemed resentful about that, so if his brother wanted to soup up his old truck, then Travis was all for it.
He added car shopping to his ever-growing list, then settled on the couch with a bag of chips and a soda and watched sports highlights for the rest of the evening.
His plans for the renovations, his own apartment and a car could take a night off.
IT WAS EASIER than Mal had expected to transfer Grace’s matchmaker package over to her. A phone call from Grace to authorize the switch and a confirmation number was all that was required to officially sign up Mal. She’d done it before she could talk herself out of it.
The time was now. Actually, the time was now past. She should have done something like this, taken control of her life, months ago. But Mal was a believer in better late than never, and she refused to beat herself up more than she already had. She was taking the next steps, moving on with her life and making a new start.
The matchmaking service was located in a tall building in the downtown business district. The lobby was elegant, polished and gated. Mal had to check in with the desk officer before she was given access to the elevators.
She appreciated that they took their safety and that of their clients seriously. She watched the ascending numbers as the elevator with an art deco style grille and marble flooring zipped upward. The top half of the space was mirrored, so Mal checked her lipstick and smoothed her hair before she reached her destination.
Obviously she wouldn’t be meeting any potential dates today, but she wanted to make a good impression on the matchmaker, Angela. When they’d spoken over the phone, Angela had explained that part of the service was image consultation and she’d advised Mal to dress as if she was meeting a date for a casual weekly lunch.
Mal had pulled out her favorite suit. Not her power suit, as that made her look intimidating and tough, but her favorite one. It was a soft dove gray skirt set; she matched it with a silk shirt in cream and T-strap heels. A statement necklace and matching bracelet in the same cream color finished off the look. Her makeup was muted and she left her hair down, feeling as though the loose waves helped promote the casual aspect. She wasn’t tied back or pinned up, she was friendly and welcoming.
Her stomach jittered as the elevator reached its destination with a ding. She swallowed, rolled her shoulders back and stepped out into the hall.
The business took up the entire eighth floor, but rather than the elevator opening directly into the reception area, it opened onto a short hallway that led to a set of frosted glass doors. The business, simply named Vancouver Matchmaking Services, called itself VMS. The letters were printed on the doors in a rich charcoal shade, the effect one of professionalism and wealth.
As it should be. The service had certainly cost enough.
Mal pressed the discreet buzzer to the left of the door, as she’d been directed by the matchmaker, and waited for the young man sitting at the desk to buzz her in. His green eyes were friendly when she walked in. “Ms. Ford?”
“Yes. Mallory.” She exhaled slowly and reminded herself that she wanted to do this.
“Wonderful, you’re right on time.” He rose from the expansive wooden desk that ran across a large portion of the wall to come around the side. “May I take your coat?”
Although it had been unseasonably warm for Owen and Grace’s wedding, the typical Vancouver spring weather