What Are The Chances?. D. Graham R.

was right when he assumed I would like it. And, although it was cold out, being isolated from the rest of the party made me way more comfortable. “The city lights are beautiful,” I said.

      He pointed further down the coastline to a tiny cluster of lights off by themselves. “Can you see the Inn?”

      “Oh yeah. It looks so tiny.” I shivered from the cold and folded my hands in my lap. “My granddad sold it.”

      “I heard. How do feel about that?”

      “Not great, but he’s ready to retire.”

      “Why doesn’t your mom live at the Inn?”

      “She works at a law firm in Vancouver. We have an apartment down there. She used to visit on weekends when I was a kid, but she doesn’t come up much since my dad died. She’s phobic about driving on the highway.” I inhaled and changed the subject, “What is your favourite city?”

      “New York.”

      “I’m jealous you’ve been there. I can only imagine what it must be like. I would love to see the architecture in real life someday.”

      He nodded. “Every self-respecting architect needs to visit the Guggenheim. We should definitely do something about that.”

      I glanced at him, hoping he didn’t mean he wanted to take me there. I wasn’t sure how he even knew I was planning to study architecture. If I had told him, it meant he remembered it for more than a year. “Maybe offering trips to New York was what you had to do to impress your old friends, but people like me don’t need grand gestures to decide if we like a person or not.”

      He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jewellery box. “Would you be opposed to a small gesture?”

      “Mason. You didn’t need to buy me anything.”

      “Sorry. I’m used to showing appreciation with gifts.” He lifted the lid. Inside was a necklace with a very small, blue, enamelled, flower pendant. “It’s hand made,” he added as he searched my face to see if I liked it.

      “Wow. It’s beautiful and so unique.”

      “Like you,” he said.

      My face flared up in what probably looked like scarlet blotches. Fortunately, it was too dark for him to notice. It was very strange and overwhelming to hear a guy talk like he was totally into me when we had barely even started our first date. It was probably his game. But it didn’t feel like he was playing me. However, that’s likely what all girls who’ve been played believe. I didn’t know what to think. “It must have been very expensive. I can’t accept it.”

      “You have to. I bought it in Paris when I was there last month, so I can’t return it.”

      “You were in Paris last month? Really? I was there three weeks ago. That would have been so surreal to run into each other there.”

      He slid the chain over my collarbone and I gathered my hair over one shoulder so he could clasp it at the back. Money was obviously not a big deal to him, but it made me feel weird to accept such a lavish gift on a first date. His intentions were sweet, though, so I reluctantly accepted it.

      “Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.” He ran the back of his hand down my arm, which sent goose bumps shooting across the surface. “You’re cold. We should go back inside.”

      “No, it’s only goose bumps. I’m okay. This is nice, just the two of us. Let’s stay here and talk a little longer.”

      He agreed and pulled me close to wrap his arm around my shoulder. “Where are you going to school in the fall?” he asked.

      “University of Toronto. I think. Do you regret not going to school?”

      “Yes and no. I was going to end up working for my dad anyway, so in some ways there was no point in delaying a guaranteed career. In other ways, I sometimes wish I could have decided my career path on my own.”

      “What subject interests you?”

      He chuckled a little and glanced at me. “Marine biology.”

      “Why is that funny?”

      “It’s not. It’s just that nobody’s ever asked me before. Everyone always assumes I would want to make a fortune working for my dad.”

      “Does working for your dad make you happy?”

      His eyebrows angled together in a deep crease again. “I guess. It depends on your definition of happy.”

      “Free to be yourself, feeling safe, important and loved, being passionate about what you do, and making the people you care about smile.”

      “Wow. You’ve obviously thought about that one before.”

      “Not really. I just know what makes me happy. Don’t you know?”

      He appeared to get lost in his thoughts as he looked out over the stormy water. His face was essentially perfect except for the small scar that cut through his right eyebrow. It honestly felt a little bizarre to sit so close to him since all the other times I’d ever admired him were only ever from a distance. He turned to me and said, “I’m happy right now. I know that much.”

      I smiled. “You say very provocative things, Mr. Cartwright.”

      “Provocative is good, right?”

      I laughed. “I haven’t quite figured that out yet, but I’m curious to find out.”

      “Curious is good.” He raised his eyebrows, pleased with the glimmer of hope. “You must be getting cold. Do you want to get out of here and go somewhere for dessert or something?”

      I wasn’t looking forward to making our way through his so-called friends again, but it was unpleasantly cold and we couldn’t hide out on the roof all night, so I agreed. We dashed back through the rain across the rooftop and got soaked. As we walked hand in hand down the suspended staircase, I scanned the room, making note of the unfriendly faces so we could avoid them. Corrine was across the room, flirting with a guy who was seated on the arm of a couch with his back to me. The muscles of his shoulders pulled his shirt tight and I knew who he was without even seeing his face. Corrine laughed and flipped her head to the side to make her long platinum hair cascade over her shoulder. She spotted Mason and me and her expression transitioned into a snotty sneer.