view. It was a trendy establishment that I actually didn’t care for all that much, but I figured if Jack was going to make me meet him in what I felt was something of a hostage negotiation, I could at least get an expensive meal out of him.
When I arrived, I found him waiting at the bar. I approached him slowly, doing my best to size him up. He was drinking dark beer, hunched over the bar like someone that really hadn't spent much time doing it in his past. He looked uncomfortable, staring from the TV behind the bar to some of the other patrons.
Seeing him like this helped me tremendously. I felt like I was on my home turf and he was already showing some cracks in his façade. Good, I thought. And then, on the heels of that, I thought: Was I really crushing on that man less than six hours ago?
Yes, I had. It was disappointing for the situation to turn out like this, but it seemed par for the course as far as my love life was concerned. Even as far back as high school, it seemed that any guy I ever showed interest in turned out to be bad for me in some way or another.
He turned his head, apparently sensing me coming up behind him. He gave me a faint grin and swiveled around in his bar stool. The lights in the restaurant—particularly in the bar—were dim, striking him just right. I really hated the way my body responded to his smile at that moment. I saw that he had taken the time to trim up his facial hair and dress rather nicely. He wore a button-down flannel shirt, but one of the more astute-looking ones and no the super-casual ones that always seemed to be plastered onto outdoor enthusiast.
“Apparently,” he said, “I was supposed to make a reservation. But I didn’t. We’re on the list now, though. We should have a table in about twenty minutes.”
“Oh,” I said. “This is going to take that long?”
He looked hard at me for a moment and then smiled. “Well, I could have dropped some names or offered the maître d' some cash, but what's the fun in that?” He said jokingly, watching me like a hawk as I took the stool next to him. The bartender came by and I ordered a glass of red wine.
“Question,” Jack said. His smile faded and I was relieved to see nervousness come across his face. Is he one of those guys that's used to his good-looks getting him whatever he wants? Surely not… he seemed so laid-back earlier.
“What?” I asked, steeling myself against whatever question was plaguing his pretty little head.
“The little awkward spark or whatever it was… the thing we both felt in your store earlier today. Should we pretend that didn’t happen? Is that going to make this harder than it has to be?”
I stared. It was such a blunt and strategic question that it took me off-guard. That was the last thing I had been expecting. And damn him, I was pretty sure I was blushing right away. So, to circumvent his little jab, I nodded.
“Yes, I think so.” As soon as it was out, I cringed. Damn, I thought. I should have denied the spark. That would have shown him.
But it was too late. There was nothing to do but sit in silence for a moment as the bartender brought over my glass of wine. I took a sip, trying not to let the fact that Jack’s eyes were watching my every move get under my skin.
“Okay then,” he said, taking in a deep breath and easing the grin off of his face. “Strictly business. That being the case, let me ask you: if you want a plan so badly, why not buy one elsewhere?”
It was a good question, and I knew the answer that I had was stupid. The truth was that I wanted Mr. Tanner’s plane because I knew him well and when I had seen the plan floating there behind his shop with the FOR SALE banner on it, I felt as if it had been meant for me. The solution to something that I had been thinking about for years had been staring me in the face. The only thing stopping me from at least inquiring about it had been laziness and fear. But I had asked about and had been incredibly serious about buying it—but, in the end, had