Marriage On The Cards. Susan Carlisle

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СКАЧАТЬ yourself at home and I’ll be right back. Unless you want to keep me company...?”

      “No.” Instead of putting the tote down, Mackenzie clutched it to her body. “I’ll wait here.”

       I’m on a date.

      Panic. Sheer unadulterated panic. Mackenzie quickly texted Ray: I’m on a DATE!

      Ray shot a text back: Told U so! Yippee!

      “Yippee? That’s the sage advice I get?” Mackenzie turned the phone on Vibrate and tucked it into her pocket.

       Now what?

      Should she leave or should she stay...that was the ultimate question.

      “All right...” Dylan reappeared and headed for the fridge. “I hope you like sweet red wine...?”

      Mackenzie nodded. She was still trying to figure out how to back out of this situation gracefully. Could she fake a stomachache? Menstrual cramps? It’s not that she didn’t want to be on a date with Dylan per se...she didn’t want to be on a date with anyone. Relationships took time and energy and she had very little of both of those resources to spare.

      Dylan poured the wine, handed her a glass and then held his glass up for a toast. “To Hope’s continued health...”

      Mackenzie touched her glass to his. “To Hope’s continued health...”

      “And to new beginnings,” Dylan added.

      Mackenzie hesitated before she took a sip of the sweet wine. She put her glass down on the counter. Dylan quickly pulled out a coaster and put it under her glass.

      “How’s the wine?” Dylan asked.

      “Good...” Mackenzie stared at the coaster for a moment. “Good. Um...”

      “I’m glad that you showed, Mackenzie...I was actually pretty sure you were going to cancel on me...”

      Mackenzie blurted out, “I almost did.”

      “See...” Dylan laughed. “That’s one of the things I really like about you...you’re honest. Why don’t we go sit down, get comfortable.”

      “No,” Mackenzie said tentatively, then more strongly, “No.”

      “That’s okay. We don’t have to sit. I read somewhere that standing is actually better than sitting. Better for the circulation, I think.”

      “I need to clear something up between us, I think...”

      “What’s that?”

      “I mean...there’s the table and the wine and the candles...it’s Friday night.” Mackenzie had one hand resting on her tote. “This feels kind of like a...date.”

      Dylan put his glass down slowly on a coaster. “That’s because I thought it was a date.”

      “Oh...”

      “But you didn’t.” Dylan stared at her for a moment before he blew out the candles.

      Crap! She had hurt him. And now Mackenzie was at a rare loss for words as she watched the two twin ribbons of smoke rise from the extinguished candles.

      “This is embarrassing.” Dylan gulped down his wine and put his glass in the sink.

      Both hands clutching the tote, Mackenzie said, “If I’d known that you thought this was a...date...I would never have said yes.”

      This wasn’t the first time he’d embarrassed himself in front of a pretty woman he liked, but in this case, with Mackenzie, it stung just a little bit more than usual.

      “I need to check on the salmon,” Dylan said.

      How she had managed to land on the defensive in this scenario, Mackenzie couldn’t figure out...but on the defensive, she was. She followed Dylan to the outdoor kitchen. She sat down on the very edge of a built-in bench; Dylan pushed open the lid of the grill a bit harder than he normally would.

      “The salmon looks good,” Mackenzie said for lack of anything more helpful to say.

      Dylan flipped the salmon steaks over, seasoned them and then shut the lid tightly. Mackenzie felt like a grade-A heel; all she wanted to do now was to smooth things over with Dylan and to get the heck out of Dodge.

      “Why would you think this was a date, Dylan?” Guilty, Mackenzie switched from contrite to accusatory.

      “Just forget it, Mackenzie.” Dylan started to walk back to the house. But then he stopped. “No. You know what? Don’t forget it. Why wouldn’t you think this was a date?”

      “Because...you’re that...” Mackenzie waved her hand up and down. “And I’m this...I’m not your type.”

      Dylan sat down on a bench across from her. “How do you know what my type is, Mackenzie?”

      “Christa? Jenna? Tall, blonde, skinny.” Mackenzie held up three fingers. “And, me? Short, chubby, brunette. Not exactly rocket science.”

      “You forgot pretty...”

      Mackenzie held up a fourth finger. “Pretty goes without saying.”

      “No,” Dylan clarified. “I meant you. I think you’re pretty. And funny and sweet and a really great mom to Hope.”

      Mackenzie crossed her legs and crossed her arms protectively in front of her body.

      Dylan continued, “You know...Jenna and I both loved to surf. And I managed to sustain a relationship built on a mutual love for surfing for nearly a year. You and I have a child together...”

      Now Dylan had her full attention.

      “And I look at you and I look at Hope...and I think...maybe I have a chance at what Uncle Bill and Aunt Gerri had together.”

      “You can’t force a family.” Mackenzie pulled her sleeves down over her hands and recrossed her arms.

      “No, you can’t. But you can try to build one.” Dylan leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “This doesn’t have anything to do with my type, does it? That’s just an excuse. This has to do with the fact that I’m not your type, right?”

      “My friend Rayna says that you actually have to date to have a type...and I don’t. Date, I mean.”

      “I know. Hope told me. Your friend set you up with a socialist three years ago?”

      “He was a social worker. A very nice social worker. You and Hope certainly cover a lot of subjects, don’t you?”

      “She likes to talk to me. I like to listen. But let’s not get off topic here. I like you, Mackenzie. I want to spend more time with you. And I get that I’m not the obvious СКАЧАТЬ