What are the Chances? Read online

  I smiled and shook my head to concede. “I’ll give you that.”

  He stood and leaned in as if he was thinking about kissing me. I glanced at his lips, wondering what it might feel like if he did make a move. Then his weight shifted away and he grinned. “Are you ready for our next stop?”

  Not sure if I misread his cue or if he was being a tease, I exhaled the breath I had been holding and nodded. “Lead the way.”

  We took the elevator to the ground floor and walked over to a black Lincoln Town Car that was waiting with a driver. The driver opened the door and called Mason Mr. Cartwright. He drove us to a museum I’d never been to before. Mason had obviously made arrangements for us to go in after hours. A security guard, who also called him Mr. Cartwright, let us in and turned on the lights. As soon as the gallery lit up I realized what it was and I gasped as my legs jiggled in excitement. “Mason. Oh my gosh. John Lautner is my absolute favourite?”

  “I know.”

  I clapped, unable to contain my excitement. “How could you have possibly known that?”

  “The better question is how could I have possibly gotten this collection out of California.”

  My gaze hopped around to absorb all the photographs, architectural sketches, and models. “What? Are you joking? You had the collection brought here just for us to view?”

  He nodded and wrapped his fingers around mine to lead me towards the first glass case.

  Wow. “Mason, this is incredibly thoughtful, but ridiculously extravagant. I wish you hadn’t gone to the trouble or the expense just for me. It’s overwhelming.”

  “All it took was one phone call. Someone owed me a favour. Don’t even worry about it.”

  “This is unbelievable. You are unbelievable. Thank you.”

  He smiled in a modest way and said, “I’m glad you like it.”

  I more than liked it. It was one of the highlights of my entire life. I was mesmerized and could have spent days studying the sketches and 3-D models. Mason tried to be as interested as I was and he asked lots of questions, but I could tell they just looked like a bunch of funny-shaped buildings to him. “I’m sorry. This is boring to you.”

  “No, not at all. I could watch you smile like that all night.”

  He knew all the right things to say. All the right things to do. Who did things like bring the collection of a person’s favourite architect to town for a private viewing? I glanced at him repeatedly, hoping to catch a clue to prove he was too good to be true. All he showed was the genuine enjoyment a person gets from doing something they know makes others happy. Maybe in his case, just because it was too good to be true, didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Trevor saying no chance echoed in my head and made me cautious, though.

  When I finished looking at the entire collection, I turned to Mason, still dumbfounded. “Seriously. How did you know?”

  “It’s a secret. Are you ready for the next stop?”

  I exhaled and considered the question. “I’m not sure. You kind of blew me away with this stop.”

  “Good.”

  If he was only trying to reel me in for one reason, I was in trouble. The Lautner exhibit firmly imbedded the hook in the corner of my mouth. It was very easy to go with the flow and find out what other surprises he had planned for the night, and it was possible, that at some point, I’d have to rip the barbed point from my flesh and flail to change course. But so far, it didn’t seem necessary.

  Mason thanked the security guard and we got back in the Town Car. The driver took us to Caffé dé Medici. My face likely shifted into an expression of incredulous shock when I saw the awning above the door. My dad used to take me to Caffé dé Medici every year on my birthday. There was only one other person in the world who knew that. “Did you talk to my mom?”

  Mason lifted his eyebrows in an amusing way but didn’t answer. He just grinned and helped me step out of the car. He rested his hand lightly on my waist to guide me into the restaurant. The maitre d’ called him Mr. Cartwright and seated us at a private reserved table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. It was staggering to imagine how much work he had to put into researching and planning the date. I couldn’t quite decide if it was romantic or over the top—either way, it was impressive. Was I supposed to research him before we went out? I didn’t even think to check whether he had social media accounts. He could be wanted on a worldwide warrant, for all I knew.

  After the waitress poured lemon water in our glasses, I asked, “What other intimate details do you know about me?”

  “Test me.”

  “When is my birthday?”

  “Too easy—August thirtieth.”

  “Middle name?”

  “Marie, after your maternal great grandmother.”

  “What did my dad do for a living?”

  “He was an environmental engineer and he worked mostly in the forestry industry.”

  “You must be good at your job. But it’s easy to find information that’s likely available online. What baked good is my specialty at the Inn?”

  “Hmm. That one is a bit of a trick question since I have never been invited to join you for breakfast. I did hear Maverty going on about your apple cinnamon muffins once, so I’m going to go out on a limb and say that they’re your specialty.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. I was captivated, not so much by the amount of information he had collected, but by the fact he’d even bothered. Womanizers didn’t put that kind of effort into just trying to score. Did they? Maybe an obsessive stalker would work that hard to study the object of their affection. In Mason’s case I really felt like he was genuinely interested and just happened to have the research tools at his fingertips because of what he did for a living. If he was trying to intrigue me, it was working.

  He had on a silver watch with a black face that had several dials on it for different time zones, different than the one he had on the night of the party. “What was I wearing on our first date?” I asked, to test if his observation skills were as good as his research talents.

  “Seriously?” He chuckled. “You underestimate my abilities. Just so you know, I consider this our first date. Taking you to the party was an error in judgment on my part. And I can actually tell you what you were wearing the very first time I ever saw you.”

  “Really? That was a long time ago.”

  “It was my first day at school after I moved to Squamish. You were in the eleventh grade and you were wearing a beige mini skirt with brown-suede boots and a light-pink sweater. The night of the party you were wearing sexy jeans and a purple top.”

  “Holy shit, you’re good. I remember your first day at school too. Sophie and I were watching you and gossiped about how hot you were.”

  “You thought I was hot?” He grinned.

  “You were all right,” I teased.

  “I thought you were more than all right.”

  I could feel my face go red. “Okay smarty pants, if you know so much about me, what kind of car have I always dreamed of owning?”

  “A McLaren.” He laughed. “Just kidding. I don’t know that one.”

  “A 1963 Corvette Stingray. Nobody knows that, so I guess I cheated.”

  The waitress took our orders and brought a basket of warm bread. Mason wrapped his hand around my wrist and turned it to expose my elbow, which was scabbed. “How did you do that?”

  “Oh, that’s just a scratch from the highway washout the other night.”

  His expression locked into something stuck between disbelief and intrigue, as if he couldn’t tell if I was joking or telling the truth. He thought about it a bit longer and then looked concerned. “That was you? I heard the story that two motorists saved the woman and child. I didn’t realize it was you. What happened?”

  I told him the story and he listened attentively. Memorizing his expressions was like trying to learn a new language. Every nuance was interesting and challenging at the same time. I finished with the part about the roses in the lobby and said, “And now you know ev
erything about me. I feel bad I don’t know as much about you.”

  “That’s what dates are for. You’re just going to have to agree to a series of dates in order to make up for the deficit.”

  I shook my head and shoved his shoulder lightly. “I don’t have enough nice dresses for a series of dates with you.”

  He raised his eyebrows and grinned at something that he was obviously thinking about. I could only guess what was going through his mind, probably the thought of something crazy like flying a New York designer to custom fit me for a new wardrobe. Wondering what type of surprises he was capable of was exciting and overwhelming at the same time. His world was obviously drastically different than the one I was used to, and I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “Seriously, though,” I said. “I’m just a simple girl. This is all nice, but I’m used to very basic things. You don’t need to go all out.”

  “Dinner at your favourite restaurant is a fairly standard gesture.”

  “I guess, if you don’t include the mode of transportation, chauffeur, and private art show.”

  He chuckled. “If you think this is overboard, good thing I didn’t fly you to New York.”

  “You considered it, didn’t you?”

  He laughed and nodded.

  God, he was so cute.

  Our conversation was really engaging and easy as we ate dinner. I learned that when he was about to say something funny, his left eyebrow twitched. When he was uncomfortable, he licked his bottom lip before he talked. When he was impressed by something I said, he smiled my favourite shy smile. I resolved to say more impressive things.

  “Okay, I have another question.” I sat up straight in my chair and rested my elbows on the table. “If you liked me for so long, why didn’t you ask me out before you went away?”

  “You were dating Steve.” He finished the last of his vegetables and slid the plate to the side of the table as the busboy refilled our drinks. “What ever happened to that guy?”

  “He and his family moved to Calgary in October. I still email him every once in a while to see how he’s doing. He applied for Harvard. I’m not sure if he got in or not.”

  “You’re definitely a nicer person than I would have been in that situation.” His mood deepened into something more serious as his gaze danced across the features of my face. “Do you want to know why I really never forgot the impression you left on me?”

  I nodded, curious.

  “Even though you smiled and hung out with your friends like nothing was wrong I knew exactly how heartbroken you felt inside. Even before I heard what happened to your dad, I could see it behind your eyes. And I understood it because I felt the same way.”

  “Really?” I sorted back through my memories of that time. “You lost someone you loved, too?”

  He nodded and ran his finger over the nick in his eyebrow. “My brother. Cody. He died of cancer.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I reached over and covered his hand with mine. “Cody Cartwright. Is that what the CC on your tattoo represents?”

  He nodded and seemed curious as to how I knew about his tattoo.

  “When we were at the Britannia pools last summer I noticed it. The date was the same year my dad died, so I wondered about it back then.”

  He reached for his glass of water and took a sip. “Sorry to dampen the mood. It’s not the most cheerful thing to have in common.”

  “Don’t apologize. It feels nice to know someone who appreciates how devastating a loss like that is. Everyone around me was always very sympathetic and patient with me as I grieved, but they could never fully comprehend the hole it left, no matter how much they wanted to. It might sound crazy, but I’m glad we share that.”

  He smiled and leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Me too.” The waitress came by. Mason told her we would be passing on dessert and he slipped her his credit card. He must have seen the disappointment in my face because he said, “Don’t worry, there will still be dessert. Later.”

  I smiled and rested my hand on his. “Even though everything is way fancier than I’m accustomed to, I’m having a nice time. The best time, actually.”

  “That’s good.” His fingers squeezed mine. “I was nervous since you flat out told me I wasn’t that impressive to you.”

  “I’m sorry I said that. It’s the Chance Cartwright playboy thing that’s not that impressive to me. Mason is impressing me, so far.” I lifted my head to meet his gaze. “I like the stripped-down version of you.”

  “Literally?” He laughed and stood to pull my chair back for me.

  “Ha ha. Although the literal interpretation would probably still stand, I meant it figuratively. And, just so you know, I like you in the suit. It’s classy. And sexy.”

  As we left the restaurant, he smiled in a way that made me melt inside. I was hooked and reeled, which was astonishing given that we were still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase. Charming was an understatement.

  The Town Car driver drove us back to Mason’s office, and the helicopter was already fired up when we walked out onto the roof. We flew back up the coast and right past Britannia Beach to Squamish and then lowered down towards the flat roof of a house that was located in a remote area on a cliff overlooking Squamish. The helicopter dropped us off and flew away back in the direction of Vancouver. Mason hadn’t given the pilot any instructions about when to pick us back up.

  Uh oh. Time to rip the hook out. It was a great date, but I wasn’t spending the night. I looked around and scrambled to come up with a way to get myself home. I should have said something while we were still in the air.

  He sensed my apprehension and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll drive you home later.”

  Later. Yeah. Later after what? “Um, I’m sorry, Mason, if I gave you the wrong impression, but I’m not the kind of girl who sleeps with a guy so soon.” Or at all, for that matter. “I had a fantastic time but I should probably go home now. Sorry.”

  He chuckled. “That’s not why we’re here. I want you to meet my parents.”

  “Oh.” I clenched my eyes shut, feeling awkward for assuming. “Okay,” I choked out past my embarrassment.

  He seemed amused by my humiliation and wrapped his arm around my shoulders as he led me to the door. We went into the house and a woman rushed up the stairs to greet us. She was tall and had long limbs. She wore tight jeans that most women her age wouldn’t have been able to pull off. She was almost bouncing on the spot as she waited for Mason to introduce us. “Mom, this is Derian Lafleur. Derian, this is my mom, Juliette.”

  “It is so nice to meet you, Derian,” Mrs. Cartwright shook my hand with both of her hands. “Mason has never brought a girlfriend home to meet us before. You must be very special to him.”

  My face got hot. When I looked at Mason, he smiled his shy smile. “My mom insisted on making chocolate fondue for dessert.”

  “Yum.”

  We followed her down the staircase past a gallery of family pictures. I walked slowly to view each of the images. Then I stopped and stared at one that caught my attention. “You were twins?” I asked him.

  Mason’s expression creased, but he forced a smile as he nodded. Mrs. Cartwright turned and climbed back up the steps to stand near us.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said to her as I leaned in to get a better look at the next picture. It was a photo of both boys holding up fish that they had obviously caught. “You guys look so happy in that one.”

  “That was at our grandparents’ cabin in the Okanagan.”

  Mrs. Cartwright smiled as she remembered. She ran her finger along the picture frame and said, “When Cody got really sick, we wanted to make his last wishes come true. We asked him if there was anything in the world that he wanted to do. We thought he would want to see the Pyramids, swim with dolphins, or go on an African safari. But instead, he chose to visit his grandparents at the cabin so he could go fishing one last time.”

  Mason licked his lower lip. I slid my
hand into his and held it tightly. The obvious change from having two identical boys in every photo to having just one made my heart ache. He stretched his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in as we walked down the stairs to the kitchen.

  Mason’s dad joined us for chocolate fondue. He wore what he likely considered casual clothes—white-linen drawstring pants, white-leather square-toed loafers, and a long-sleeved, light-weight, white sweater. He looked as if he stepped out of a Calvin Klein photo shoot. His hair was salt-and-pepper coloured and cut nicely. He was the thin kind of fit, like Mason, not quite as tall, but he had a powerful presence. “Nice to meet you, Derian,” Mr. Cartwright said as he shook my hand firmly. “Mason has told us a lot about you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cartwright. You have a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you. Mason says you plan to study architecture. Do you have any idea who designed the house?”

  I looked around at the squared horizontal wood beams, the skylights, the glass walls, and concrete flooring. “Is it an Arthur Erickson design?”

  He nodded, impressed that I got it right on the first try. “You should come back in the day so I can show you the exterior. Other people think it’s ugly. Hopefully you’ll appreciate it.”

  Mason’s mom was standing behind his dad. She smiled and mouthed silently, it’s ugly.

  Mason laughed.

  “I’m sure I would appreciate it,” I said, trying not to smile at their teasing.

  “There you go, Mason, I just locked in another date for you.” His dad chuckled as he dipped a segment of banana into the pot of chocolate. We all hung out at the kitchen island huddled around the fondue pot. Mason’s dad did the same eyebrow thing as Mason when he was about to say something funny. I got a sugar high from the chocolate and ended up laughing so hard at all of his dad’s stories from his most recent trip to Abu Dhabi. My favourite had to do with a camel, an outhouse, and an episode of streaking. Mason didn’t laugh and I wasn’t sure if it was because he had heard all the stories before or if he was just uncomfortable hanging out with his parents.

  Maybe sensing Mason’s mood, his dad eventually said, “Come on, Juliette, let’s leave these two alone and have a little date night of our own.” He leaned over and tickled her waist.