Page 95 of Just Trouble

That gave me something to think about. What did he mean?

I’ve beaten myself up trying to find ideas to launch my own practice, but have come up empty. Even the property taxes on the building look daunting, given the lack of renters and my prospects of generating revenue.

I miss Luke a thousand times more than I expected.

There’s no point being grumpy about it, as he’ll be leaving any day now. Will it be easier to miss him without any chance of seeing him? Probably not. (This week hasn’t been a treat.) But I’m not going to be the one who tries to hold him back. I love him, and that means I want him to be happy.

Even if it means he leaves.

On the other hand, there’s Thursday night, which is one last chance to drag him home and have my way with him.

We don’t have a Wednesday girls’ night this week. Sometimes things don’t align and this week is one of those occasions. Cameron is working nights, and Willow is trying to pull together some last details at The Carpe Diem Café. Mackenzie decides to work late—no surprise—so I have time to plan for success.

I’m going to seize the day myself—or the night.

I’m going to play this to win, with no regrets.

Victoria Day weekendis the unofficial kick-off to summer in my corner of the world. It’s a long weekend, the one closest to May 24, which was Queen Victoria’s birthday. Cottages are opened for the season on this weekend, campers and tents gettheir first taste of the summer action. Boats are launched onto lakes and canoes get their first dip of the year. Barbeques are fired up and beaches are visited. There are picnics and outside sports and there is beer. Some people call it May Two-Four, a reference to the standard case of twenty-four bottles of beer (a two-four in Canadian) because so many of them are sold for this weekend’s celebrations.

I leave work early. My dad has already gone for a golf game and I send Mrs. Prescott home at two. There’s not much happening anyway and I want some prep time. It’s a little inconvenient that Rafe has invited himself down for the dinner, but at least he isn’t staying at my place. (I would never let him. I know what a mess he would make.)

I take the dress out of the spare room closet, where it’s been biding its time alongside my wedding dress, and admire it all over again. I bought it in Vancouver in a shop that Abbie loves, and it’s been waiting on me ever since. It’s made of silk, in a gorgeous deep teal, a colour I would never have chosen but one that Abbie (and the sales clerk) insisted was perfect for me. It has a slim, kind of vintage cut, with a straight skirt and a neckline that swoops low. It’s sleeveless, the straps leaving my shoulders mostly bare and my upper back exposed. It has a matching jacket, a cropped one that ends above the waist and has three-quarter sleeves.

It says glamour and it says it loud.

I love it to pieces.

I haven’t had anywhere to wear it—I bought it after moving back to Empire, on my trip to visit Abbie and mourn everything—but this will be the night.

I shower and powder and moisturize, touching up my nail polish, too. I sweep up my hair and choose bolder colours for my make-up than usual. I add a necklace my mom bought for me. It’s dark pearls mixed with beads, all strung on wire so fine thatthe necklace looks like a sparkling constellation, one that defies gravity.

I had to buy a new bra to wear with this dress because of the lower back. I ended up with a merry widow in black lace, which is just about the sexiest garment I’ve ever owned. It’s a date virgin, though, as I’ve never put it on before tonight.

Maybe it was waiting for Luke.

It makes me look like a pin-up. With sheer black stockings—they have a center-back seam, too—there won’t be any doubt what’s on my mind. I’m not usually so blatant, but it feels good to be audacious.

I don’t care why Luke comes home with me tonight. I just want him to do it.

We’ll end in triumph.

It’s not raining and even though it’s a couple of blocks to the restaurant, I choose my newest most fabulous heels. They’re black satin slingbacks with pointed toes. I consider myself in the mirror, little black clutch in hand, and know I’ve gone right over the top.

I don’t care. I love to dress up.

The doorbell rings and I make my way down the stairs, my heart taking a skip at Luke’s familiar silhouette. When I open the door, though, I can only stare. It’s Luke but not Luke, Luke polished to a gleam. He’s wearing a dark suit that is impeccably tailored, a crisp white shirt and a perfectly knotted tie. He’s shaved and I think he’s even had his hair trimmed. He looks expensive and still looks dangerous, and his eyes light when his gaze sweeps over me.

I feel a little bit faint, my girl bits all a-flutter.

“Good,” he growls with approval. “I was worried I’d overdressed.”

It’s got to be a lie. The man never worries about anything.

Before I can find my voice, he steps closer. “I know you were disappointed in me, Daph,” he says with heat, his gaze searching mine. “And I think I know why. I’ve been working on that this week.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “I’d like to argue my own case tonight, counsellor.”

Oh, I like the sound of that.

“Okay,” I whisper.

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