He passed through a rarely used conference room and exited onto a balcony. At the rail, he breathed the damp afternoon air. The coffee was bitter, but it also provided a needed shock to his senses. He took regular sips until he’d drunk half of it.
Checking his phone, he saw that he’d missed a call from Leah. The realization affected him like sunlight. It shoved aside the gray clouds.
He placed a call to her, anticipating the sound of her voice.
“I received a necklace from you today,” she said as soon as she picked up. “Did you hand deliver it?”
“I did, this morning. Before I got called back to the hospital.”
“The necklace is exquisite. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“However, it’s not my birthday.”
“I hope not. I plan to do much better on your birthday.”
“Sebastian!” she said, half laughing, half chiding. “I cannot possibly accept lavish presents given to me for no reason.”
“That wasn’t a lavish present.”
“I have a sneaking suspicion that it was.”
“And it was given for a reason.”
“Which is?”
“I like you.”
“That’s not a valid reason.”
“That’s the most valid reason there is.”
“This is too kind. . . .”
“Is there such a thing as too kind?”
“Too generous—”
“Is there such a thing as too generous?”
“I value my independence. If I need a necklace, I will buy a necklace.”
His smile grew. “You’re one of those people, I can tell. The sort who don’t know how to accept a gift. I think you need more practice.”
“And I think you need to return the necklace and invest the money.”
“I view the necklace as an investment. Besides, I’m no fool. I bought you a custom-made necklace that can’t be returned.”
“In an effort to make me feel even more indebted to you so that I say yes to a date?”
“Exactly. But also to make you happy.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re difficult?”
“Everyone I’ve ever known. But you’re a math prodigy because you’ve figured out how to solve difficult problems. Right?”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion how to solve problems of the adult male variety.”
“Will you go out on a date with me?” he asked.
“No.”
“In that case, will you travel to Atlanta next weekend to see me?”
“No.”
“Fine. Then I’ll come back to Misty River next weekend to see you.”
“I recommend that you spare yourself the effort.”
I’ll see you then, he thought.
On Monday, a top-of-the-line graphing calculator arrived at Leah’s front door. She hadn’t known calculators could be personalized. But apparently they could be if someone was persistent enough, because Professor Montgomery was etched into its back.
It could not be returned.
On Tuesday, Dylan received an Atlanta Falcons jersey with Montgomery stitched across the shoulder blades.
It could not be returned.
She began to pray, asking God to let her know if going on a date with Sebastian was a viable option or an absolute no.
She couldn’t discern His answer.
On Wednesday, a copy of The Theory of Numbers, first edition, published in 1914, landed on Leah’s doorstep. In an act that verged very near desecration, someone had written Property of Leah Montgomery in Sharpie on its first page.
It could not be returned.
On Thursday, two very large boxes addressed to Dylan were delivered. The instant he returned home from football practice, she handed him a pair of scissors so that he could open them. Inside each box lay two hubcaps for his truck. Upon closer inspection, she noticed they were each engraved, in small print, with Dylan is chillin’. Subtle.
What wasn’t subtle? Sebastian’s methods.
The hubcaps could not be returned.
This could not go on!
A date would be preferable to this—this deluge of presents. The prospect of continuing to accept charity from him carved ice into her soul.
God had not yet made His guidance clear regarding Sebastian. But if gifts were going to continue to arrive daily, she didn’t feel she could postpone her decision until she’d received divine confirmation.
She dialed Sebastian and, for once, he answered.
“You rang?” he said.
“I’ll go on a date with you this weekend on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“You agree to cease sending Dylan and me presents.”
“Done,” he said immediately. “Can I pick you up at seven on Saturday?”
He was beyond exasperating! “Fine.”
As skilled as she was at chess, she sensed that Sebastian was no amateur at his tactics.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On Saturday morning Leah regarded her reflection critically in the dressing room mirror of the Buttercup Boutique.
She did not have the funds to spend more than a meager amount of money on clothes. The ladies at the boutique understood this. They also knew Leah’s taste for classic-yet-current clothing. Bright, clear colors. Collared shirts and fitted cardigans. Sweaters. Tailored pants. Items that affirmed her uniqueness. They called Leah when something they thought she might like went on sale. Over time, they’d helped her curate items into a small capsule wardrobe.
The sapphire blue dress she had on at the moment wasn’t exactly a capsule piece. But at thirty-seven dollars, the price was right. Plus, it seemed just the thing for a date with Sebastian Grant.
The neckline folded over into a panel that traveled straight across her chest and around her upper arms, leaving her shoulders bare. It fit snugly to just below her waist then flared into folds that ended at her knees. Simple, yet sophisticated. Modest, yet flattering.
She angled her back toward the mirror and looked over her shoulder at her reflection.
What was she doing?
She should rebel against Sebastian’s wooing techniques by dressing in her very worst clothing for tonight’s date. Perhaps pajama bottoms and the stretched-out Jabba the Hutt T-shirt Dylan had given her when he was eleven?
She couldn’t bring herself to give that plan serious consideration.
In part, because she was strangely . . . excited about tonight’s date.
In part, because she had pride, after all.
She could pair this dress with the 1930s-inspired high-heeled Mary Janes she already owned.
One of the boutique’s employees stopped outside the dressing room to check on her.
“I’ll take it,” Leah said.
Leah answered Sebastian’s knock a few minutes before seven that night to find him on her threshold, wearing a suit and confidence.
The visual power of the scene before her—the lines of his charcoal jacket, his snowy white shirt, black hair gleaming in the light of her fixtures—was too overwhelming to absorb.
“Good evening,” Leah said, acutely glad that she’d splurged on a new dress.
“Good evening.”
She gestured for him to come inside and discovered more to adjust to. The sight of Sebastian Grant in her home. He was larger than she’d recalled, more debonair.