Chapter 6

We were both up early the next morning, showering and dressing and prepping for the day ahead. Mike looked different in a suit and tie, older and more professional.

He grinned at me over a bagel spread with cream cheese. "I clean up pretty well, eh?"

I had to admit that he did. Since I was going to the office, but not actually planning to work, I'd gone a bit casual in a dark green sweater dress that barely skimmed my knees and low-heeled black boots.

Since Mike wasn't sure how long his interview would last, we'd arranged for him to drop me at the public library and return for me around mid-afternoon. On the way, I called Susan, and we agreed to meet at Giorgio's, a cafe partway between the library and the office.

Mike was a good driver, confident but not aggressive, and got me to the library with plenty of time to make his interview. I hesitated as I opened the car door, wanting to kiss him but not wanting to leave a lipstick smear. I settled for a quick hug. "Good luck," I said as I slid out and bounded to the sidewalk, then he was pulling away with a cheerful wave and a confident grin.

I spent the morning glancing through decorating magazines and arrived at Giorgio's a few minutes before noon. I hadn't sat long when Susan walked in, spotted me, and made her way to the table. Susan was a plumpish woman a few years older than me. She'd worn a coral shirt with navy skirt and heels, and her short blonde curls made a tight halo around her head.

"Lynne!" She slid into the booth opposite me. "You're looking great!"

"You, too," I said automatically, slipping into the familiar routine of small talk. "That blouse really suits you." It did, too, the bright color warming her face and softening her complexion.

"Oh, this." She made a face and shrugged. "Had it for years. But seriously, Lynne. There's a lightness about you, and I haven't seen your smile so bright in years. You look..." She studied me, tilting her head from side to side. "Happy."

I had to think about that. Had I looked unhappy for the past few years? I'd grieved after Jerry's death, of course, but overall I'd thought of myself as content, settled into a comfortable routine. Mike had lifted me out of that routine, and apparently it showed. I'd have to start getting out more.

"Well, I guess I am happy," I said slowly. A sudden thought struck me, and I gave Susan a mock frown. "Except maybe about Simpson."

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "I know, right?"

We ordered and ate, veal parmigiana for me, salad with low-fat dressing for Susan. "Not that it'll help," she grumbled to me as she sprinkled on croutons.

When the check came, I reached for my purse to pay my half, but Susan waved me away. "I've got it. Business expense." She waved my thanks away, too. "Lynne, the reason I asked you to meet me for lunch instead of at the office is because there's something I wanted to tell you, and it has to remain absolutely confidential."

I nodded for her to go on, curiosity burning. "You know you can count on me."

"I do, and that means a lot." Susan glanced around the restaurant and leaned across the table. "It's not official until the paperwork's signed, but essentially, we've got Perez."

"Wow." I drew the word out long and low. "Congratulations." That was major news. Perez was easily half again as big as any other account our firm serviced, and I knew Susan had put in long hours preparing presentations and wooing their executive board.

"Thanks." Susan grinned. "And, Lynne, I think it's due in large part to all your hard work, especially on Simpson, and I've made that known to the powers that be." I started to thank her, but she held up her hand to stop me. "Now, this next part is extremely unofficial, and you can't breathe a word of it to anybody. Promise?"

That was easy. "Promise."

Susan stared me in the eyes. "I've recommended you as assistant project manager." I opened my mouth and closed it, unsure what to say. Assistant project manager wasn't an official promotion, but it meant I'd be working directly under Susan, with a wider scope of duties and responsibilities. It was the kind of position you'd give someone you were grooming for project manager, Susan's current position.

Susan went on, "No promises, of course, but I can't imagine Bill would turn you down with my recommendation. Perez is big and a bit complicated, but I'm confident you've got the chops."

"Susan, thank you!" I was so overwhelmed it was hard to think. "What-what does this mean for you?"

She smiled. "Well, you can't tell anybody this, either, but ... John's due to retire in a few years, and I'm not getting any younger. We've talked about buying an RV, driving around the country to see the grandkids."" Her face grew serious. "When I go, I'd like you to take my place."

She was grooming me for her position! "Susan, I don't know what to say."

She patted my hand. "Say you'll do it, of course, and don't say anything to anyone else until it's official. And remember, it's not guaranteed." She smiled again. "But I think your chances are pretty good."

I was grinning from ear to ear when Mike swung over to the curb to pick me up, and his answering grin was just as wide. "How'd it go?" we asked each other in unison.

I laughed and pointed at him as he pulled smoothly into traffic. "You first."

"All right." He tapped his hands on the steering wheel. I was really impressed with the firm, and they seemed really impressed with me. One of the Directors told me outright he'd like to have me on board, and my military service makes me an ideal candidate." He shrugged. "But maybe they say that to everyone. I should hear something either way by the end of the year."

"Mike, that's great!" I couldn't hug him, so I squeezed his arm. "Congratulations!"

He leaned into me for a moment, eyes on the road. "How about yours?"

"Oh, my gosh!" Quickly, I summarized my conversation with Susan. "So, if things work out, and she seems to think they will, I'll be an assistant project manager on the biggest project our firm's ever contracted, and I'll be in line for a major promotion in the next couple of years. Talk about a Christmas present!" Somehow, Beth's takeover on the Simpson file just didn't seem important any more.

"That's wonderful, Lynne!" Mike pressed my knee, fingers sliding briefly under the hem of my dress. "I'm so happy for you."

I patted his hand and slid it just a little higher. "You can congratulate me later."

He drummed his fingers on my thigh. "We can congratulate each other." He glanced at the sign above the intersection we were approaching. "Left here?"

"Next block."

Moments later, we slid into a space in the Art Museum's parking garage.

After we paid, we consulted the map in the lobby, debating what to see. We started with a display of blown glass sculpture, exquisite delicate pieces that looked as if they might float away on the wind like soap bubbles. Next up was an exhibit of Asian wood carving. I studied the intricate lines and contours, wondering how the artists had known what shapes were in the wood, waiting to come out.

Finally, Mike chose a collection of pen-and-ink drawings, the slender black lines standing out in sharp contrast to the white background.

He stood for a long time before one in particular, a slim, three-masted ship at anchor, two gulls circling lazily overhead.

"I've always loved this kind of thing," he told me, studying the spare lines as if he were trying to memorize them.

"There's not much to it," I observed, looking at the picture from different angles, trying to see what he saw.

He grinned. "No, that's what I like about it. The artist gives you the framework and leaves your imagination to fill in the details."

I shrugged, unconvinced. "I guess."

Mike laughed. "All right, show me one you like."

I glanced around and spotted another drawing by the same artist, this one of a single leafless tree in a barren landscape. Both branches and leaves divided endlessly according to some rule I couldn't quite discern, lines growing finer and finer until they were nearly too small to see. "Tree of Life," it was titled.

Mike nodded slowly. "I can see it," he said at last. "You know, this would look good in your dining room, with all that black metal and glass."

"There's already a painting in the dining room," I protested, thinking of the Matisse reproduction Jerry and I had hung there.

Mike grinned. "True. But it doesn't suit you nearly as well."

I tried to picture this drawing in place of the painting I was used to. Mike was right, it would suit the room perfectly. And I did like it. I glanced at the price tag and shuddered. "I think I'll hang on to what I've got for just a little longer."

We wandered a while longer, had a light dinner of sandwiches at a nearby sub shop, and sang along to Christmas carols on the radio all the way home. Mike had a pleasant baritone, and I was a decent soprano, as long as I didn't try to go too high.

When I turned off the engine in the apartment's parking garage, Mike leaned over and kissed me. "We make beautiful music together."

"I guess we do." I kissed him back, tongue flicking quickly between his lips.