"You don't really believe that's wasted, do you? It's part of who you are, Kate. You're just using it in a different way."
"I just couldn't go back to that office, to that—life," she decided. "It all seemed so rigid. Margo was in the shop today with the baby. People were fussing over him, and Margo was sitting there with the cradle beside her, and Laura had to look for this winged dragon, and I boxed a pocket watch and put away shoes…" Embarrassed, she trailed off. "I'm babbling. I never babble."
"It's all right. I get the drift. You're having fun working there, being part of it. You're enjoying the surprises of something you helped create."
"I never liked surprises. I always wanted to know the when, where, and how, so I could be prepared. You make mistakes if you aren't prepared, and I hate making mistakes."
"Are you doing something that feels right to you?"
"It looks that way."
"Well, then." He lifted his glass, touched it to hers. "Go for it."
"Wait until I tell Margo and Laura." The idea of it made her laugh. "Margo was gone when I got back, and Laura had to run pick up the girls, so I didn't have the chance. Of course, we're going to have to make some changes. It's ridiculous not to have a regular posted schedule of our work hours. And the pricing system needs to be completely overhauled. The new software I've just installed will completely streamline our—" She caught herself and found him grinning at her. "You can't change overnight."
"You shouldn't change at all. That's the kind of thing they need you for. Play to your strengths, kid. Which apparently include Italian cooking. This pesto is terrific."
"Really?" She sampled more herself. "It is kind of good. Well, maybe I could throw something together. On special occasions."
"You won't get an argument from me." Thoughtfully, he twirled pasta on his fork. "Speaking of special occasions, now that you're going to continue to be self-employed, you should be able to flex your schedule a bit. For a variety of reasons, I'm not going to be able to get back to Atlanta for Christmas, so I'm making plans to take a few days for the trip over Thanksgiving."
"That's nice." She refused to acknowledge the thud of dis appointment. "I'm sure your family will be happy to have you, even for a few days."
"I'd like you to come with me."
"What?" Her fork paused halfway to her mouth.
"I'd like you to come to Atlanta with me for Thanksgiving and meet my family."
"I—I can't. I can't just fly across the country like that. There's not enough time to—"
"You have the best part of a month to arrange your schedule. Atlanta's not Bora Bora, Kate. It's Georgia."
"I know where Atlanta is," she said testily. "Look, besides the time factor, Thanksgiving's a family holiday. You don't just bring someone and dump them on your family on Thanksgiving."
"You're not someone," he said quietly. Oh, it was panic in her eyes, all right. He could read it perfectly. Though it irritated him, he determined to follow through. "It's traditional where I come from to invite the woman who's important to you to meet your family, to have them meet her. Particularly if it's the woman you're in love with and want to marry."
She jerked back as if scalded, nearly knocking over the chair as she sprang
to her feet. "Wait a minute. Hold it Whoa. Where did that come from? I cook one stupid meal and you get delusions of grandeur."
"I love you, Kate. I want to marry you. It would mean a great deal to me if you'd spend a few days with my family. I'm sure Margo and Laura would be willing to adjust the work schedule to accommodate a short trip over the holiday."
It took several tries before the sounds coming out of her mouth could be fashioned into words. "How can you sit there like that and calmly talk about scheduling in the same breath as marriage? Have you gone insane?"
"I thought you'd appreciate the practicality." Not sure who was irritating him more, himself or Kate, he topped off his wine.
"Well, I don't. So just stop it I don't know where you got this brainstorm about marriage, but—"
"I wouldn't call it a brainstorm," he said, contemplating his glass. "I've given it quite a bit of thought."
"Oh, have you? Have you really?'' Temper began to bubble beneath panic. Preferring it, Kate let it spew. "That's how you work, isn't it? That's how Byron De Witt works, in his quiet, thoughtful, patient way. I see it all now," she fumed, storming around the center island. "I can't believe I didn't see it all along. How clever you are, Byron. How canny. How fucking devious. You've just been reeling me in, haven't you? Taking over, step by little step."
"You're going to need to explain that for me. What have I taken over exactly?"
"Me! And don't think I can't see it all perfectly now. First it was sex. It's hard to think rationally when you're nothing more than one big throbbing gland."
He might have laughed, but instead carefully chose an olive. "As I recall, the sex was as much your idea as mine. More, actually, in the beginning."