She closed her parents into her office as they meandered around lifting whatever wasn’t nailed down. A cup full of ballpoint pens, a framed picture of the new Swept logo, a small potted cactus.
“This needs water,” Chandra said before returning the plant to the top of the file cabinet. “What a lovely setup, and you’re doing so well. This is much better than peddling someone else’s wares, don’t you agree?”
Only her mother could reduce being one of the top national earners of a reputable direct sales company to the visual of selling trinkets out of a wheelbarrow.
“What are you two doing here?” Crickitt asked, forcing herself to be pleasant.
“We wanted to see where you work,” Chandra said with overt innocence. “What’s wrong with that?”
“We are very proud of you, sweetheart,” her dad said, reaching to pinch her cheek. Years of practice had taught her well. She easily dodged the incoming pincers.
“Nothing is wrong with it, Mom, but you really should have called. I was in the middle of a meeting with my boss.”
“He’s such a generous man,” Chandra said. “Offering to include us in your congratulatory dinner.”
“Very generous,” her father parroted, making himself at home in a chair.
Crickitt rolled her eyes.
Chapter 29
…so generous,” Crickitt’s mother repeated for the umpteenth time, now from the backseat of the town car Shane arranged for them.
The driver took them downtown to the Palisades, a ritzy restaurant fifty floors into the night sky, and impossible to get into if one was less elite.
Her parents pressed their noses to the windows, doing their best impression of country mice in a not-so-big city. She was glad to see them, but their early arrival by several days hadn’t been the best timing.
Whatever words Shane hadn’t said, thanks to her parents’ interruption, continued to rattle around Crickitt’s head. And since he’d given her the remainder of the day off to spend with them, she hadn’t had the chance to confront him. She had a feeling the conversation was far from finished.
A maître d’ with pointy features and a pained smile led them through the plush dining room humming with quiet chatter and the ringing of crystal stemware.
“Mr. August reserved the Parisian Room for the four of you,” the man commented, ushering them through a wide, curtained doorway. Chandra entered first, gasping her approval.
The room mirrored Shane’s house. Black and cream in color, and no more homey than a private suite in a hotel. A plush seating area with a couch and two chairs rested in a corner next to a fireplace. Across from it, a mahogany bar with gleaming bottles lined the wall. And their table, set to impress with white bone china and more forks than Chandra and Gerald Day had in their cutlery drawer, was in a leather C-shaped booth.
“Gorgeous,” Chandra said beside her.
Crickitt agreed, but the décor was long forgotten the moment she met Shane’s eyes across the room. He abandoned the bar to greet them, dressed in charcoal slacks and a pale blue shirt.
“Mr. and Mrs. Day, please, come in.”
“Gerald, make me a hot toddy!” Chandra cooed, dragging him to the bar.
Shane watched them, his relaxed smile fading as he turned back to Crickitt. “Thank you for coming.”
Like she had a choice. “It’s nice of you to entertain them while they’re in town.”
“My pleasure.”
“Look, Shane—”
“I owe you an explanation,” he interrupted. “The truth is—”
“Gerald! Leave it alone!”
They turned in the direction of her mother’s voice. Gerald stood in the corner of the room rubbing the leaves on a tall, potted tree. “It’s real!”
Shane’s gentle laughter rolled through her. Placing a hand on her elbow, he led her to the table. “Maybe we should eat first.”
The moment the waiter left to fetch their drinks, Gerald started in about his “beer business,” which Crickitt knew was more of a retirement hobby than any viable means of income. He told the story of how he got his start brewing ale, a story Crickitt had heard a hundred times, involving a guy named Polly, a bathtub, and a hefty fine.
Shane genuinely listened, commenting on occasion, asking frequent questions, joining in on her father’s contagious laughter. Like she had before, she marveled at how well Shane blended in with everyone. Her father never meshed with Ronald. Their interactions were forced, tense. Dull. Whereas anyone who watched these two carry on would assume they were old fishing buddies.