“Where are we going?”
“How about down to the market?” Was she brushing off his question because she had no interest in the man who had stepped out of the elevator with her, or because she didn’t want to discuss him?
“That sounds fine. I feel like pasta today.”
“You always feel like pasta,” he reminded her indulgently.
So they ate pasta in a trendy little café, and afterward they wandered back through the vegetable stalls that lined the cobbled street of the Pike Place Market. Guinevere bought two plump peaches for dessert and sliced them with a plastic knife. It was tricky eating the juicy fruit on the sidewalk, but there was something pleasantly romantic about the business, too, Zac decided. Lately he had been more and more aware of the feeling of being one half of a couple. It was the first time in his life he had felt like this. Guinevere Jones was occasionally infuriating, frequently charming, often recklessly impulsive, but above all, she was his. She belonged to him now, Zac reminded himself complacently. She was in love with him. And he was in love with her.
This business of being in love was still new to both of them, Zac realized. They were both learning the parameters of the commitment, discovering its depths, being careful not to rush through the fascinating discoveries they were making. Maybe this was the reward for waiting and falling in love in your thirties instead of at eighteen. You were more aware of the subtler aspects of the whole process. On the other hand, Zac decided, subtlety wasn’t always such a great thing. It left small questions unanswered.
But there were certain straightforward questions that could still be asked. Zac finished his peach and wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “What time are you serving dinner tonight?”
Guinevere made a face. “Oh, Zac, you’re so romantic.”
He grinned. “You’re going to owe me a lot of dinners for the next few weeks. I intend to get something in exchange for all the Free Enterprise Security cash you’re spending on the party.”
***
Trina Hood was still in the office when Guinevere returned to Camelot Services after work that day. Trina looked up with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as her boss came through the door. “I think I’ve found her, Gwen.”
“Found who?” Guinevere went to her desk to sort through the messages.
“The new secretary for your friend Zac.”
Guinevere’s head came up quickly. “You did?”
“Uh-huh. And she’s perfect, Gwen. You aren’t going to be able to find fault with her, the way you have with all the others. If Zac knew how many secretarial candidates you’ve turned down on his behalf, he’d explode.”
Guinevere frowned thoughtfully, sitting down. “Now, Trina, you know I’m only trying to be careful. Zac will probably be a difficult employer. He can be short-tempered, dictatorial, and difficult. No one knows that better than I. It will take a very calm, mature person to work in his office.”
Trina was trying to stifle a broad grin. “By calm, you mean placid, and by mature, you mean someone over fifty, right? You can’t kid me, Guinevere Jones. You’ve turned down every potential candidate for a week, because each one has been cute and under thirty.”
“Zac doesn’t need an ex-cheerleader in his office,” Guinevere informed her loftily.
“He needs someone who can type and answer phones. Ninety percent of the people you’ve interviewed could probably have handled the job, Gwen.” Trina held up a hand. “But don’t worry, I understand, even if Zac wouldn’t. This time you don’t have to fret. Evelyn Pemberton is exactly what you want for Zac. She’s fifty-three, well-groomed, intelligent, well-mannered, and poised. She’s also happily married, with grandchildren.”
“How’s her typing?”
Trina pretended to look surprised. “I didn’t know that was as important as the fact that she’s not likely to seduce Zac.”
Guinevere laughed ruefully.