really can’t remember. The moment he touched me I just—” Jane fluttered her fingers around her face. “I got all flustered. He asked me out, first to coffee, then to dinner and then to lunch. You would have been proud of me. I said no and then I got out of there before I starting drooling all over him.”
“You turned him down.”
“Yes. And not just then. He’s called me three times this past week to ask me out again. But I’m strong. I’ve decided going out with him would be a big mistake and I’m determined never to see him again. It was just a chance meeting and it’s over.”
“So he still did it to you,” Lisa muttered. “He still made your heart race and your palms sweat?”
“No,” Jane cried. “Well, maybe, a little. But I’m a different person now. I’m not that silly girl who filled up journal after journal with her fantasies about him. I’m not that girl who wasted sleep dreaming about him. Not anymore,” she lied. Although there had been more than a few very vivid dreams over the past nights, dreams that had featured a tall, dark man who looked a lot like Will. “Besides, I have a boyfriend.”
“You mean David?”
“Yes. Last month we had two dates. He took me to that play and we went to see a movie together. And we had dinner afterward. He’s sweet and polite and handsome. The kind of man I can trust. The kind of man who won’t break my heart.”
David Martin was an architect who had first contacted Windy City Gardens to do the landscaping for a home he’d designed. They’d worked with him on six other projects and he and Jane had formed a friendship. Though David seemed happy with the occasional date, Jane had always hoped that their relationship would progress to something a bit more intimate than a chaste peck on the cheek at the end of the evening.
“I still think he’s gay,” Lisa said, her voice tinged with suspicion.
“He is not! He’s just well-dressed and well-groomed. Just because he pays particular attention to his appearance doesn’t make him gay.”
“Don’t you remember what brought you together? Your mutual love of Celine Dion and Audrey Hepburn.”
“We share common interests. He’s a sweet, sensitive, understanding man—unlike Will McCaffrey who wouldn’t think of sitting through an Audrey Hepburn double feature.”
“Back to Will McCaffrey again,” Lisa murmured.
“If I had a choice between David Martin and Will McCaffrey, I’d choose David every day of the week and twice on Sundays.”
The bell on the front door rang and they both turned to watch a messenger walk inside. “Here we go,” Lisa said, deftly changing the subject. “This nice man is bringing us new business, I can feel it. Or maybe he has an envelope filled with cash.”
“Are you Jane Singleton?” the messenger asked.
Lisa pointed to Jane. “That’s her.”
“I’m supposed to deliver this to you personally and then make sure you read it.”
Jane took the envelope, noting the stamp on the front. “Personal and Confidential,” she read.
“Who’s it from?”
“There’s no return address.” She tore into the envelope and pulled out a photocopy of a handwritten document. As she began to read, she slowly recognized the handwriting. And when her gaze dropped to the bottom of the page and found her own signature, Jane gasped. “Oh, my God.”
“What is it?”
Jane handed Lisa the contract and read the cover letter. “In the matter of the contract between William A. McCaffrey and Jane Singleton, we must discuss the satisfaction of terms as soon as possible. I’ve scheduled a meeting at my office for tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Sincerely, William McCaffrey, Attorney at Law.”
“We’re doing Will McCaffrey’s garden? Gee, Jane, I’m impressed. You managed to pitch him a project while avoiding him at the same time?”
“Read the contract. This doesn’t have anything to do with a garden. This is about…marriage.”
Lisa’s eyes went wide. “Marriage? Like in ‘husband and wife, till death do us part’?” She quickly scanned the contract, then glanced up at Jane, a stunned expression on her face.
“It was a joke,” Jane said. “He was depressed and I was…vulnerable and he suggested if neither of us was married by the time he was thirty, then we’d…oh, God. I’d forgotten all about this. How could I forget about this?”
“Do you have any return message?” the messenger asked impatiently.
“No,” Jane said, forgetting he was still standing there. “Wait, yes.” She stepped up to the young man and poked a finger into his chest. “You can tell Will McCaffrey that he has a lot of nerve digging up this silly contract. I’m not going to marry him. I’m not going to date him.” She gave the guy another poke. “And you can tell him if he thinks I’m still the same love-starved, weak-willed, stupid little girl who kissed him that—” Jane bit her bottom lip. “Never mind. I’ll tell him myself.”
The messenger nodded, then hurried out of the office, clearly unnerved by her outburst.
“When did you kiss Will McCaffrey?”
“Valentine’s Day, February 14, 1998. Six years ago. He was drunk. And I was completely out of my mind.” She grabbed the contract from Lisa. “This can’t be legal. Look at it. It’s handwritten. And this doesn’t even look like my signature.”
“Is that your signature?” Lisa asked.
“Yes.”
“Then I think it might be legal.”
Jane felt a warm flush creep up her cheeks and her stomach churned with nerves. “I guess I’m going to have to get a lawyer.”
“Either that or marry Will McCaffrey,” Lisa chirped.
JANE SMOOTHED HER HANDS over the front of her skirt, working out a wrinkle that had developed on the ride downtown. She’d spent most of the morning trying to decide what to wear to her meeting with Will. She’d begun with the sexy choices, anxious to prove that she wasn’t the same clumsy girl that he’d once known, that she’d grown into a confident, attractive woman who didn’t need a contract to find a husband.
But she’d discarded those outfits for more conservative choices, a tailored blazer and pants with a silk blouse and elegant jewelry, something to counter his power suit. But that choice hid every trace of femininity, so she traded the pants for a pencil-slim skirt and heels, a wardrobe choice that she rarely employed.
After dressing, she’d fussed with her hair, trying to train the waves into something more subdued. She’d finally given up on the tousled curls and carefully brushed on mascara and lipstick before heading out the door.
Will’s office was located in one of the numerous office towers that dominated downtown Chicago. She’d parked in a nearby ramp and walked the block to the building, taking a few moments to rest in the lobby and compose
