Chapter 8 - THE MAN AT TABLE NINESix months after the airport, I met Daniel Mercer because he stole my table.
Technically, he did not steal it.
The restaurant did.
Nolan had dragged me to a charity dinner supporting a scholarship foundation our parents had contributed to for years.
I had tried to refuse.
He ignored me.
“You need to leave your house.”
“I leave my house every day.”
“For work.”
“That counts.”
“It does not.”
“I go grocery shopping.”
“Tragic.”
“I went to the dentist.”
“Emily.”
“What?”
“You are thirty-four years old.”
“Thank you for the reminder.”
“You have spent six months acting like social interaction requires a subpoena.”
“I had lunch with Julia last week.”
“Your former wedding planner.”
“She’s funny.”
“She’s also seventy percent responsible for your cancelled-florist refund.”
“Which is why I trust her.”
Nolan stared at me.
I eventually agreed.
The dinner was held in a renovated museum downtown.
High ceilings.
Stone columns.
Enough wealthy people in one room to fund a small country.
Nolan disappeared almost immediately into a group of investors.
I found my assigned table.
Nine.
My name card sat beside an empty chair.
Unfortunately, a man was sitting in it.
He wore a dark suit with no tie and was reading the program like he genuinely cared about it.
“Excuse me.”
He looked up.
Brown eyes.
Dark hair beginning to gray near the temples.
Probably late thirties.
“Yes?”
“You’re in my seat.”
He looked down.
Then at the name card.
Then at me.
“Emily Hart.”
“That’s me.”
He checked his own card.
“Daniel Mercer.”
“I assumed you weren’t Emily.”
His mouth moved slightly.
Not quite a smile.
“I’ve been called worse.”
He stood immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
“That was disappointingly easy.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Were you hoping for conflict?”
“Not particularly.”
“You sounded prepared.”
“I’ve had practice recently.”
Something in my tone must have warned him not to ask.
He moved to the chair beside mine.
“That appears to be my actual seat.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
I sat.
For the next twenty minutes, we barely spoke.
That was why I liked him.
Most men Nolan introduced me to tried too hard.
Questions.
Compliments.
Performances.
Daniel simply ate his salad and listened to the speakers.
Eventually he leaned toward me.
“Do you know anything about municipal education bonds?”
I blinked.
“That is the least romantic opening line I’ve heard in years.”
He almost choked on his water.
“I wasn’t attempting romance.”
“Good.”
“I genuinely need to know whether the speaker’s claim makes sense.”
I looked toward the stage.
“I work in nonprofit financial administration.”
“So you do know.”
“A little.”
He turned the program toward me.
We spent ten minutes discussing funding structures.
No flirting.
No personal questions.
No mention of Nolan.
Then someone approached our table.
“Daniel.”
A silver-haired man shook his hand.
“I didn’t know Mercer Development was sponsoring tonight.”
“We’re not.”
The man laughed.
“Still avoiding publicity?”
“Trying.”
They spoke briefly.
After he left, I looked at Daniel.
“Mercer Development?”
He grimaced.
“That sounded dramatic.”
“You own it?”
“My family does.”
There it was.
Family money.
My body tightened instinctively.
Daniel noticed.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You look like I announced I collect human teeth.”
I laughed unexpectedly.
“No.”
“Good.”
“I just have complicated feelings about wealthy families.”
He looked toward Nolan across the room.
“I assume yours qualifies.”
I stared at him.
“You know who I am?”
“Yes.”
My defenses rose immediately.
“How?”
“Your brother is sitting thirty feet away.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“Your name is on the foundation donor list.”
“Anything else?”
Daniel studied me.
Then understanding crossed his face.
“Ah.”
I hated that.
“Ah what?”
“You thought I sat in your chair intentionally.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“You recognized me.”
“After you introduced yourself.”
“I didn’t introduce myself. My card did.”
“Fair.”
He leaned back.
“I know Nolan professionally. Barely. We’ve been in two meetings together.”
My stomach relaxed slightly.
“I didn’t know he had a sister until tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
Derek had been fascinated by Nolan almost from the moment he learned who my brother was.
Daniel looked amused.
“Should I know more?”
“No.”
“Then I’m doing well.”
I smiled despite myself.
At the end of dinner, Daniel handed me his card.
I looked at it.
“This feels suspiciously like networking.”
“It is.”
“For what?”
“You mentioned your organization needs space for a youth program.”
I had.
During the bond discussion.
“One of our properties has an unused community floor. It might fit.”
I looked at him carefully.
“Is this a favor?”
“No.”
“Because of Nolan?”
“No.”
“Because you want my number?”
He smiled.
“I already have a business card. If I wanted your number, I’d ask.”
I liked that answer too much.
So I handed the card back.
“Ask.”
His smile disappeared.
For the first time all evening, I had surprised him.
“All right.”
He pulled out his phone.
“Emily Hart, may I have your number?”
I gave it to him.
Nolan saw the entire exchange from across the room.
His expression was unbearable.
In the car afterward, I waited.
He lasted thirty-seven seconds.
“Daniel Mercer.”
“Don’t.”
“I said his name.”
“You said it judgmentally.”
“I said two words.”
“You have judgmental syllables.”
Nolan laughed.
“I like him.”
“That makes me trust him less.”
“Reasonable.”
I looked out the window.
“Do not investigate him.”
Silence.
I turned.
“Nolan.”
“What constitutes investigating?”
“Anything you wouldn’t do to someone you met at a barbecue.”
“I don’t attend barbecues.”
“You know what I mean.”
He sighed.
“Fine.”
“Promise.”
“I promise not to commission a formal investigation.”
“Nolan.”
“I’m joking.”
He was not entirely joking.
Daniel texted the next morning.
Coffee sometime? Not networking.
I stared at the message for almost five minutes.
Then wrote:
Define sometime.
His reply arrived quickly.
Thursday, 6:30. Public place. No municipal bonds unless requested.
I smiled.
Thursday became dinner instead of coffee.
Dinner became a walk.
The walk became another dinner the following week.
Daniel did not ask about Derek until our fourth date.
We were sitting outside a small Italian restaurant.
He said, “You don’t have to answer this.”
“Dangerous beginning.”
“Were you engaged recently?”
My fork stopped.
“How do you know?”
“You have a faint ring mark in some older foundation photographs, and none now.”
I looked at my hand.
The mark had disappeared months ago.
“You noticed that?”
“I notice things.”
I waited for the follow-up.
What happened?
Did he cheat?
Are you over him?
Instead Daniel said, “You don’t have to explain.”
Something inside me loosened.
“He cheated.”
Daniel’s face did not change dramatically.
“With my best friend.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“Twelve days before the wedding.”
“That’s awful.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I considered the question.
“No.”
“Okay.”
That was all.
No curiosity disguised as concern.
No request for details.
No opportunity to make himself look superior to Derek.
We continued eating.
Ten minutes later, I said, “You’re not going to tell me you would never do that?”
Daniel looked confused.
“Would that help?”
“No.”
“Then why would I?”
I smiled.
He added, “Also, you don’t know me well enough for promises about my character to mean much.”
I stopped.
That sentence.
Simple.
Almost boring.
But it landed somewhere deep.
Derek had always told me who he was.
Loyal.
Ambitious.
Protective.
Family-oriented.
Daniel seemed content to let me find out.
Over the next two months, that was exactly what I did.
He called when he said he would.
When plans changed, he told me.
When he was busy, he did not manufacture excuses.
When I said no, he accepted it.
When I disagreed, he did not punish me with silence.
None of those things were romantic.
That was what made them extraordinary.
Trust, I discovered, was built out of extremely boring materials.
Consistency.
Clarity.
Time.
One Friday evening, Daniel came to my house for dinner.
He noticed the yellow guest room.
“Bright.”
“Derek hated yellow.”
He looked at me.
“So you painted an entire room yellow?”
“Yes.”
“That is impressively petty.”
“Thank you.”
“I respect it.”
After dinner, we sat on the back patio.
Daniel became unusually quiet.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re bad at nothing.”
He looked at me.
“I was going to ask whether you want to come to Boston with me next month.”
My body stiffened.
He noticed immediately.
“For a weekend,” he added. “Separate hotel rooms if you want. My sister has an exhibition opening.”
I stared at him.
Travel.
Hotel.
Weekend.
The words activated memories I hated.
Cabo.
Matching luggage.
Lies.
Daniel watched my face.
“We don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
He waited.
That was another thing he did well.
He let silence exist.
Finally I said, “I want to go.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“But?”
I looked down.
“I’m afraid of becoming stupid again.”
Daniel frowned.
“Stupid?”
“Trusting someone.”
His expression softened.
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“They felt like it for a while.”
He nodded.
“I can understand that.”
“No, you can’t.”
The words came sharper than I intended.
Daniel did not become defensive.
“You’re right.”
That stopped me.
“I haven’t been through what you went through.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
He leaned forward.
“You don’t owe me trust because we’ve had good dinners for two months.”
I looked at him.
“Then what are we doing?”
“Building enough evidence that maybe someday you’ll want to give me more.”
Evidence.
I laughed softly.
“You make dating sound like an audit.”
“You started it.”
“True.”
He smiled.
Then he became serious.
“Emily, I like you.”
My heart beat harder.
“But I don’t need you to decide what this is tonight.”
I swallowed.
“What if I never become the woman who trusts easily again?”
“Then don’t.”
He shrugged.
“Trust carefully.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Carefully.
Not fearfully.
Not blindly.
Carefully.
There was a difference.
A month later, I went to Boston.
Nothing terrible happened.
Daniel’s sister was hilarious.
His mother hugged too much.
His father talked about architecture for three uninterrupted hours.
Daniel snored.
I learned that because our hotel rooms shared a wall.
I recorded five seconds of it and played it for him at breakfast.
He looked betrayed.
“That is private medical information.”
“That is structural damage.”
He laughed.
And so did I.
For the first time since Derek, I was not falling in love.
Not yet.
May you like
I was doing something healthier.
I was paying attention.
