“Not a problem. So five thirty, then?”

Jane’s enthusiasm should have made him feel guilty. It didn’t, but he grabbed onto it like a lifeline. If she could be happy about being with him, wasn’t that better than the alternative? He couldn’t, couldn’t acknowledge the pit of despair about to swallow him like Luke Skywalker and the Sarlacc. Star Wars. Andy was so far in his head, he couldn’t even create his own analogies!

He didn’t think about it much further. He just acted. “Never mind. My plans just changed. I’ll send a car to pick you up at six thirty. Our reservations at Menton are for seven.”

“I’ll be ready.” Her smile carried through the phone. “Menton—that’s quite a fancy restaurant. Is it an occasion?”

It was an occasion. The worst occasion. The day that Andrea Dawson walked out of his life for good. The last thing he wanted to do was go out with another woman. But he’d been around long enough to learn that tough situations were best met with fortitude. After all, that seemed to be what Jane did.

“Simply dinner.” He was surprised his voice came out so evenly. “The manager is a client, and I was lucky to snag a last-minute table.”

“Exciting. I’ve never been there before.”

Blake stifled a groan as he said his good-byes. It felt like a betrayal—taking another woman on a date with reservations meant for the love of his life. He’d get through it, of course. Still, the way he felt seemed to warrant at least an afternoon of moping. He gathered his things and left the office. Hopefully when he came back tomorrow he’d be able to forget all the memories he and Drea had created there. Replacing a wingback was one thing—it would be awfully expensive if he had to remodel the whole damn place.

*   *   *

“—or Chicken Marsala.”

Blake blinked and looked from the television to his housekeeper. She was standing at the side of the couch, a questioning furrow in her brow. How long had she been there?

He paused Downton Abbey—he’d barely been paying attention to it anyway. “What was that you were saying, Ellen?”

She smiled patiently. “I asked what you wanted me to do for your dinner tonight. I could grill some steaks or make my Chicken Marsala.”

It was his turn to be puzzled. “Those choices sound awfully fancy for just one. Besides, I’m going out tonight.” More and more he regretted his decision to take Jane to Menton. Too late to back out now, though. Maybe he could say he got sick. He certainly felt sick.

He’d taken some Pepto. An hour later, he was chewing the ginger candies Ellen swore by. It turned out there wasn’t really anything you could take for “heartsick.” Despite his best Google searches.

“Tomorrow then,” Ellen persisted. “What should the menu be for then?”

“Leftovers will be fine.” On second thought, eating leftovers from the meal he’d shared with Andrea sounded dismal. “Or I’ll heat a frozen lasagna.”

“So you’ll be having no dinner guests tomorrow?” Her expression was so hopeful that Blake had to wonder if she was losing it.

“Do I ever?”

“After yesterday, I thought…”

He’d forgotten that Ellen had known Andrea had visited. Actually, he had spent all afternoon trying to forget everything about the night before, though the task had turned out to be near impossible. Memories sat just under his every thought. Flashes would permeate his conscience at the most inopportune moments. Like now when he was listening to his elderly housekeeper, it probably wasn’t appropriate to be picturing that thing Drea could do with her tongue.

He blinked his eyes, erasing the image from his mind and returning his focus to Ellen, who was still talking. He hoped he hadn’t missed much.

“… you’ve been going out a lot lately. All those dates at restaurants, what a waste of money. I thought perhaps you might invite Drea here again sometime. I’m happy to prepare a home-cooked meal. Simply tell me the date and I’ll take care of it all.”

“Invite Drea…?” He furrowed his brow as he attempted to piece together the meaning in Ellen’s statement. “No, no. I haven’t been going out with Drea. It’s Jane I’ve been seeing.” Plain Jane. He ignored the ache of how much he wished it were Drea he’d been seeing instead. Wished it were Drea he was seeing tonight.

Ellen frowned. “Oh. I thought that … Drea just seemed … well, I suppose it’s none of my business.”

“I suppose it’s not.” Perhaps he delivered that a little too harshly, but really—discussing his love life with his housekeeper? Not a chance.

Except, if she had something worthwhile to say …

“I’ll plan on buying you some microwave meals tomorrow, then.” She started to leave. Microwave meals? Not her frozen concoctions? She must be pissed.

“Ellen, wait a minute.” He paused to let her turn her attention back to him. “If it were your business, what would you say?”

She gave an innocent shrug. “I don’t know. I hadn’t given it much thought.”

Blake peered skeptically at his housekeeper. She always had an opinion. Solicited or not. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Well.” Her eyes looked upward as she pretended to consider. “I guess I’d ask you if you wish that Andrea would join you again for dinner.”

Yes, he wished it. More than anything. “It doesn’t matter what I wish, so the question’s irrelevant.”

She scowled at him. “Now, that hardly seems fair.”

“Life isn’t fair. I learned that one young.”

“Tough talk is all that is. And you are much tougher than I, if you actually believe that drivel.” Ellen perched on the arm of the couch and folded her hands in her lap. “But if speaking about Andrea is off the table, then I’d ask you about this Jane woman—do you wish that she would join you for dinner?”

Now Blake scowled. “I’m having dinner with her tonight, aren’t I?”

“I mean, tomorrow. Here for dinner.”

What was his housekeeper getting at? “If I’d wanted her here, I’d have invited her.”

“I see.” Ellen pursed her lips. “Then you won’t be going out with Jane again?”

“I didn’t say that.” He hadn’t quite decided about Jane, but he had a feeling he’d see her again. Not at his home, but out. Though he wasn’t obligated to Ellen, it seemed she was waiting for an explanation. “I simply—don’t want her with me here. My house is my space. No obligations. My time is my time.”

“But if you had the choice, you’d spend your free time with Drea?” Ellen didn’t wait for him to respond. “You don’t have to answer. I think I understand the situation now.”

“That makes one of us.”

“What still confuses me, though, is this Jane woman. If you don’t want to spend time with her, then why are you insisting you are dating her?”

It was a valid question, one that Blake pondered every other minute. He sighed. “She’s fond of me, I believe.”

“Fond of you? That’s certainly a nice thing.” Ellen raised a brow. “But how do you feel about her?”

“She’s excellent dating material. Pleasant. Pretty. She’d make a fine wife.” He’d told himself this so much that afternoon it had practically become his mantra.

Ellen swiveled to face him straight-on. “Maybe she will, but not for you, Blake Donovan. Please don’t tell me that you’re considering proposing to her.”

“It had crossed my mind,” he mumbled.

“Now, that’s just downright mean.” In the many years he’d known Ellen, she’d never spoken so sternly to him. “How is that fair to this Jane? If you don’t love her—and I can tell by the way that you speak of her that you don’t—then you’re nothing but an emotional terrorist. You’re holding her heart hostage. What if she could have the chance to find someone who really cared for her? Someone who adored the ground she walked on? But instead, she’s wasting her time with you, when you’ve clearly already decided she’ll never be that special to you. It’s cruel.”

Rarely did Blake let anyone school him as his housekeeper had just done. His immediate instinct was to defend his behavior. But there was affection in her scolding and her words were surprisingly not unreasonable.