something in her, something she wasn’t proud of, but something she acknowledged. “If you put ice in it, I’ll let you stay all night.”
He smiled, as if unsurprised. “What if I wanted to stay longer than that?”
“You’ll have to bring me ice cream.”
He brought her a choice of the two she had in the freezer: chocolate chip cookie dough and caramel fudge. “Skip your meeting with the money dudes in the morning.”
She laughed. “I can’t. I’m telling you, this is the first idea I’ve had that’s good. I have to hire someone to build this app.”
“I’m just saying you might be able to find funding closer to home.”
Mariana ditched her apartment, rent control and all, and moved into his Potrero Hill loft two weeks later. It wasn’t just about BreathingRoom and the fact that he hired the developers for her. It was about him, about Luke. Mariana had fallen in love. The fact that he was wealthy was just . . . handy.
Now, in the House of Prime Rib, Luke was acting funny.Suspiciously. His gaze darted around the room, as if looking for someone.
“Are we waiting for somebody?”
Luke rubbed the back of his neck. “No. Why?”
Mariana laughed. “I was kidding. What’s going on?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. You want dessert?”
She thought about it. “Nah. Not really. That was amazing, but I’m full.”
He frowned. “But you always want dessert.”
“Usually. But not tonight. You go ahead and get something, though.”
Luke ordered the chocolate torte. He fiddled with his watch. “How’s the app?”
It had turned into shorthand for BreathingRoom.
The app, the app, the app.
“Fine,” she said. She’d been trying so hard not to bring it up over dinner. Luke didn’t care enough about technology to keep up with the details of her struggling business. She knew he didn’t want to know how difficult it was to optimize an entire site so it was easy navigate on both iPhones and Androids. (Nora, who’d written a piece on the most reasonable phones and their various platforms, did—she was the one who’d told Mariana she needed a responsive site. Mariana hadn’t even known what the term meant.) The third-party marketer Mariana had chosen for the pay-per-install had reneged on their quoted price, and she couldn’t afford them anymore. And she was
not
going to ask Luke for any more money. Not this month, anyway. She’d just asked him for money to hire an in-house developer so the bugs could be more quickly fixed and . . . she wasn’t going to ask for more. That was all there was to it. If she fucked it all up, well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d fucked something up so big she had to run in the other direction to avoid the avalanche’s crash. She’d call her sister tomorrow. Nora was the best sounding board, anyway. She always knew what to do.
“I love you,” Luke said, still tugging at his watch, pulling at the strap.
Mariana smiled. “I love you, too.”
The waiter appeared, hovering tactfully. “Your dessert.”
The bowl appeared to be holding multicolored beads, or maybe jelly candy. “I think he ordered the torte—,” she started.
“No, this was what I wanted. Thank you, sir.”
With a nod and—
was that a wink?
—the waiter retreated.
Mariana gaped. “What . . .”
“Gummy bears. I thought I’d offer you all the flavors. You can have anything you want in this bowl. Anything. There’s strawberry and grape and blue, whatever that is, and if you don’t like any of those, then I was hoping you’d consider accepting this.” Luke reached forward, placing a diamond ring on top of the pile of bears.
“Oh, Luke.” A gust of fear blew through her.
To Mariana’s horror, Luke stood and went down on one knee.
Not here. Not in front of God and everyone. Not where she couldn’t . . .
“Mariana Glass, I love you. Will you marry me?” His voice was choked, thickened. The diners around them, as if alerted by some subsonic engagement bell,
He smiled, as if unsurprised. “What if I wanted to stay longer than that?”
“You’ll have to bring me ice cream.”
He brought her a choice of the two she had in the freezer: chocolate chip cookie dough and caramel fudge. “Skip your meeting with the money dudes in the morning.”
She laughed. “I can’t. I’m telling you, this is the first idea I’ve had that’s good. I have to hire someone to build this app.”
“I’m just saying you might be able to find funding closer to home.”
Mariana ditched her apartment, rent control and all, and moved into his Potrero Hill loft two weeks later. It wasn’t just about BreathingRoom and the fact that he hired the developers for her. It was about him, about Luke. Mariana had fallen in love. The fact that he was wealthy was just . . . handy.
Now, in the House of Prime Rib, Luke was acting funny.Suspiciously. His gaze darted around the room, as if looking for someone.
“Are we waiting for somebody?”
Luke rubbed the back of his neck. “No. Why?”
Mariana laughed. “I was kidding. What’s going on?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. You want dessert?”
She thought about it. “Nah. Not really. That was amazing, but I’m full.”
He frowned. “But you always want dessert.”
“Usually. But not tonight. You go ahead and get something, though.”
Luke ordered the chocolate torte. He fiddled with his watch. “How’s the app?”
It had turned into shorthand for BreathingRoom.
The app, the app, the app.
“Fine,” she said. She’d been trying so hard not to bring it up over dinner. Luke didn’t care enough about technology to keep up with the details of her struggling business. She knew he didn’t want to know how difficult it was to optimize an entire site so it was easy navigate on both iPhones and Androids. (Nora, who’d written a piece on the most reasonable phones and their various platforms, did—she was the one who’d told Mariana she needed a responsive site. Mariana hadn’t even known what the term meant.) The third-party marketer Mariana had chosen for the pay-per-install had reneged on their quoted price, and she couldn’t afford them anymore. And she was
not
going to ask Luke for any more money. Not this month, anyway. She’d just asked him for money to hire an in-house developer so the bugs could be more quickly fixed and . . . she wasn’t going to ask for more. That was all there was to it. If she fucked it all up, well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d fucked something up so big she had to run in the other direction to avoid the avalanche’s crash. She’d call her sister tomorrow. Nora was the best sounding board, anyway. She always knew what to do.
“I love you,” Luke said, still tugging at his watch, pulling at the strap.
Mariana smiled. “I love you, too.”
The waiter appeared, hovering tactfully. “Your dessert.”
The bowl appeared to be holding multicolored beads, or maybe jelly candy. “I think he ordered the torte—,” she started.
“No, this was what I wanted. Thank you, sir.”
With a nod and—
was that a wink?
—the waiter retreated.
Mariana gaped. “What . . .”
“Gummy bears. I thought I’d offer you all the flavors. You can have anything you want in this bowl. Anything. There’s strawberry and grape and blue, whatever that is, and if you don’t like any of those, then I was hoping you’d consider accepting this.” Luke reached forward, placing a diamond ring on top of the pile of bears.
“Oh, Luke.” A gust of fear blew through her.
To Mariana’s horror, Luke stood and went down on one knee.
Not here. Not in front of God and everyone. Not where she couldn’t . . .
“Mariana Glass, I love you. Will you marry me?” His voice was choked, thickened. The diners around them, as if alerted by some subsonic engagement bell,
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