Chapter 19

Mazzy

In my room, the soft glow of the lamp casts a warm light, adding to the coziness of the space. My reflection in the full-length closet door mirror shows a mix of anticipation and nerves. I adjust the navy blue wrap dress that clings just right, complementing my long red hair and highlighting the green in my eyes. My freckles, usually a subtle feature, now seem like a bold statement against my pale skin. I never try to cover them up—my mom has always taught me to embrace them as a million tiny stars of beauty.

But because I’m going on a date, I went all out on the makeup. I used a light coverage base with powder but I’m the queen of contour and blush. It’s all very subtle and designed to be that way because it’s my eyes I always draw attention to. Luckily, my lashes are long and thick, made longer and thicker by an extra coating of mascara. I went with gold and brown colors on my eyes and a smoky gold liner underneath that brings out the tiny flecks of the same color in my irises.

I slip on the nude slingback heels, smoothing my dress again over my hips. I had to run home today to get this outfit as I had not brought any dressy clothes with me when I made this semi-permanent move into Foster and Bowie Jane’s house. My mom helped me go through the handful of dresses I own, and we unanimously agreed on this one. It’s sufficient for the fancy restaurant Foster alluded to and has just enough sex appeal without being overt. I want to convey how much I’ve been looking forward to this date.

Because I have.

Honestly, I didn’t have to really think about my answer after he asked. It didn’t take me long to process the fact that he’d talked to Bowie Jane about it and she was not bothered in the slightest.

In fact, I’d learned this week just how excited she was by the prospect of me and her dad going out on a date. She has totally romanticized it, even though I’ve played it cool, telling her that her dad and I are friends and we’re just having dinner together. We may end up being nothing more than friends. I want to temper her expectations somewhat but the fact she’s happy about it is what truly matters.

Or so I thought.

My mom did have to throw a bit of a wet blanket on the situation as I was trying on dresses. “I know you said that Foster talked to Bowie Jane about it and you’ve said this week she’s been excited about you two going on a date, but don’t you think that could be her manifesting some idealistic fantasies because of her mom being bankrupt from her life?”

That was a whole lot of words for one simple question, but it was an important one… is Bowie Jane substituting me for her mom?

It’s hard to know. She’s happy not to be in Singapore, thrilled to be living with her dad, but she still loves her mother very much. Misses her even more. The only thing that has made me feel marginally better is that Sandra actually FaceTimed Bowie Jane twice this week. She’s twelve hours ahead of us so she was up at seven a.m. her time to be able to talk with Bowie Jane at seven p.m.

I was surprised when Sandra texted me to ask about the best time to reach her daughter and I knew the time difference could be an issue. We decided seven would be best as she would be finished with homework, dinner and her bath by then.

Those two calls went moderately well. Sandra was alone on FaceTime, although Chet could have certainly been in the room. But it felt like Sandra was truly present with Bowie Jane, asking her all kinds of questions about school and her friends. She didn’t talk about Singapore or make a big deal about her work there. I’d say Sandra truly focused on her daughter and I can tell Bowie Jane reacted positively to that interaction.

Bottom line… I had to tell my mom, “I’m really not sure if she’s considering me a substitute.”

Placing her hand on my shoulder, she said, “Just be careful with that little girl. She’s had a lot of upheaval in her life.”

That right there had me reconsidering the date but as this week progressed—Foster completed the two-game road trip and then had a home game Friday against the New Jersey Wildcats—our impending date wasn’t much of a subject of discussion anymore. Bowie Jane is doing her first overnight at a school friend’s house, and that became infinitely more exciting than me and her dad going out for dinner.

In fact, Foster drove her over there and should be back any moment now. I do another quick perusal in the mirror and fluff out the waves I put in my hair with a curling wand. This is as good as it gets for Mazzy Archer.

There’s a gentle knock at my bedroom door and my pulse ratchets up a notch. “It’s open,” I say, my voice betraying a hint of excitement as I close the closet door.

Foster steps in, his presence filling the room. He’s dressed in a sleek, navy blue suit that outlines his athletic build, the fabric glinting under the lamplight, suggesting a subtle pinstripe. His hair is styled—not sleek, but the longish waves on top have a bit of form to them. Mostly, I’m stunned that he shaved the thick stubble and if I thought he was hot before with that scruff, the undeniable beauty of his bare face leaves me a little speechless.

I manage to mutter, “We’re both wearing navy.”

Foster doesn’t seem to hear me because he’s busy letting his gaze roam over my body. Not in a lecherous way, but in true appreciation for what he sees. “There’s no way you’re changing out of that, so if it bothers you we’re wearing the same color, I’ll go change.”

I shake my head, coming out of the daze his handsomeness put me in. “No, not at all. You look great. Don’t change.”

He smiles, a playful glint in his eyes. “Ready to escape our usual roles for the evening? I promise to be an excellent date, not just your employer.”

I laugh, the sound more confident now. “Lead the way, Mr. McInnis.”

By the time we’re in his truck, headed into downtown, my nerves have dissipated as we settle into a comfortable conversation. The engine hums as we make our way through the streets, the city lights blurring past us.

We chat about the Titans, the excitement of the new season having officially made me into a hockey fan. It’s hard not to be invested when Foster plays for the team and Bowie Jane is officially the cutest and most ardent little fan around. “Penn Navarro’s on fire. The guy’s a machine on the ice.”

“He’s impressive,” Foster agrees, and I glance over at him. Even the way he drives is confident and sexy with his right elbow propped on the console between us, his fingers loosely gripped on the wheel. His left forearm rests casually on his thigh, as if we’re just out taking a Sunday drive through the countryside, not navigating Pittsburgh’s downtown traffic on a Saturday night. “Just wish he’d attempt to gel with the players a bit more.”

“Still standoffish?” I guess, since that’s not the first time Foster’s lamented that.

“Yeah.” His voice is gruff with regret. “He won’t accept anyone’s invitation to go hang out. He’s turned down beers, invitations for dinner, pickle ball, golf. Just no interest in developing personal relationships like the rest of us have.”

“Do you think that has anything to do with the fact that you and your teammates developed stronger than normal bonds when the team was reformed after the crash? I mean… is it natural that all players on a team will be tight?”

“That’s a good question and I do think there is some element to us being the post-crash team that makes our friendships go a little deeper. But even the new guys who joined this season are making efforts to integrate on personal levels.”

“But not Penn.”

“Not Penn,” he agrees. “On the flip side, the first line is killing it. No matter if he’s antisocial, he’s found a rhythm with Stone, Boone, Bain and King that’s working well.” He glances over at me, then back to the road. “You’re really getting into Titans hockey.”

“I have no choice. I learned quickly that your daughter knows the sport very well and is her dad’s biggest fan. I had to get up to speed just so I could understand what she was talking about half the time.”

Foster laughs. It’s deep and rich, and it makes me smile. It’s such a good laugh.

The restaurant Foster takes me to is new and not one I’d have gone to if I had a choice. With my excellent salary and distinct lack of debt, I could afford it, but it’s definitely an establishment that caters to intimate meals and well… I’m not intimate with anyone nor have I been for a long time.

We walk into a vision of elegance, the interior bathed in warm sconces, dimmed chandeliers and soft candlelight. The murmur of conversation and the clink of glasses accentuates the sophisticated atmosphere. Our table is secluded from the rest and the ma?tre d’ seems to have been expecting Foster.

“Please let me know what else we may do to accommodate you this evening, Mr. McInnis,” he says as Foster pulls out the chair for me to sit. Our table is only big enough for two, tucked in a corner, the chairs adjacent to each other for more intimate conversation.

Foster unbuttons his suit jacket and takes the chair next to me.

“Will you be requiring the sommelier?” the ma?tre d’ asks.

“Yes, please,” Foster replies, accepting one of the menus.

I take the other and the ma?tre d’ bows slightly. “Right away, sir.”

Glancing around, I look at some of the other couples, a few tables with four to six people. Everyone’s dressed in suits and elegant dresses, diamonds twinkling on the ladies. I open the menu and I know this place is expensive because there are no prices listed.

At all.

In the past, the type of men I’ve dated have ranged from blue collar to business professionals, but I’ve always worried about the prices on the menu when ordering and usually pick something cheap. That simply isn’t an option tonight.

A woman appears at the table and introduces herself as the sommelier. She hands Foster a wine list, prompting him to ask me, “Do you prefer white or red?”

“Red,” I reply, although I’m not a big drinker at all.

He doesn’t even open the wine list but instead asks, “What is a good red you would recommend and why?”

“The 2020 Trivento Golden Reserve Malbec has an incredibly rich flavor profile. It’s from the Luján de Cuyo region of Argentina known for deep, dark fruit flavors, often with notes of blackberry and plum with subtle earthy or spicy undertones. It’s four hundred dollars for a bottle.”

“We’ll give that a try,” Foster says, handing the thick leather menu back to her. I try not to look alarmed over the cost but when the sommelier leaves, Foster grins at me. “Relax, Mazzy. Enjoy.”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever had wine that was more than twenty dollars.”

“The cost isn’t important. Let’s just enjoy some good food and wine.”

It sounds like excellent advice, so I give a sound nod. “Deal. Want to go ahead and pick out what we want to eat? I expect with good food and wine will come intriguing conversation and we won’t want to be interrupted.”

“That’s Mazzy Archer, looking for the most efficient way to do things. I like it.”

We open our menus, discuss the choices and settle on our entrees. Foster is going for the filet mignon with a red wine sauce and it’s the seared sea scallops with risotto for me. A vigilant waiter approaches with a pitcher, fills our water glasses, and because we know what we want, we place our order. With nothing to do but wait for wine and food, Foster gets the jump with the first question.

“I want to know more about your music. When did you start and when did you know you had a passion for it?”

“Hmm. Let’s see.” I’m impressed by the thoughtfulness of his curiosity. I’ve never had anyone ask me when I knew that it would be a passion. “I started with piano lessons when I was seven. My parents insisted that each of us kids had to take lessons for a musical instrument of our choice for at least one year. I love playing the piano and I also picked up the guitar when I was about eight. And I guess I knew that I had a passion for it when I was spending nearly all my free time playing. Not just practicing, but playing so I could hear my own music I was creating. I dabbled with the violin but eventually let that go.”

“Did you ever take singing lessons? Because your voice is amazing. It’s like a strong hit of Adele with a tinge of Courtney Love.”

I grin at him, the talents of the two women paired together being quite the compliment. I’m also impressed he knows music to the extent that he would pick those two ladies to describe my voice.

“Never took voice lessons. Just have it naturally, I guess.”

“And you only play with Leo?”

I nod, a little surprised at his recall. “Yes, we’ve been playing together since middle school and formed a duo in high school. We play coffeehouses, bars, anywhere that’ll have us really. He’s like a brother to me.”

Foster raises an eyebrow, a half-smile playing on his lips. “A brother, huh? He seemed quite… affectionate.”

I can’t help but laugh at the hint of jealousy in his tone. “Leo’s just like that. But it’s purely platonic, I assure you.”

The sommelier reappears, carrying a bottle of wine. She uncorks it and pours a small amount in a wineglass for Foster to taste. I expect him to nod and accept it, but he hands his glass to me. “Here… make sure you like it.”

I’m not sure if that’s a breach of wine protocol or not, but I very much like the way he’s invited me to drink out of his glass and the fact my opinion matters to him. Incredibly thoughtful.

I sip, savoring the flavor and while I don’t have the most sophisticated palate, I know it tastes good. “I like it.”

The sommelier beams, pours glasses for each of us and leaves the bottle on the table before backing away.

Foster takes his glass in hand and holds it up. I mimic his action, and he says, “To our first date. I hope it ends well enough there will be a second.”

“Not a bad thing to toast to,” I say, and we tap our glasses. Our eyes lock over the rims as we take a sip.

“I don’t understand,” Foster says as we lower our drinks. “Why aren’t you singing professionally? I mean… you should have a recording contract, be playing sold-out concerts.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “That’s a little overboard.”

“It’s not,” he insists.

Dropping my gaze to my glass, I smile at the earnestness in his voice. When I look back up, I tell him the simple truth. “Music is a passion but it’s not my biggest one. Taking care of kids is where it’s at for me.”

Foster tilts his head in curiosity. “How did that come to be?”

“Circumstance, mostly,” I reply with a laugh. “My family is big, blended and all over the place as far as age ranges.” I tell him about how my mom and stepdad met, how they waited eleven years before having their own kids. “So Landon and Mason are twelve and fourteen now. I was thirteen when Mason was born so I was almost as much a mom to them as our own mom was. I just took to it naturally… the mothering part. The mentoring part is important to me too, but I didn’t want to do something like teaching.”

“Why not?” he asks before taking another drink of his wine.

My grin is abashed. “First, I really had no interest in going to college. Just committing to another four years of learning seemed… daunting. Mostly though, I wanted to be more hands-on with kids. I wanted to be a bigger influence than having an hour a day with a large group of kids versus more one-on-one. I wanted to be able to take care of and influence a young child’s life for the better, especially when they have to contend with the schedules of their working parents. I knew those challenges firsthand as both my parents were career-oriented and worked demanding jobs. Nannying was the way for me to do that.”

Foster leans back, drums his fingers on the table. “That’s impressive. Any regrets on the path you chose?”

“Not in choosing childcare over music, because I still get my music fix while doing what I love best. But a little regret on not going to college. Now that I’m older, I wish I’d tried it.”

Foster shakes his head. “I don’t believe college is for everyone. I don’t think you needed it for what you do, but if it’s that important to you, it’s never too late to take a shot at it.”

“Not sure it’s that important,” I grudgingly admit. “But maybe one day.”

He nods as if he understands that it’s an unrealized dream but one I’d be okay just keeping as a dream. “Tell me more about your family. What are they like? It’s clear you’re close to them.”

“Very close and it’s possible I could talk the rest of dinner about them.”

Spreading his arms wide, he says, “We have nothing but time tonight, so talk away.”

I dive deep into my family, having no choice because for every tidbit I give him, he has follow-up questions. He’s so engaged, so interested in learning about me, it casts Foster in a different light. He’s no longer just the nice, gorgeous hockey player who has my interest, he’s a man who’s proving himself to be a genuinely good human being. And tonight, he’s showing just how into me he is. It’s flattery that goes beyond mere compliments. It’s the type of attention that says, you are beyond worthy of my notice.

I feel a connection that stretches beyond our usual roles, a spark of something new and exciting. It’s as if we’re seeing each other for the first time, not as employer and nanny, but as Mazzy and Foster, two people on the edge of something wonderful.

The net effect is that I’m hooked. I wasn’t sure how this date would go and if there would be anything other than intense attraction and mutual admiration. Before we’re even done with the meal, I know this is a guy I could fall hard for.

Under ordinary circumstances, I would be flying high with the possibilities, but I can’t help but worry if we’re doing the right thing because we have Bowie Jane to consider. Even if by all accounts she’s fine with this and it is actually good for her, I can’t help but worry what the toll would be if Foster and I didn’t work out, if this thing fizzles before it really starts.

Which means that no matter how much I want to see where this goes, I have to make sure I’m seeing clearly and proceeding with some measure of caution.