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flippant look right back. She’dbeen a notoriously picky eater as a child, as Jason undoubtedly remembered. ‘The braised calf livers aren’t to my taste.’
    ‘Still picky?’
    ‘Discriminating is the word I’d use. And not as much as you might remember, Jason. I have changed, you know.’
    ‘I don’t doubt it.’ He paused, his long, supple fingers toying with the stem of his water glass. ‘I suppose,’ he said musingly, ‘there’s quite a bit I don’t know about you now. I’ve been gone, most of the time at least, for so long.’
    ‘But now you’re back to stay?’
    He shrugged. ‘For as long as needed.’
    Emily nodded in understanding. ‘On this personal business of yours?’
    A frown creased his brow before his expression cleared and he flashed her a quick, knowing smile. ‘Yes.’
    She couldn’t help but laugh; he wouldn’t give anything away. He never did, but then she’d never thought Jason had any secrets before. Or at least secrets worth knowing. ‘You’re a man of mystery now, aren’t you?’
    ‘Rather than boring?’ Jason filled in, one eyebrow arched.
    ‘I think I hurt your feelings when I said that.’
    ‘Only a little bit. As retribution, I told the waiter to bring you the calf livers rather than the chicken.’
    Her eyes widened as she realised she actually hadn’t heard what he’d ordered. ‘You did not!’
    ‘No, I didn’t. But you believed me, didn’t you?’ His faint smile, for a second, formed into a fully fledged grin, and the effect of that smile had Emily unsettled yet again. She’d forgotten how white Jason’s teeth were, how the dimple in his cheek deepened… . He really was a handsome man, which was, of course, what had compelled her to flirt with him seven years ago. She would not make the same mistake again.
    ‘Only because you’ve always told me the truth, no matter how ungracious it is.’
    He cocked his head, his gaze sweeping over her in considering assessment. ‘Would you rather I lied?’
    Emily thought of times Jason had told her the unvarnished truth when no one else would: when she was fourteen, she’d had a terrible spot on the tip of her nose. She’d been horribly embarrassed, and in a moment of desperation she’d asked Jason if he’d noticed it.
    Straight-faced, he’d said,
Em, how could I not? But I still like you, spots and all.
    And when she’d been fifteen and missing her mother, who’d died when she was only three, she’d asked him if one ever stopped missing one’s mum. She’d never met his mother; she’d died when he was eight years old.
    No,
he said,
you never stop. But it does get easier. Sometimes.
    His words had comforted her because she’d known them for truth rather than mere sentiment.
    ‘No,’ she said now, with her own surprised honesty, ‘I wouldn’t rather you lied. I suppose you need someone in your life who will tell you the truth.’
    ‘I’ll always do that.’ His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than she expected, so a sudden warmth spread through her limbs, a new unsettling awareness that she could hardly credit. This was
Jason.
She felt a rush of relief when the sommelier came with the wine and Emily watched as Jason, with that same easy assurance, swilled it in his glass before taking a sip and then nodding his approval. When the man had left, he raised his glass, the deep ruby-red of the wine catching the candlelight, in a toast.
    ‘To old friends and new beginnings,’ he said, his gaze still lingering, Emily raised her own glass, as well.
    ‘Hear, hear.’
    ‘So,’ Jason said once they had each taken a sip of wine, ‘how is Helen getting on?’
    ‘Ah, I knew there was an ulterior motive to this dinner.’
    ‘Not at all,’ Jason replied blandly. ‘But, since you interviewed her this morning, I thought I might as well ask.’
    ‘Well, I hired her as you asked me to. I think she’ll do well enough. She hardly has the experience, though.’
    ‘I didn’t expect her to.’
    Emily