At first he thinks it’s fireworks, a quiet popping in the distance.
Daniel is heading into the city, sweating slightly as he walks up the hill, the harbour at his back. He could have taken an Uber but he needs the exercise – too much time hunched over his laptop and sewing machine, too many long lunches like this one will be, God willing – and it’s a glorious day, why wouldn’t he walk? It was only twenty minutes. Morgan had laughed when she saw him setting out, told him he was crazy, but then Morgan never walked anywhere.
Couldn’t, in those stilettos. He’d suggested once that she wear sneakers to work, even Ugg boots if she wanted to – there was nobody at the studio to appreciate her Manolos – but she’d winced as if he’d slapped her and told him to have her committed if he ever saw her wearing Uggs.
It is spring. The dappled sunlight through the plane trees is warm on his shoulders, and he stops to remove his jacket, folding it carefully across his arm. He’ll put it on again before he enters the restaurant, and he doesn’t want it creased. That would hardly give the right impression. Daniel checks his watch and sets off again.
Plenty of time. It really is a lovely day, the sky a blue dome above him. He’s booked his usual table at Sake, but maybe they could sit outside, on the deck. If the pitch goes well, he might even linger, make an afternoon of it looking out over the water with a beer and a smoke. How long has it been since he’s done that? He should have told Morgan he might be back late, or not at all. She wouldn’t be impressed, but who gave a shit? All work and no play, right? It’d been ages since he’d had a lunch of no return, and the last collection had really taken it out of him…
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