AS WE waited to be seated at The Blacksmith, anticipation swirled in the air, rendering us both silent. I studied our surroundings. The dining area was accented with brick walls, black leather furniture and low, romantic light. Kathleen could have taken me anywhere for a quick bite, but instead she’d chosen a steakhouse that guaranteed a leisurely meal.
I stayed one close step behind her as we walked to our table. I paused to pull out Kathleen’s chair and placed a light hand on the small of her back, guiding her into the seat. I removed my fingers from her body and opted to sit on her left rather than across the table. We both settled in and when our eyes met, she pulled me right back in. I reached over and covered Kathleen’s hand with my own.
“This is on me,” I said.
“Thank you so much,” she returned, gracious enough not to argue.
“Consider it my thanks for a night at the grown-up table.”
We both laughed, and the movement of our bodies reminded me that my hand was still over hers. She hadn’t pulled away and didn’t appear to be in a hurry to do so. I ran my thumb along her skin, slowly. I took my time to withdraw from her and only did so with great hesitation. The moment gone, we picked up our menus and regarded our choice of items until our server approached the table.
“Can I interest you both in a starter and something to drink?”
I deferred to Kathleen and was thrilled with her next question. “Will you share one with me?”
“I’d love to. Your choice.”
She glanced back at her menu and made her decision. “Tuna poke, please.”
“And to drink?”
“How about the German Riesling?” I suggested.
“That’s perfect.”
“Two glasses or a bottle?” the server asked.
“Just the glasses for now,” I replied, looking up from the menu. “We may want to select something different for the entrée.”
“Very good.” The server retreated, giving us our privacy, so I started a new conversation. “You mentioned that tonight wouldn’t have been your first time walking out to your car alone. Do you work late often?”
Kathleen shook her head. “It’s not a habit. If anything, I prefer to set things aside and come in on the weekend.”
“So why did you stay tonight?”
She shrugged. “It’s been one of those weeks.”
“What kind of week is that?” I prodded with a smile.
“The kind where you work like a fiend but can’t seem to make any headway. Quitting time came, and I still had good focus. I figured I could get things squared away and guarantee myself a normal weekend. So, I stayed.”
I nodded. “I remember pulling a lot of nights like that in Baltimore. I can’t say I miss it much.”
Kathleen took a thoughtful sip of her water. “It has to be trickier for you because of your daughter,” she said, setting her glass down on the table. “You must have to plan ahead for those kinds of things.”
“I do.”
“Where is she right now?”
“I have a sitter at home. She also has a friend over, so it’s a treat.”
Kathleen rested her hands on the menu and leaned forward. I mirrored her movement, bringing our faces close together. Her green eyes twinkled with mischief and candlelight.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” she asked. “I’m curious about something.”
“Uh-oh,” I teased.
“How did the Valentine’s Day party go? You never told me.”
I leaned back in my seat as a rush of heat surged through my cheeks. “Oh. That.”
“I’ve been dying to know,” she confessed with a dazzling grin.
“Well, I guess I’d have to call it a success, although I feared for my masculinity at one point.”
“How so?” Kathleen giggled.
I raised one hand. “Let’s just say I was lucky to get out of the living room without getting my fingernails painted.”
“What color?” Kathleen didn’t miss a beat.
I squirmed and scratched my chin, but not because I needed to search my memory. “Dandelion yellow,” I mumbled with a smirk.
Kathleen laughed heartily, and my heart pounded in response to her giddiness. “Oh my,” she exclaimed, placing her hand right between her breasts. “That’s a bold one.”
Her jubilation emboldened me. “It was Crayola.”
“Really?”
“I’m serious. One of the girls brought over an entire box with eight colors.”
“You could have had a mosaic. And you, the creative advertising executive, wouldn’t let those sweet little girls express their artistic whims?” she said in a teasing tone.
“No, I do have my pride. Although the girls were impressed with the potential canvas, I possess more real estate than they’re used to working with.”
Kathleen reached for my hand. “Let me see.”
I raised an eyebrow in her direction. The current topic of conversation wasn’t one that would solidify my manliness on our impromptu dinner date. But, it was my fault for telling her the story in the first place. I wasn’t comfortable talking to my love interest about the possibility of having my nails done, but it was an undeniable excuse to touch her again, so I extended my hand. Thankfully, Kathleen didn’t linger on the subject. Instead, she rubbed my fingers as she studied them. The sensation was electric.
“I see what all the fuss is about,” she said in a distinctly sexy tone.
“Yeah?” My reply was husky.
She grinned but didn’t release my hand. I allowed her to explore me for just a few moments before twisting my wrist to claim her hand with my own. We both fell quiet as I began to explore her petite fingers. Her grip relaxed, and I resisted the urge to lift her hand up to my mouth for a gentle kiss.
We only parted when our first course arrived. Our server requested our entrée order, and I looked to Kathleen yet again.
“Are you willing to share again?” she asked me.
“Yes.”
“Is the Tomahawk For Two still available?” she asked our server.
“It is. What sides would you like?”
Kathleen perused our choices. “Sautéed mushrooms and green bean sauté, please.”
Not spotting a zinfandel on the menu, I settled for ordering us a bottle of cabernet. As soon as the server retreated, I dished up the tuna. After the first bite, we returned to our conversational bubble.
“You know,” she said, “I’ve never asked you where you live.”
“In Northwest Crossing.”
She nodded. “That’s a nice neighborhood. It suits you.”
“I considered some larger homes, but comfortable simplicity has always worked well for me.”
“How many stories?”
“Just one. It’s a bungalow but there’s more than enough room for us.”
“Which street are you on?” she asked.
I answered and mentioned some of the nearby landmarks. Kathleen was able to narrow her mental search down to a couple of homes.
“It’s the brown one,” I offered, “with the brick columns and white trim.”
“I’ve always been curious about that house.”
This was a pleasant surprise. “How so?”
“I wondered if it’s bigger than it looks from the front.”
“It is. When I first pulled up to it, I wondered what the Realtor was thinking. But it has a unique layout, not your typical cookie cutter suburban home. “You should come over for a tour.” My words tumbled out without any thought.
Kathleen’s fork paused midway between her plate and her delectable mouth. She smiled but didn’t respond.
“I apologize. I didn’t think about how that sounded.”
“It sounds fine to me.” Her fork resumed its upward journey.
Now, it was my turn to smile and go mute. I cleared my throat in a poor attempt to regain my senses.
“It doesn’t have to be tonight,” I clarified. “I mean. I don’t want you to think this is a now or never invitation. You’re welcome to stop by whenever it suits you.”
She enjoyed her next bite of tuna, swallowed and met my waiting gaze. “I could come over after dinner.”
I blinked. “Are you sure?”
“The way I see it, I have three options tonight. I can go home, go with you, or meet up with Tracie at some club over on Bond Street.”
“Club?” I didn’t like the sound of that.
“We look out for each other. It’s our unspoken rule. If one of us is going out, the other will check in at some point during the night.”
“I won’t keep you up late.”
She shrugged casually. “Doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t have any plans tomorrow?”
Kathleen grimaced. “Nothing I’m looking forward to.”
I laughed. At the time, I thought she was making a joke.
“I keep bouncing back and forth about the table layout in Portland. Something as simple as changing the perspective can liven up the luncheon.”
Kathleen leaned back in her seat, her arms crossed. She focused on imaginary table settings at the future event and not on the present.
I shook my head. We’d dismissed our dinner plates, and I was enjoying the relaxing effects of food and fine wine. “No talk about work.”
Kathleen’s attention returned to me, razor sharp. “What should we talk about?”
As we contemplated potential subjects, the moments stretched out between us. It was Kathleen who broke the extended silence.
“Was moving to Oregon worth it?” Her question was laced with concern.
I looked away, tapping my fingers on the stem of my wine glass. “I’m still figuring that one out, I suppose.” I’d been so careful to guard my personal struggles from everyone at the office. It was a difficult habit to break. I lifted my glass and took another taste of the cabernet. “But you’ve always lived here, so it must be someplace special. Right?”
Kathleen shrugged and didn’t answer my question. I watched her carefully. She didn’t look back up right away. Dread wafted through me as the sadness from the Aurora holiday party resurfaced in the middle of our dinner date.
“Do you remember when I first interviewed for this job?” I asked, intent on distracting Kathleen from her inner turmoil.
She appeared confused. “More or less.”
“You grilled me about why I would choose Bend instead of one of the larger cities. You didn’t believe I’d be happy here.”
She nodded.
“Why did you ask me that?”
“It was nothing personal,” she replied with confidence. “It’s just been my experience that outsiders think they know what they’re taking on when they settle here. Most don’t have a clue what they’re committing to.”
“You think of me as an outsider?”
She looked sheepish. “On that day, I did.”
“You told me Bend would be very different from Baltimore. And you’re right, it is. Everything still feels new.”
“You’ve done well,” she told me. “I’ve never heard you say a disparaging thing about life in the Wild West.”
I chuckled. “At the time, I rattled off some answer that showed off what little I knew about this place. But I was holding back.”
“What were you holding back?”
I was straddling a line. I took a few moments to reconsider my answer, to come up with something less intimate. I dismissed each possibility, knowing that Kathleen was too intelligent to be fooled with anything less than the truth.
“You told me I was too polished to fit in here. That stung.”
I wanted to look at her, to gauge her reaction, but I couldn’t. Instead, she slid her hand across the table to cover mine.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “What did I know?”
I slid my fingers between hers and gently squeezed. “I’m not sorry you said it. As it turns out, I needed to be taken down a peg or two.”
Somehow, I found the courage to look back up. Kathleen’s beautiful face was full of concern and tinged with confusion. She waited for me to explain myself.
“I’m happy to be here now,” I confessed. “I like Bend and Heide likes it, too. But there’s a lot I did wrong to get here.”
Kathleen opened her mouth to speak but stopped short. I assumed she was about to ask about my wrongs, but something changed her mind. It was a relief. I was glad she wasn’t ready to hear about my sins, because I wasn’t going to share them with her.