Chapter 5
Chanda could not believe that Chris was actually here, in her home. She had slaved away for the past few days, adding decorations and cleaning, trying to make it pleasing for him. But now that he was here, standing awkwardly by the door, she worried that the place was not good enough. Everywhere she looked, she saw something drab or threadbare that embarrassed her. Chris was groomed and dressed like some cowboy in a high-budget Western movie. He was just so clean and so…handsome.
“This is home,” she laughed apologetically. “I hope you comfortable here.”
“It is very nice,” he smiled.
“It is my family’s. I lived here when I was a little girl.”
He nodded slowly. “I can picture you playing dolls and singing. You don’t look that far from being a little girl still.”
“Oh, stop it,” she dismissed his comment away with her hand.
“I like your humor. You don’t mind my teasing,” Chris grinned. “It’s a Texas thing.”
“Texas thing?”
“It’s something we do in Texas. We tease a lot. All of my family does that.”
“Oh, I see.” She grinned. Then she sobered. “Even your brother?”
“Especially Jake.”
“I would like to meet your family.”
“I would like that too, but I don’t have much left.” Chris shrugged. “We’re the same in that way.”
“You don’t have uncles, aunts, cousins?”
“I have some, but we’re not particularly close. They’re spread out across the United States.”
“You can visit them. You can become close.” Chanda was lost at the idea that someone might not be close to his family members. To her, family was everything.
“The US is very large,” Chris shrugged. “We’re all busy. It doesn’t matter. I’m looking to build a family of my own now.”
Chanda beamed. “Well, I am too. I will cook for you now.” She made a move toward the small kitchen.
“No.” Chris caught her hand. “Is there a nice place here? Maybe somewhere that you have never been?”
“Chris! You are very tired. You must rest. I make dinner.”
“No. I’m jetlagged, but that’s OK. I would like to go out and show you off.”
Chanda paused, confused. As she realized what he meant, a huge smile began to curve across her face, lighting up her cheeks and eyes with pride. “Yes.”
“It’s time for me to give you your gift.” Chris pulled out his suitcase and produced a beautiful gown.
Chanda gasped in happy surprise. “Oh!” she squealed.
“Put that on. I read about a place on Trip Advisor, Do Forni. Would you like to go there?”
She gasped again, looking up from the dress, which she was holding up to her slim form in front of the mirror. “That place is very expensive! I have never been.”
“They have Italian food. I want you to taste it,” Chris suggested.
An hour later, they were seated at the Do Forni. Chanda looked overwhelmed. On her factory wage, she had never been able to afford such a restaurant. The ceiling arched overhead, and her red velvet chair felt softer than any chair that she had ever sat in. She kept rubbing her hands down her new silk dress, enchanted by its beauty.
“What is this?” she asked, pointing at the menu. “And this?”
“I recommend the ravioli,” Chris said. “That’s always my favorite.”
“Ravioli?”
He grinned. “You’ll love it.” He ordered a bottle of white wine and Chanda stared as the waiter presented the bottle and uncorked it with a flourish. The waiter poured them two glasses and left the wine bottle in a bucket of ice.
Unsure of how to behave in such a restaurant, Chanda observed how Chris drank his wine, then sipped hers. She instantly widened her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Chris looked concerned.
“It’s not as sweet as I expected,” she giggled.
“It’s a buttery Chardonnay. I’m not a wine guy, but I thought you might like it.”
“I do,” she nodded. She had always imagined that wine was sweet, like fruit juice. It's interesting flavor profile enticed her to keep sipping.
The meal was fantastic. The servings were tiny. Chanda sampled each thing that Chris ordered them. “The ravioli are the best,” she agreed with a definitive nod.
“I told you,” Chris smiled.
After a tiramisu dessert, which Chanda found too sweet but complimented heavily, they left. A soft, warm drizzle was falling and the streets had become quieter. The two meandered back to Chanda’s apartment, discussing the temples and monuments that they would see. Tomorrow they planned to meet Chanda’s family.
At her door, she said softly, “It would be bad if we spent this night together.”
Chris nodded, a bit surprised. “Do you not want me to stay here?”
She hesitated. “You are welcome here. But I will make a bed for you. I am not ready to…to sleep together. I don’t want to fall into your arms yet.”
“Oh. Oh, OK. That’s fine.”
Chanda made up a small bed and Chris laid down. Shyly, she changed in the bathroom and turned the lights out. “Good night,” she said softly.
“Good night,” he answered.
Chanda lay a few feet from him and heard him toss and turn. She was dying to crawl into bed with him and comfort him. Surely, he needed comfort, after losing his family. Poor, lonely man. He looked so good yet he was so lonely. But she was scared. Never before had she felt a man’s touch. The idea of laying her head on his firm, muscular chest made her heart hammer, but she was also shaky with terror.