What were you thinking?!
Winnie grumbled to herself for the dozenth time on the drive to the non-date dinner meeting on Wednesday night. When Cal had recommended a café a few towns over for their “business meeting,” she had pictured a casual, small town cafe.
Much to her horror, when she Googled the café Cal suggested, she learned that it was all dim lighting and tabletop candles and cozy interiors and Italian food, which was basically the foreplay of the culinary world.
Bad idea. This is a bad idea.
Her hands were shaky and she was uncomfortable in the outfit she’d finally picked (the seventh and final choice). Evie had provided fashion support via text. Winnie would snap a picture of an outfit and send it to her for a thumbs up or a thumbs down. Finally they settled on something that felt pretty but professional: a black flounce skirt paired with a satiny lavender top and a light grey flyaway cardigan. And just for a confidence boost, she wore her highest-heeled black booties.
She felt good in the ensemble when she left the house, but suddenly the top felt tight, as if her boobs had inflated a cup size, and her skirt now felt a bit too short.
She willed herself not to sweat profusely out of anxiety. At least the car’s AC could help with that. If she’d done one thing right, it was refusing Cal’s offer to give her a ride. Yes, they might have saved some gas, but it would have felt way too intimate.
Sorry, planet. Her unstable libido just wouldn’t allow her to go green today. She promised to make it up to Mother Earth by walking somewhere she would normally drive to later in the week.
The most important thing to remember, despite the impending dinner with an aggressively handsome man at a cozy restaurant, was that this was absolutely not a date. Which was good, since she hadn’t been on a proper date in about a year, and even that long-ago date would have been with Anthony who was probably glued to his fantasy football updates on his phone the entire time anyway.
She didn’t even want to think about how long it’d been since she’d been on a first date.
Not that this was a date.
She grabbed her shoulder bag and headed into the packed lobby. The place was surprisingly busy given that it was a weeknight. She didn’t see Cal anywhere in the waiting area, so she glanced into the bustling restaurant. Butterflies swam through her stomach as she took in the low, romantic lighting. Then nausea drowned those butterflies when she spotted Cal from across the room. It was a merciful gift of the universe that she spotted him first, because he looked positively gorgeous and had he been watching her as she approached, he surely would have noticed the favorable appraisal.
His cozy booth was lit only by an antique wall sconce, which cast a tempting, soft light onto his wavy golden hair. In his deep blue and perfectly cut suit and vest, Cal looked red carpet ready and far more dressed up than Winnie might have anticipated.
This is only a business meeting. This is only a business meeting.
It was not lost on Winnie, however, that she had never before had a business meeting with someone so sexy.
When she approached the table, Cal did a double take, stood and broke into a smile that increased the wattage in their corner of the restaurant by a few marks.
“Winnie,” he said to her in a tone that sounded more like a shocked question than a greeting.
He reached out for her hand. It was a professional enough gesture, but the feel of Cal’s skin, his grip firm and warm, unsteadied her.
In the celibacy game, touching a sexy man’s hands was playing with fire.
“Hey there,” Winnie said, more calmly than she felt. He held on to her hand just a moment longer than she expected before returning to his seat. She slid into the opposite side of the high-backed booth and clasped her hands firmly around the clutch on her lap, so their shakiness wouldn’t betray her attempts at composure. The booth, which was covered in a gorgeous canopy of flowers, was at once huge and cozy, and she was aware of just how very close Cal felt across the table. Of just how intimate the setting was.
“Winnie, you look...” he began before pausing ever so briefly. “Lovely.” His intense gaze flickered down her body quickly before returning politely to her face.
“Well, low lighting can do wonders for a girl,” she joked with an awkward laugh, looking out into the restaurant and wondering just why it was so hard to keep eye contact with Cal.
“That’s hardly the case here,” Cal said genuinely, leaning in and looking even more intently at Winnie.
“You’re awfully dressed up yourself,” she observed casually, as if he wasn’t devastating her senses.
Cal looked down at his suit.
“Oh, this? Yeah. I came straight from a meeting with some investors in Evansdale,” he said, referring to the largest town in the region. “I always try to dress a little nicer when I’m trying to get people to give me money.”
“Did it work?”
“Like a charm,” he said, and she wondered for a moment if the man had ever been denied anything. Her gaze dared to meet his once more, despite the intensity she felt when they locked into hers. Soon enough, though, her eyes, which simply could not be trusted, skimmed down his handsome face and fixated on his mouth.
He had the perfect mouth, in her opinion. His bottom lip was especially full. Bitable. Inviting.
Why did her mouth suddenly feel so dry?
She quickly grabbed the drink menu, looking for some liquid courage.
“So, when you met with the last newspaper editor to discuss business, did you usually start with drinks?” she asked slyly, glancing at the half-empty beer glass in Cal’s hand.
“The old editor usually started with drinks before I started breakfast, so it was somewhat of a moot point.”
Winnie laughed a big laugh that somehow seemed to put them both at ease. It felt unfair that Cal could be that pretty and genuinely funny.
The waiter came through and she ordered a vodka tonic before turning her attention back to Cal.
“I read your article by the way,” he offered.
“Which one?”
“Your best one. The football story.”
Winnie snorted.
“If you’re going to flatter me, please don’t flat out lie while doing it. Plus it was me and Randy’s story. We shared the byline, which was generous of him, given that he wrote three-quarters of it from his sick bed.”
“I was sad that you didn’t reference the coach’s head almost popping off in anger. It was your best observation.”
“Yeah, Randy nixed that line.”
“The football story actually wasn’t my favorite though. I really enjoyed your piece on the new cultural council.”
Pride swelled in Winnie’s chest. It hadn’t occurred to her that Cal would pay any attention to her writing. It surely had little to do with her and a lot to do with his need to keep up with community goings-on, but it felt more touching than she might have expected.
“You read that? It’s a cool initiative and I think it’ll be great for the town. I had fun writing it.”
“It showed.”
“As opposed to the zoning story,” Winnie groaned. “I’m pretty sure that the only person who wanted to read that one was the mother of the zoning commissioner.”
Cal chuckled.
“It’s hard to make some of the stuff that happens around here seem interesting.”
“And yet, a fist fight almost broke out at the zoning meeting.”
“You chose to bury that detail?”
Winnie laughed. “I hinted at Wyatt Clayton’s anger at the commission’s decision.”
“Yeah, he’s the kind of guy who might throw a punch,” he said, his face shadowing unexpectedly.
“You know him?” she asked, her curiosity flared. Wyatt had certainly stuck out at the meeting of mostly retirees. He had to be closer to Cal’s age. With his muddy boots, torn jeans, deeply tanned skin and his shoulder-length hair tied back in a messy ponytail, the man cut quite a memorable figure. He had an edge about him that made Winnie’s skin prickle a bit because she couldn’t tell if he was sexy, dangerous, or both.
“I know Wyatt, alright,” Cal said, his voice lowering in what sounded like aggravation. “He and Carter and I used to run together when we were kids.”
“And throw punches?”
“Yeah, I think the last time I saw him there might have been some of that,” Cal said, practically grinding his teeth in not-quite-concealed anger. “Let’s just say I don’t talk much with Wyatt anymore.”
Interesting. Winnie thought about that for a second. Everyone seemed to get along so well with Cal, but it only made sense that someone who had lived in a community for the better part of thirty years would have some bad history with at least one or two community members. It was also clear that he had no interest in elaborating, no matter how piqued Winnie’s curiosity was.
“So did you get that tax debacle straightened out?”
He looked momentarily confused.
“The one that was going to cause chaos in the Broadsville bleachers on Friday night?”
He rolled his eyes.
“For better or for worse, it’s my job to be civil to leaders in the community, no matter how manufactured their crises may be,” he said matter-of-factly, but the ornery gleam never left his eye.
“Well, it was evident that Mayor Johannsen has a very hands-on approach to community partnerships,” Winnie said. She’d lost track of how many times the woman found an excuse to touch Cal during their few-minute exchange on Friday night, but she was completely aware of how annoyed it made her.
But the comment got a laugh out of Cal. Winnie’s words hung in the charged air between them as he took a long draw from his pint.
“So, how do we do this? How does this go?” Winnie asked, desperate to change the topic away from the awkwardness at Friday’s football game. “How do you usually conduct these candlelit business meetings?”
“Well, I tell jokes, you laugh. Then we repeat.”
Winnie laughed again, perfectly on cue. Bree had always called her a laugh whore because she gave them away so easily.
“Very good. You catch on quickly,” Cal said, seemingly pleased with the reaction he could get so easily from Winnie.
“I feel nervous,” Winnie blurted out with a sudden candor that surprised them both.
Cal’s shift in demeanor sent butterflies through her stomach. Apparently her insecurity-masking-itself-as-playful-confidence trick had been working. He had no idea how out of place she felt at this table with a man like him.
“You have nothing to be nervous about, Briggs.”
If that was true, why did the mere sound of her name on his perfect lips make her feel as if something inside of her was unraveling?
“This is not my typical work setting, and you are not my typical work associate,” Winnie said, an early indication that her mouth would be moving more quickly than her brain tonight.
Cal’s eyebrow rose.
“And how’s that?”
“Well, I interact with cute little kids at school pageants and slightly hostile seniors at the community center and energetic women who run local boutiques. But, not people like…”
Saved by the waiter, Winnie cut off her embarrassing admission mid-thought and took a long, grateful sip of her vodka tonic.
“Not people like me,” he finished for her. Mercifully.
“Precisely.” Winnie refused to elaborate, though she was certain that her flushing cheeks were dropping some hints.
“I have to say, this is new to me too,” Cal admitted. “You make for much more pleasant company than, say, Mayor Simpson.”
Winnie grinned, remembering her first, odd introduction to the man. She bet that Cal had some stories he could share about the mayor.
“Seriously though,” he continued, “I hoped we might get to know one another first before jumping right into business. We’ll be working together regularly, and I think it would be best if we weren’t complete strangers.”
“That makes sense,” Winnie thought, silently continuing… even if that’s also what you do on a date.
“So tell me about yourself,” Cal started.
“Oh that will be quick. I’m terribly boring.”
“I highly doubt that. You’re all anyone around Bloomsburo can talk about these days.”
Winnie blushed a bit, even if she knew he may be right. Fortunately she also knew that this had everything to do with a small town’s insatiable hunger for novelty and gossip, and nothing to do with her in particular. It would pass.
“No, really. My life is a model of pathetic-ness. I work. I sleep. But mostly I work.”
“Why did you become a journalist?”
Winnie looked taken aback for a second.
“Wow, you don’t even ease in with ‘what’s your favorite color?’”
Cal shook his head.
“It’s green, by the way,” Winnie offered, unable to ignore the very stunning green eyes smiling back at her from across the table. Had that always been her favorite color, or were recent influences at play? Suddenly she couldn’t remember.
“But why did I become a journalist? I always loved to write. At first I wrote fiction, but then I started to dabble in non-fiction, and eventually I came to believe that it’s an honor to tell people’s stories, and to keep the public informed on the issues that matter to them.”
Cal nodded, seemingly pleased with her dutiful career speech.
“Why are you in public relations?” she asked.
“Because I did some research on the average salary for journalists,” Cal joked. Winnie rolled her eyes even if the dig was well justified. Nobody went into journalism for the money.
“No, really. Why PR?”
“Because there was a cute girl in the major when I started college,” he said, not missing a beat.
“No, really,” Winnie insisted, her glare firm on Cal, who hesitated, but finally complied. He was an ornery interviewee who did not like to stay on topic.
“Well, there were many lovely ladies in the major, that much was true. But I guess I’ve always loved working with people. I’m good at communicating visually. I get a charge out of the marketing component. I like to take a concept from some messy, scattered idea and polish it into a successful campaign.”
“Better.”
Cal’s eyes narrowed again, alerting Winnie that the questioning was coming back to her.
“What do you do for fun?” he asked.
“What is this ‘fun’ you speak of? Did you not catch on to my sad work/sleep cycle?”
“You have to do something for fun.”
Winnie thought for a moment.
“I like to watch junky reality TV because it makes me feel like a better person. I love to see movies in the theater, but my pockets are always full of contraband candy that I’ve smuggled in from the dollar store because I’m a cheapskate. I still enjoy creative writing.”
“What do you write?”
“Nothing for public consumption.”
“Just romantic poems in your diary?”
Winnie flushed again, despite herself. “Hey, enough grilling here. I’m the interviewer. What do you do for fun? Or do I even want to know?”
Cal laughed lightly.
“I think you may have the wrong idea about me, Briggs.”
“Oh, I’m a pretty good judge of character.”
“I’m not so sure, otherwise you might not be sitting here with me now.”
The insinuation caused Winnie’s heartbeat to quicken. “Touché,” she admitted, sipping again at her drink.
This is only a business meeting. This is only a business meeting.
“I cook,” Cal finally offered.
“You cook?” She knew it didn’t make sense, but she just found Cal too handsome to cook. Sure, he seemed like the kind of guy who, like a Matthew McConaughey character in a romantic comedy, would have one impressive meal under his belt that he could use to impress women and get them into bed, but not a whole culinary repertoire.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” Cal defended himself. “What did you think my hobbies were?”
“Jetting off to Vegas for cards and strippers? Conning recently widowed cougars out of their savings? High-contact meetings with the blondest of area mayors?”
Cal laughed in mock outrage. “Well, I hate to ruin your cruel little fantasy of me, but I cook, and then when I’m done cooking, I put on my pajamas and crash on the couch and read Cook’s Illustrated or Bon Appétit and I decide what I’m going to cook next.”
Speaking of fantasies, suddenly Winnie couldn’t shake the mental image of Cal, lying on the couch in a tight grey T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. But then it begged the questions about what was underneath. Boxers? Briefs? Nothing…
Winnie cleared her throat, her mouth going dry again. She was surprised but not surprised to notice that her vodka tonic was already nearly gone.
“Well, that’s a great skill to have. I’m jealous. I can’t cook.”
“Surely you could learn. You’re a smart woman.”
Winnie felt disproportionately touched by the comment. Her ex, Anthony, who spent his days with some of the sharpest legal minds in the country, had often treated her like a silly, frivolous thing.
“No, it’s a fairly well-established fact that I can’t cook. There’s at least one Chicago-based fire battalion that can attest to this.”
“I could teach you,” he offered.
Now Winnie’s mental image transformed to Cal (still in his irresistible plaid pajama bottoms, the morning after) standing behind her as she scrambled eggs on the stove, his arms coming around her waist to guide her hand. The feel of his breath warm on her neck…
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable being indebted to you.”
“I’m sure we could come up with a creative payment plan.”
This is only a business meeting, imagination. Knock it off!
“Have you seen the waiter? My drink disappeared.”
Cal smiled, then looked out into the restaurant, signaling to the waiter, who came over and took a second round of drink orders, as well as their meal choices.
“So what do you say, are you up for a lesson?”
Winnie recollected her thoughts. The cooking lesson.
“Oh, that would be a waste of your talent, especially when I’ve gotten by this long with Pop-Tarts and microwaveable mac and cheese.”
Cal clutched at his chest as if he were in pain.
“Oh, you can’t tell me these sorts of things. It’s inhumane to let you go through life eating those food-like substances.”
“So just cooking?” Winnie diverted, trying to change the subject and discourage her wild imagination.
“I also run.”
“Clearly,” Winnie said under her breath as she took a sip of her replenished drink and tried not to think about the muscular contours of his legs.
“Pardon?” Cal asked, ornerily.
Winnie nervously cleared her throat again.
“Um, clearly, because…” she started, her mind frantically trying to dig her way out of that hole, “because you were running the day we first met. You know, when you tried to arrest me.”
He grinned.
“And clearly it’s time for me to eat something, since I’m so malnourished by the Kraft company.”
He kept his gaze locked on Winnie for a minute, a pleased expression slowly spreading across his face.
Winnie couldn’t keep the contact, so she reached to replace the drink menu across the table and with signature grace, managed to smack the edge of it into Cal’s water glass, sending it crashing to the table and splashing its contents onto his lap.
“Woah!” he cried, lifting his bottom up off the booth in a natural reflex.
“Oh God, Cal!” Winnie shrieked, bolting up from her side of the booth, cloth napkin in hand. “I’m so, so sorry.”
She scooched in next to him in the booth, and began dabbing furiously at his waist and the top of his thighs, which were now sopping wet and three shades darker blue than the rest of the suit material.
“Oh, this is such a good-looking suit. I hope it’s not ruined,” she said earnestly.
She dabbed fervently several more times before realizing that Cal wasn’t dabbing at all. He was simply watching Winnie, his eyes slightly widened at the spectacle unfolding before him.
“So you like the suit, huh?” he asked, his voice low, as Winnie transformed to roughly the color of a beet.
Suddenly so close to Cal, closer than she had ever been and with his arm nearly around her. Suddenly enveloped by his cologne, which happened to be every bit as intoxicating as she imagined. Suddenly so close to that plush, tempting mouth.
Realizing that her hand was still pressing firmly into his very pleasant thigh, she felt the weight of embarrassment crash like a boulder into the pit of her stomach. She desperately wanted to crawl under the table and hide until Cal had finished his meal, paid the bill, and exited the restaurant.
“I’m sorry. I’m making a spectacle. Clearly you’re capable of taking care of your own crotch.”
The statement flew out of her mouth before she had the chance to capture it and prevent herself serious embarrassment.
She was on a roll now.
Cal didn’t say a word, he just maintained his amusement, which made Winnie want to click her heels and disappear, Dorothy style.
“Well, yes, I’m a big boy,” Cal said as she moved her way back to her own side of the booth.
“That much was evident during the dabbing,” Winnie joked, much to Cal’s shock and delight. This time, the big laugh came from him.
Winnie covered her face with her hands.
“I’m kidding. I didn’t touch anything. I mean, I was dabbing around…it. I didn’t even see anything, not that I would be looking, because what would I even need that kind of information for?” she sputtered.
Cal’s grin grew as Winnie took a long drink and grew redder by the second.
“Sorry. Sometimes I forget that I’m not with my girlfriends and I fail to keep my true sense of humor in check,” she said, talking into the hands that were failing to cover her bright red face.
“If off-color humor is officially on the table, then you just became my all-time favorite work associate,” Cal said.
“Does that mean you’re not going to sue me for sexual harassment?” Winnie asked.
Cal almost coughed out his last sip as a laugh took him off guard. “No, no I’m not. Not this time at least.”
“Because this is a business meeting,” Winnie maintained, repeating the evening mantra that so far had done absolutely no good. “But I promise to keep my hands far from your private parts at all of our future encounters.”
“Thank you for the assurance.”
Lord, this was only a business meeting, right?
Cal excused himself to the bathroom and Winnie tried to remember how to breathe like a normal human being.