30 - Samantha
The days drag on until the weekend. Finally, it’s Friday and I pack an extra pair of underwear, deodorant, and a toothbrush in my purse. Just in case, I tell myself as my heart skips a beat. I walk out of my room and Jess winks at me.
“Have fun,” she says.
“I will,” I answer and kiss the kids’ heads. “I’ll see you later.”
I walk towards the front door and my eye catches the little brown box sitting on the shelf, exactly where I left it earlier this week. I pause, staring at it, and then shake my head. Not tonight. I don’t want to know what Ronnie sent me. I already know it would only upset me.
I head out to the waiting cab and give him the address of the restaurant. We pull up outside and I frown.
“Are you sure this is it?” I ask.
“This is Emilio’s on East 104th,” he replies in a gruff voice. I nod and pay him before stepping out. It’s not that it isn’t nice, it’s just that compared to the glamour of our last date, it’s a bit more understated. Who am I kidding, it looks completely run down. The paint is peeling and the sign looks like it’s about a hundred years old. If there wasn’t a light shining inside, I could have mistaken the restaurant for an abandoned building. I shake my head and smile. Even a couple dates in, I’m already expecting to be spoiled. I chuckle. I need to keep an open mind and be myself.
I head towards the restaurant door when I hear my name.
“Sam!” Dean is jogging down the street, one arm stretched above his head. He still has his sling on, and he’s holding his arm tight to his chest. My heart grows a few sizes as he gets closer. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me in for a kiss.
“Mmm,” he says. “You taste minty!”
I laugh. “I wanted to be prepared.”
Dean smiles and nods to the restaurant. “I know it’s a bit different from last time, but I know the owner and this is the best Italian food in Manhattan outside of Little Italy.”
“It looks great,” I say. “More my style.”
“Good,” he says. “Plus, I got fired. I’m on a budget now,” he laughs.
“Well don’t stretch yourself too thin,” I grin. “Dinner’s on me tonight.”
He opens the door and motions me through with a sweeping motion. I step through and we’re immediately greeted by a short bald man. He’s wider than he is tall and has bright red ruddy cheeks. He’s wearing a white apron and has a thick grey moustache.
“Mister Dean!” He calls out. His eyes swing over to me and he brings his hand to his heart and bows. I smile. “This must be your beautiful date. Please,” he says, extending a hand. I slip mine into his and smile as he leans over to kiss my hand. I giggle as his moustache tickles my hand and glance up at Dean. He shakes his head.
“Emilio, keep this up and I’ll be leaving here alone. You’ll steal her off me!”
“No, no, no! Come!” He motions us over to a table near the front of the restaurant. It’s beautifully set, with a rich white tablecloth and a candle flickering in the middle. There’s a single daisy in a simple vase, and red cloth napkins folded into an elaborate triangle on the plates. Emilio pulls out my chair and another waiter appears with wine. I grin at Dean.
“What did I tell you,” he says. “What are we having tonight, Emilio?”
“Tonight we have a delicious meal planned,” he starts. For the next couple minutes, he’s rattling off dishes and ingredients and wine pairings and I can hardly keep up. All I know is that it sounds delicious. Dean thanks him and he promises to check in with us again once we have our food. Dean smiles at me.
“I always have Emilio prepare a set menu when I come here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I reply with a smile. My heart is beating in my chest and I put my hand across the table. Dean places his palm over mine and we stare at each other for a few moments.
I’m so happy right now. I feel so lucky! Coming to New York was the best decision I ever made. I lose myself in Dean’s eyes and all thoughts of Ronnie, the divorce, and that little brown box evaporate from my mind.
We have another spectacular meal, and after many thank yous and promises to come back, we leave Emilio and the staff behind. I put a hand to my stomach as I hook my other arm around Dean’s.
“That was amazing, but I feel like I could roll home.”
“It’s a lot of food,” Dean laughs. “Come on, Central Park is right here. Let’s go for a walk.”
It feels less like a walk and more like I’m floating through space. He interlaces his fingers into mine and I lean my head against his shoulder as we walk and talk and laugh. I don’t remember the last time I felt this good. I don’t know if it’s the wine, or Dean, or the beautiful starry night, but everything feels so perfect.
We walk wherever our feet take us, and soon Dean is hailing a cab and giving his address. My heart starts beating and I squeeze his hand, feeling the heat growing at the meeting of my legs. Dean looks down at me and smiles. His face drops and he looks at his cast, sighing.
“I can’t wait to get this thing off so I can fuck you properly,” he growls. My heart jumps and my centre blossoms with heat at his words. I can feel my cheeks flushing.
“Not too long,” I manage to reply. He smiles just as the cab pulls up outside his place. By the time we’re in the elevator, we’re clawing at each other’s clothes, crushing our lips together, tangling our fingers into each other’s hair.
“I don’t think you need two hands,” I say as the elevator opens. “You’re doing pretty well with just one.”
Dean grins and nods to his door. “Let’s go.”