I almost fell out of my coveralls when I saw the pretty boy walk through the door. Damn, he’s good-looking. I’m not much for guys in suits, but his is obviously tailored to fit and it’s sexy as hell.

My brother steps into the office, wiping his hands on a half-greasy towel. “Who’s the suit? Sweet ride, but I can tell by looking at the guy that he has a stick up his ass. Our garage not good enough for his Jag?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t here to get work done on it.”

“Was he lost?”

“No, he was here to ask me out.”

“Corporate Joe was here to ask you out?” His eyes narrow on me and I can tell he’s not happy.

“His name is Victor and yes, he came to ask me out.”

“I hope you said no. The only reason guys like him cross the tracks is for easy ass.”

How is it my brother, whom I normally adore and look up to, can turn into such an ass so quickly? “Fuck off. I’m not easy.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

He has a point, but he doesn’t know Victor either. “Don’t be a jerk,” I tell him as I roll my eyes. My brother can be an asshole sometimes. He opens his mouth to speak and I push past him to go back to work as he says, “You know it’s a bad idea. I’m just looking out for you.”

“Shut up, Marshall,” I snap.

My brother dampened my mood with his bullshit and caused a few doubts to creep in. Why did Victor ask me out? He probably has 100 high-society-type women he could ask. Is he bored so he’s going to slum it for a bit? Now that I think about it, a man like him asking a woman like me out doesn’t make any sense at all. Damn Marshall, for getting into my head!

* * *

My mood grows so foul through the day that I actually snap at my sister when I get to the hospital.

“Hey. What’s going on?” She presses the button on the bed to raise the head. I glance back at Jeff who is watching us carefully.

“Give us a few minutes, honey, please?” my sister asks him.

After Jeff kisses her cheek and leaves us alone I tell her everything about my two encounters with Victor.

“What do you think?” I ask her nervously.

“Go. He sounds like a gentleman. What else are you going to do Friday night?”

“Nothing,” I confess.

“Exactly. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen if you have your pepper spray? You could get a nice meal with a handsome man and say no to a second date. Go. Have fun.”

“What about what Marshall said?” I twist my braid around my finger nervously, waiting for her response.

“Marshall is doing what a brother should do. He’s trying to protect you. Can you blame him after Curtis? That doesn’t mean he’s right. Go and see for yourself.”

I see her point so I nod.

Jeff comes back with a fast-food dinner for us and we sit around discussing the kids for a little while before I head home for the night.

* * *

Two days later, at eight o’clock sharp, Victor turns into the parking lot and shuts off his lights. I exit the building and lock up behind me. Last night, I raided my sister’s closet for a little black dress that skims my curves but doesn’t hug too tight and ends a little above my knee. I paired it with strappy black heels I found in my closet from a function last year. My hair’s down with a little curl added to the ends and I’m wearing a minimal amount of makeup.

“Wow, Colby. You look amazing.” He leans in and greets me with a light kiss to my cheek that has me blushing.

“You didn’t expect me to show up in rhinestone coveralls, did you?”

He laughs. “Nope, but I also didn’t think it was possible for you to get more beautiful, and you did somehow. It’s rare that people surprise me and you keep doing it.”

I’ve been told before that I’m pretty. On occasion, beautiful, but Victor’s words feel like a bigger compliment. I wish I could explain it. Maybe it’s the level of sincerity behind his words when he speaks. It doesn’t seem as if he’s talking just to hear himself talk.

He helps me into the car and then slides in on his side. Ed Sheeran is playing lightly in the background and I can’t help but hum along.

“You like Ed?” he asks, glancing at me.

“Love him. I love most music actually, but Ed is a favorite for sure.”

He grins and turns onto the highway, picking up speed as he enters traffic. We have small talk all the way to the restaurant and I notice he seems more relaxed tonight than he was when he asked me out. I wonder what the difference is.

Once we arrive, he guides me inside with his hand at the small of my back. I’ve always loved that. It feels like a sweet, protective yet reverent gesture. As we’re about to sit at our table, a woman who looks to be a few years older than me approaches. Her sharp eyes narrow on me and she reminds me of a Siamese cat as she looks me over.

“Miriam, good to see you,” Victor greets her without the same level of warmth I’ve gotten from him so far.

She changes her focus to him and a predatory smile spreads across her pinched face. It only takes that moment for me to realize I don’t like her.

“Victor, I didn’t realize you had reservations tonight.”

“Yes, Miriam, meet my date, Colby.”

“Pleasure,” she says in the fakest tone possible as she gives me a weak, fingers-only handshake and quickly dismisses me again. She places her hand on his arm with a familiarity that makes me uncomfortable and practically purrs while scooting in closer to him, “Oh, Victor, we’ll have to get together next week and catch up.” She winks at him, turns and struts away.

What a bitch. My eyebrows rise in question as he turns back to face me.

“She’s a partner at my firm. Just a colleague, not even a friend,” he tells me without elaborating further. He pulls my chair out for me and sits in the only other one at the table. I’m still a little surprised by that woman’s attempt to lay claim on my date and how easily he blew it off, but I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything.

We both pick up a menu and I use mine to hide the minor irritation Miriam caused. The prices here are higher than I’m used to and it takes me a little longer than usual to pick something that doesn’t feel too expensive to me. We finally order and when the server leaves us, Victor starts conversation.

“How did you end up a monster truck driver?”

“I used to race ATV’s and built up a pretty big following. The folks at Monster Jam contacted me about driving. The rest is history.”

“I looked up a few videos online and thought it looked like fun; I’ve never been to a monster truck show.”

“It is so much fun. We had to go through a whole driving course to learn to do it right. It’s a fun job to have and because I have a huge fan base of mostly kids I do a lot of pictures and autographs after the show. That’s cool too. My fans are great.” I’m ready to learn a little about him so I change the subject and ask, “What do you do exactly? You mentioned a law firm, but not what kind and not what you do there.”

“I’m an estate lawyer.”

“Makes sense. You look like a lawyer.” One of his eyebrows ticks up.

As I open my mouth to tease him, a man I’m familiar with, but don’t care for appears at our table.

“Victor, my man!” he greets and shifts his attention immediately over to me. “Colby Averette?”

My stomach rolls. He’s a client at the garage. I used to work on his car until he got too handsy. Marshall took over servicing his vehicle and I find a way to stay busy and out of sight any time I know he’s coming in.

“I guess I don’t need to introduce you to my date,” Victor says with a slight edge to his voice. He doesn’t seem to like that we know each other.

“Hi, Stanton.” I greet in a dull voice. I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t want to give him any ideas either.

He smacks Victor on the shoulder harder than is polite and chuckles. “You’ve got to tell me how you got her to go out with you. I may want to be next in line.”

My eyes jump from the fork I’m fidgeting with to see Victor’s expression, which is murderous, and I swear I hear a growl from him.

“Have some respect. This is my date. There’s no way in hell I’m telling you how to get your own date with her because I don’t plan on this being my last. So, unless you want us to have a problem, I suggest you find your way back to your own table.”

Stanton throws his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender and chuckles uncomfortably. “I was just foolin’. Lighten up, dude.” He straightens his coat, puffs up his chest and says, “Have another drink and relax, man,” before he turns and walks away.

The air around us is tense and uncomfortable now.

“How do you know him?” I ask to break the awkward silence.

“The firm,” he answers without any further explanation.

Great, that place sounds like a hoot. I think I need a minute to calm down. Between first-date jitters, Miriam the bitch, and Stanton the sleazeball, my stress level is through the roof. I’ve had enough and we haven’t been here more than half an hour.

I push back in my chair and rise. His eyes follow me the whole way. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

After I do my business and wash my hands, I’m reapplying my lipstick when Miriam comes through the door and steps up next to me, twisting her own lipstick up. Great. Did she follow me in here? She pauses before she applies the devil-red lipstick and makes eye contact with me in the mirror.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for him to be ready to date. Don’t plan on sticking around long. There’s a line of us ready to fight for your seat at the table, but,” she pauses, stepping back and looking me over, “it won’t take him long to tire of you. Arm candy always bores the smart ones.”

I slide the top back on my lipstick and shove it into my clutch with shaking hands. “For your information, I’m a member of Mensa, not that you’d know what that is, but I’m sure you can look it up. And as for him tiring of me, I’d bet money on the fact that you wouldn’t get asked out even if you were the last woman at the firm and you offered yourself up naked on a silver platter.” I turn and strut toward the door, and just before I walk through I give her one final parting remark. “Oh, if you knew Victor as well as you think you do, you’d know he requires a woman with class on his arm. I suggest you buy some before you make your next approach.”

I can hear her gasp behind me as I leave. My hands and legs are shaking so bad I’m surprised I can walk. I hate confrontation. How dare she say that to me! She doesn’t even know me!

When I sit down, Victor immediately notices the change in my demeanor.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I should let the little scene in the bathroom go, but I’m not that girl. “I ran into your colleague in the bathroom and she made it clear she’s ready for you to ask her out.”

His eyes bulge, clearly shocked. “What? Who are you talking about?”

“Miriam.” I take a big unladylike gulp of my wine and study him as he goes through a series of expressions.

“I’m sorry. This is like a bad movie. Some of the women at my office are like dating-vultures. I’ve been able to keep them at a distance by saying I’m not ready to date. Apparently, that story is dead in the water now that I’ve been seen with you. I apologize for bringing you here. We’ve run into nothing but classless assholes tonight.” He fiddles with the fork on the table, unable to look at me, and I feel bad. I shouldn’t blame him for the behavior of others.

I sigh. “It’s not your fault. You can’t help how other people act, but I think part of the problem is that I don’t fit here. Both things that were said to me indicate that I’m low-class.”

Without acknowledging what I said, he raises his hand for the waiter. “I’d like a bottle of the wine we were drinking to go, along with both of our meals,” he tells the waiter, who glances at me then back to Victor and nods before heading for the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Victor,” I tell him sincerely. Why I’m apologizing I don’t know, other than I hate that I put that look on his face.

“Not your fault, hon,” he tells me.

It’s quiet between us as we wait. When we finally get our food, wine, and he pays, he leads me to the car and peels out of the parking lot like he’s in the Grand Prix. He doesn’t turn toward the auto shop like I expect. Instead he drives in the opposite direction, pulls into a dark park and helps me from the car. The tension was so thick during our drive that I was afraid to ask him where we were going.

Before he comes around to open my door he opens the trunk and pulls something out. Then he leads me, using the light on his phone, to a picnic table. He lays a blanket down on the seat part.

“Sit,” he tells me, and before I can chastise him for talking to me like a dog, he continues. “I want to have this under you so you don’t mess up your dress, but I also want to cover your legs so they don’t get cold.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, surprised at his thoughtfulness.

Once he covers my legs, he places our food containers on the table and he pulls a swiss army knife from his pocket and opens the wine with the little corkscrew.

“Shit, I forgot about glasses,” he grumbles.

“We can drink from the bottle. It’ll be fine. At least they sent us with plastic utensils,” I tell him.

The streetlight not far from where we’re sitting and the moon are bright enough that I can see his facial expressions.

I try to lighten the overall mood by talking about the garage and my sister and her family. Then I move on to my brother and my best friend, Dana. By the time I’ve started talking about Pop, it’s time to go and he still hasn’t said much. Maybe being honest about my unhappy time at the restaurant wasn’t a good idea. I probably should have just sucked it up and made it through dinner. I’m just not good at faking how I feel.

With the date reaching a new level of awkwardness, Victor drives me back to the shop and walks me to the door. To my surprise and disappointment, he kisses my cheek. “I’m sorry that date was bad, but thank you for saying yes in the first place. It was hard to ask. You’re beautiful and deserve so much more.” With that parting line, he turns, strides to his car, slides inside and waits for me to get inside my car and pull away before he leaves.

What the hell was that? It got better for me just by leaving the restaurant. All he had to do was participate in the conversation to make the date better. I don’t go into the shop. Instead I fire up my ’69 Mustang, since my truck still isn’t fixed, and drive to Dana’s house.

I know she’s home tonight so I’m not surprised when she answers the door and lets me in without question. I go straight to her room like I’ve been doing since we were teenagers and borrow a T-shirt and sweatpants and come back out to join her on the couch. Once I fill her in on everything, she asks, “Did you talk about the dead wife?”

“Nope.”

“Well, between the bathroom bitch and what he said when he left, I don’t think he’s dated much or at all since she died.”

“Well, he obviously doesn’t want to take me out again.”

“Honey, open your eyes. If he was done with you he would’ve taken you home after the restaurant, not to a romantic spot to finish the date. I bet a million bucks he thinks you don’t want to go out again.”

“No,” I scoff.

“Yeah. Everything he said indicates he thinks he failed you. Two people he knows from work approached you inappropriately and upset you. I say you ask him out for the next date if you really want to go out with him again. Take him somewhere that’s more you. Give him a dose of the real Colby.”

“You really think I should?”

She throws a decorative pillow at my head and says, “Don’t be so dense. Yes!”

I change the subject, not wanting to beat a dead horse. Monday I’m scheduled to make an appearance in the children’s cancer ward at the hospital and his office is near there. Maybe I’ll drop by then.