After a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relations.
–Oscar Wilde
Scarlett
I’m a nervous Nellie by the time Guy calls up to my apartment right at 7:30. Jittery like a June bug.
“Be right down,” I say into the speaker.
I take one last glance in the mirror. I didn’t want to dress too fancy, but not too slovenly, either. Plus, it’s frigid outside, so after trying on forty-five different outfits, I settled on a nice green sweater—for the holidays—with dark wash jeans and close-toed heels.
Grabbing my hat and scarf on the way out, I lock my door and head down the stairs. Guy wanted to come up, but I didn’t really want him to see my apartment. It’s small and a total mess of dishes and baking supplies. I’ve been trying out new flavors and frostings and I had no time to clean it up.
When I open the front door, he’s there, waiting curbside next to a sleek black town car. He’s wearing dark pants with a blue button-up shirt and leather jacket. It fits him to perfection, hugging his form like it was made for him—and it likely was. I’ve seen him in a tux, in sweat shorts at home, jeans and Henleys, but this…this is different from his day to day hotness. It’s like mega hotness to the nth degree.
He opens the back door and I pause for a quick embrace, leaning into him for a second, breathing in his piney scent before slipping past him into the car.
He slides in after me and tells the driver we’re ready.
“I brought you something.” He reaches down and grabs a small box and hands it to me.
I open it to reveal a chocolate covered cannoli and I gasp in pleasure. “It’s like you can read my mind. I much prefer sweets to something like flowers.”
I hand it back to him. “We might have to save it for after dinner, though. And I’ll only eat it if you’ll share it with me.”
“Nervous?”
“A little.” The lights from outside illuminate his face but the shadows make his eyes unreadable. “Also, I don’t want to snarf food all over myself in front of you. I get crazy around desserts.”
“I’ve noticed. I had eggs spread on my face once.”
I laugh and smack him lightly on the shoulder. “Hey, it wasn’t my fault. You instigated that one.”
The curve of his cheek is like a reward. “I may have.”
I glance out the window. “Where are we going?”
He hesitates. “It’s a surprise.”
“Can I guess?”
“If you must.”
I bounce in my seat with excitement. “You’re taking me to the top of the Empire State Building.”
“Like in that movie? You think that’s romantic? It’s freezing up there right now.”
I laugh. “Brent took Bethany there on their first date. Not to the normal observatory, but to the 102nd floor, before they even opened it to the public.”
“That’s a pretty good date idea. But it’s not where I’m taking you.”
I tap my lip. “Are you taking me to…a dumpster in Queens where Joe the hobo lives and serves fried rats with a side of wet garbage?”
He lifts both hands. “You caught me.”
“I knew it!”
He laughs. “Your two guesses are the Empire State Building and a dumpster. Don’t you think there might be something in between?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Those guesses aren’t as fun.”
He grimaces. “That’s not boding well for me.”
I lean closer, his heat a comforting pressure along my side. “I wouldn’t care if you were taking me to a dumpster. I’m just happy to be here. With you.”
He stares down at me. His mouth moves but nothing emerges.
And then the car pulls to a stop. He slides out turning to hold a hand out for me.
I slide out behind him, hoping I didn’t ruin everything by being too honest. It’s probably so obvious I haven’t dated in forever.
“Oh.” I laugh and clap my hands over my mouth. “Did you seriously bring me to eat at a food truck?”
We’re outside the entrance to LuminoCity—a theme park full of colorful Christmas inflatables and lights. Parked to the side are a row of food trucks.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and his smile is small and sheepish, but it’s there. “They have excellent food. Come on. We can see the lights afterward. I brought the girls here last week and they loved it.”
I shake my head but follow him over to a Salvadoran truck. We get in line behind a family of four; a little girl in pigtails yanks on her dad’s hand and loudly asks for donuts.
“How was Ava’s concert last night?” I ask him.
“It was good. An hour of middle schoolers playing Hot Cross Buns, the Appalachian Hymn, and Home on the Range.”
“Exciting.”
He shrugs. “It wasn’t bad. Emma enjoyed it. And I’m happy I can attend their events. I missed a lot when I was doing the reality show. I missed too much, and I regret it.”
I don’t have a chance to respond to that statement because it’s our turn. We put in our orders and then step over to the pick-up window.
“You’re doing what you can, now, though. That’s something you should be proud of,” I tell him.
He rocks back on his heels and rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks.”
We take our food over to a little table and dig in. The pupusas are delicious, stuffed with cheese and covered in pickled jalapenos and coleslaw.
“What are you and the girls doing for Christmas?” I ask him.
He’s methodically cutting up his pupusas into bite-size sections. “Breakfast at Rockefeller Center with Santa. It’s a tradition. They love it. You?” He spears a piece of pupusa with his fork and eats it, his eyes on me.
“Heading home to Blue Falls.”
“With your parents?
I chew my food before responding. “No. Just Granny and Reese. I don’t know where my parents will be. I think their art show is tonight, actually, in Harlem.”
“You mentioned that. They never extended an invitation or called you or anything?”
“Nope.”
His green eyes watch me, searching. “Are they really that bad?”
I consider the question for a second. “It’s hard to describe, it’s probably more of my problem than theirs, really. I wish they cared a little more, you know? They aren’t bad people. They’ve never lifted a finger to me. Never yelled or anything. I almost wish they would, because it would mean they cared.”
I don’t think I’m explaining it right. Guy’s brows are drawn down.
I try again, fidgeting with a napkin on the table. “They aren’t evil. It’s just that they don’t care about things other than themselves. I want them to like me, you know? To reach out or try and feign some kind of interest. Like I actually matter.”
“Have you ever talked to them about it?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t think they would listen, or care.”
He picks up my free hand and laces our fingers together and my heart flips a couple times. “Maybe the conversation isn’t entirely for them. Maybe it would help you, just to get it out there and off your chest.”
I stare down at our linked fingers. “I called my mother’s cell, just to say hi, but got her assistant. They always have some up-and-coming aspiring artists help them out, and they’re never very good assistants because they are as self-absorbed and scattered as my parents. Anyway, I told him—Alonso or something—that I was in town if they wanted to meet up, and he said, ‘Okay Sansa,’ and hung up on me.”
He lets out a short, surprised laugh. “Sansa? That’s not even close to your name.”
“That’s what I said, but Fred said maybe he really likes Game of Thrones? I guess it’s a character from the show.”
His hand squeezes mine gently. “Don’t limit yourself because of what other people think. Not even your parents. They don’t know you and it’s their loss because you are an amazing human and stronger than you know. You are enough.”
And when he says it like that, without wavering, I almost believe it.
I change the subject back to Granny and Reese and the upcoming holidays.
We finish eating, throw away our trash and then head into the park.
“That food was amazing.” I groan, rubbing my stomach.
“I know.” He holds out his arm and I take it, relishing the feel of his fingers closing over mine, pulling me firmly to his side.
I smirk at him. “I knew it. You do like food trucks.”
He turns his head speaking low and close, like he’s telling me a secret. “I have a thing for their owners, too.”
His breath tickles my ear and my stomach does a thousand flip flops in three seconds, flat. “Do you now?”
He stops suddenly and then without warning turns me into him and brushes his lips over mine, shooting a thrill straight down my stomach and all the way to my toes. I blink up at him, wanting more than anything to continue in this direction—the one where our lips are touching and maybe our arms, chests, legs and hey maybe we could take off our clothes, too—but then a group of people jostle around us and we break apart.
Breathless and dazed, I can do nothing but follow as he tugs me along the walkway.
We spend a couple hours traipsing around the amusement park.
There is an enormous white and blue castle, flashing with lights. We walk, pressed together, through the Frosted Forest, an icy valley full of penguins and polar bears, and through a colorful mushroom forest.
The whole time, I’m trying to focus on the displays, but Guy is touching me. My arm in his elbow, his other hand playing with my fingertips. Or, his hand on my back. Once, he tugs me behind an LED-lit tree to kiss the side of my neck. He’s waging a war, but there are no casualties, only an onslaught of tender moments.
I’m about ready to traumatize some small children if he doesn’t stop or get us out of here.
“Do you want to see the Sweet Dream and Candy Station?” he asks, pointing down the last section of lights.
“I would rather be alone.”
He frowns and I realize how the words sounded.
“I mean, not alone, by myself. Alone with you.” I wince. “I’m ruining the moment, aren’t I?”
He chuckles and pulls me closer, his eyes dropping to my mouth.
“We could be alone,” I say, the words coming out in a rush. “I have an empty apartment. Just don’t judge my dirty dishes. I’ve been experimenting with flavors.”
His eyes search mine intently and then the corner of his mouth tips up. “I’ll call the car. Then I’ll have to call Clara.” He gives me a gentle tug and I follow him back down the path, toward the exit.
“Oh, will you have to go home soon?” I ask.
I get it, but…I’m simultaneously disappointed and understanding, an odd mix when it’s also combined with the insatiable need to get him undressed as soon as possible and touch his naked body as much as I can for the foreseeable future.
He stops and faces me, the white glow of nearby lights flickering over his features, outlining his jaw, shadowed in stubble. “I hope it’s not too presumptuous, but I already asked her to stay overnight with the girls. I just have to call and let her know.”
I’m already shaking my head. “Not presumptuous. Smart. Wonderful. Welcome.” I lean into him, pressing kisses to his lips, then cheek, then the prickliness of his jaw.
He tilts his face down to mine so our foreheads are touching. “I have to leave by eight tomorrow morning.”
“That’s fine, I have to get up early anyway.” I lean in again, wanting more right now and he stops me.
His hands cup my face. “I want to make sure you understand this is not just about getting my rocks off and sneaking out in the morning. I’ve never been the kind of person who can do that, or thought the act was insignificant. I know we sort of already agreed to be exclusive, and I meant it.”
“So,” I bite my lip, “You’re saying you’re a serial monogamist?”
He nods. “If I’m with you, it’s only you.”
I’m stunned for a minute because with all my bad dates and past boyfriends, none of them ever talked like this. This is what I’ve always wanted. I never thought I would find someone who felt like me. But here he is.
I slide a hand up his chest to his jaw. “How fast can your driver get us back to my place?”
I swallow and his eyes track the movement. His brows lift and a grin tugs at his mouth. “Really? All this talk of monogamy is turning you on?”
“You have no idea.”
He leans in to whisper in my ear, “Exclusivity, commitment, stability . . .”
My hand clenches on his arm. “Stop or I won’t be able to wait.”
The sound of his laughter is both satisfying and arousing.