Date night with George came sooner than I’d expected, and as I listened to Dr. Susie to help me get excited about the date, I told myself I was doing the right thing. The grown-up thing. The responsible thing. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
“Chivalry is not dead,” Dr. Susie told me in her singsong voice on my audio book. “It’s okay to expect and want a gentleman. We’ve come a long way, but we should still be treated like ladies. A real gentleman will do the big things and the small things.”
Right, big. Like taking me to Denver’s most expensive French restaurant for dinner, big. George spared no expense on our date. He’d picked a place even more impressive than I could’ve imagined—pristine white tablecloths, sterling silver cutlery, the soft glow of candlelight, and waiters dressed in suits. One glance at the menu told me a single appetizer cost more than what I’d spent on food all day the day before. Every so often, the star chef, who had her own culinary show on the Food Network, walked through the dining room, thanking guests for coming. Usually, reservations were booked weeks in advance, and I wondered how George had managed to swing a table for two.
Okay, so maybe being a responsible grown-up had its perks. Like a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine the waitress brought to us. She poured a sample for George to taste as they bantered back and forth in French.
“Parfait,” George said after he took a sip and nodded his approval. “But you should really be tasting.”
Well. Ooh, la la. That sure seemed the gentlemanly thing to do.
The waitress poured a little red wine in my glass, and I took a sip. Immediately, I realized why the wine cost three hundred dollars a bottle. It was, quite simply, the most amazing wine I’d ever tasted. I wondered if I spent more time with George, if I’d train my taste buds to recognize fine wine. I could get used to this.
“Wow, this is really…incredible.” I knew the French were known for their wines, but…seriously, wow.
“Do you mind if I order for us?” George asked me. I still felt too dazzled by the wine to even contemplate the menu, which I saw was entirely in French. Frankly, I had no idea what any of it said.
“Please do,” I said, flooded by relief that I didn’t have to bust out Google to translate. “You’ve done everything perfectly so far.” Beyond perfect, really. He’d opened my car door, pulled out my chair, and complimented me on my outfit—a sleek blue dress and matching heels. He seemed to be following a checklist of “perfect things to do on a first date.”
I listened as he began to order.
“Nous commencerons avec la salad Nicoise, suivi du steak tartar. Et comme plat principal nous prendrons tous les deux le canard a l’orange.” He rattled off what I could only surmise was a delicious dinner in French.
The waitress nodded. “Bon choix,” she said. Then she turned to me. “Est ce que je peux vous apportex quelque chose d’autre, mademoiselle?”
“Oui. Oui.” I nodded enthusiastically. I had no idea what I was agreeing to, but “oui” and “bon jour” were the only French words I knew.
The waitress, however, didn’t leave. She stood, waiting, but I didn’t know what she was waiting for.
George politely cleared his throat. “She wants to know if you need anything else,” he said.
My face burned with embarrassment. For some reason, I hated for George to think I was out of my element. I couldn’t say why. After all, I never went to fancy French restaurants, but still. “Oh! No, I’m fine, thank you.”
The waitress smiled and then left our table.
“I didn’t know you spoke French,” I told George. It made me wonder what else I might not know about him. “That’s impressive.”
George shrugged, humble. “I just seem to have an ear for languages.”
“Well, I don’t,” I said, thinking back to college when I’d nearly flunked Spanish 101. “And I just learned when I was in an Indian restaurant last week that ‘naan’ does not mean ‘no.’”
George smiled politely.
“They kept bringing me bread,” I said and laughed at my own joke.
George, however, didn’t seem to find it funny, or didn’t want to laugh at my goofiness. But why not? It was funny. Wasn’t it? I swallowed. Ugh. Did he think worse of me now? Also, why did that matter so much?
George seemed eager to change the subject. He raised his wine glass to toast.
“Well, to a beautiful—and the most interesting woman—I’ve ever met…and to getting to know her much better.”
I suddenly felt hot and a little embarrassed. I wanted to say, “Oh, seriously? That is so cheesy,” but the utter look of seriousness on George’s face told me that would be a mistake. He meant every word he said. And, the way he’d said it, so earnestly, made me want to be that person. That beautiful woman on a pedestal.
I could do this. I could be the alluring, interesting, complex woman he wanted, right? Maybe if I acted serious, I’d also be taken seriously. I clinked my glass against his. He stared at me with such admiration that I felt the warmth all the way across the table. Maybe George did deserve a second look. Maybe Dr. Susie was right. I could be a different woman, and maybe I’d get a different man.
“Cheers,” I said, as our glasses clinked together.
The rest of the date sped by in the best dinner I’d ever eaten and in George being surprisingly lively company. I didn’t laugh much, since George rarely cracked a joke, but we did talk about a range of issues, from politics to sibling rivalry, and he always gave thoughtful, interesting answers. I wanted to be more like that serious woman he saw in me. Maybe being a grown-up wasn’t all bad, especially if it meant fancy dinners, serious conversations, and fantastic wine.
George didn’t try to kiss me at my doorstep, but instead gave me a brief, business-like hug. It felt safe and appropriate, and I wondered about why I had absolutely no desire to take it any further. I thought about how I’d fought my inner teenager when I’d avoided kissing Robert. I’d not had to battle any urges with George. Wouldn’t Dr. Susie say that was a good thing?
Yes, it was. I wouldn’t let physical attraction cloud my judgment. For once, I’d make a romantic decision based on good sense.
Nadia called Saturday afternoon, Skyping to let me know she couldn’t do our normal weekend walk with Duke. She was stuck at her house for another classroom emergency. Despite the fact that my nephew was just in preschool for three hours a day, three days a week, somehow, there still seemed to be a ridiculous amount of parent volunteer work involved. It made me rethink my plan to have three kids. Then again, part of me knew Nadia’s type A personality could be to blame. She always insisted on doing things the hard way. Like now, for instance.
The preschool planned to hold a Healthy Eating Extravaganza to battle childhood obesity, and the school had bestowed the honor to dress up as fruits and vegetables to hand out fliers and amuse the kids on a few lucky parents. I felt it was kind of ironic since they’d just had a bake sale, but then again, maybe this was the school’s way to make up for it: chocolate cupcakes one week, carrots the next. It all seemed to be for a good cause, but Nadia, as usual, made it far more complicated than it needed to be, insisting on sewing Michael’s strawberry costume from scratch and then asking Mom to pitch in as she had only hours to go until fair time, and she still had to hem the bottom of the thing.
“Cass,” Nadia began, shaking her head at me on-screen. “Listen to me and learn from my mistakes. Never volunteer to be room mother. One week, it’s baking a hundred cupcakes, and the next, it’s making costumes for the Healthy Eating Extravaganza.”
I saw Michael wearing the worst strawberry costume I’d ever seen, Nadia relentlessly jabbing a needle in the hem.
“Ouch!” Michael bit his lip in pain. “I’m begging you…”
“Sorry,” Nadia said, almost as an afterthought, despite having poked him—again. Poor guy. Michael had a heart of gold and the patience of a saint.
Mom popped her head on-screen. “You know, you could have ordered a costume on Amazon and had it here in one day. Free shipping with Prime.”
“That’s what I told her!” Michael flinched again when Nadia tugged hard on the hem of his strawberry costume.
“She’s a walking advertisement now,” I teased Mom, since everybody knew how much she loved Amazon. She wouldn’t stop talking about Prime, even to clerks at the grocery store.
“Does this strawberry make me look fat?” Michael asked, preening in the oversized red berry.
“Yes,” we all told him.
“That’s what I thought.” Michael gave an exaggerated sigh. At least he was having fun with it. Had to give him points for that.
“So…been dying to ask,” Mom said, moving in front of the Skype camera. “Any more dates?”
“Actually, since I’m ‘keeping my options open…’” I took a deep breath. “I went out to dinner with a client of mine, George Kazminski, and it was really nice. He was attentive and…” Fun? No… Serious? Yes. “A real gentleman. He held the door, pulled out my chair, and even ordered for us.” In French, mind you.
Nadia perked up, looking at the screen. “Sounds like the type of man we’re looking for.”
“You mean I’m looking for,” I said.
“Whatever.” Nadia rolled her eyes and began fussing with the green collar of Michael’s strawberry suit.
“I know I shouldn’t ask,” Mom said, trying to keep her voice low. “But…any sparks?”
I thought about the stiff hug at the end of the date.
“No,” I said. “Not yet. But that’s not what…we’re looking for. Right, Nadia?”
Nadia offered a virtual fist bump to the screen. “Word.”
I laughed a little, then Nadia told me she needed to run. The Healthy Eating Extravaganza began in fifteen, and they needed to get Mr. Strawberry to the school gym.
“How do I look?” Michael asked me.
Honestly? Kind of like a cross between the world’s largest pimple and a mutant berry. I dared not say that.
“Really good,” I lied.
As I shut off Skype, my phone dinged with an incoming message. I wondered if it might be George, but when I looked at the screen, I saw a missive from Robert. He wanted to take me out. Tomorrow. He was cashing in his choice of location for a second date. While he wouldn’t tell me where we were going, he did tell me to dress for a long run.
That was about as far away as you could get from a fancy French restaurant. Still, curiosity piqued, I wanted to go. And, Dr. Susie had said to keep my options open. So, what was the harm?