by Violet Howe
“And what is it about him that makes your face light up like this? I’m almost teary-eyed just seeing your reaction to this guy. What happened between the two of you?”
“Nothing! I swear. He’s just nice. And attractive.”
“Okay. So why no lunch?”
I covered my face with hands and grumbled. “Sandy, you know I don’t like to go out with people.”
She leaned across the table. “How do you know? You never go out with anybody.”
I dropped my hands from my face and stuck my tongue out at her. “That’s not true.”
Sandy raised her eyebrows and held her hands up outstretched. “It’s not? Really? Tell me the last person you went out with. And don’t even say—”
“Bobby,” we said in unison.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms again. “I knew you were going to say Bobby. Bobby does not count. You went to his restaurant a couple of times a week after work, and he’d have his chef make you a meal. That’s not dating. That’s him being lazy and writing off your dinner on his taxes.”
“It’s hard when you own a restaurant. He worked seven nights a week.”
“Oh, give me a break. All right, let’s say I let you count Bobby, which is such a stretch. Who before him? Name someone else you’ve dated in, oh, say, the last five years.”
“What about Doug?”
“You went out, what, three times? And one of those was a company barbecue?”
“Okay, what about Preston? We went out several times. Dinner. The theater. Concerts. Movies.”
“I told you when you introduced me to him. Preston’s gay.” She stabbed the slice of chocolate cake that had just been put in front of her.
“He is not!”
“He is. Trust me. I would know. We know these things.”
“Preston is a very nice man.”
“I’m sure he is. Did he ever try to get you in bed?”
My mouth dropped in fake shock, but I didn’t have the heart to carry through with it so I laughed instead. “No, because he was a gentleman.”
“Because he was gay. Which is probably why you were willing to keep seeing him for so long. I think it’s time to admit that you have a problem.”
I exhaled heavily and checked my watch.
“You do,” she insisted. “You’re afraid of relationships. You hid behind the kids for years and used them as an excuse—”
“I never used my kids as an excuse!” My indignation was genuine that time.
“Okay, maybe use them is the wrong terminology, but you always said you wouldn’t date until they were out of the house.”
“I was putting them first. And you of all people should understand why!”
“Oh, I know why. But you have no reason now! They’re adults. Out of the house and on their own. One’s married and one’s engaged to be married.”
I bit my lip and looked away from her, but she was unwavering.
"Maggie, you have not been in a serious relationship since Galen was born. That's twenty-six years. You can't tell me you don't realize that's a little bit abnormal."
"Why do I somehow keep ending up in this conversation with people?"
"Because you don’t go out with anyone.”
"All right, fine. I'll go to lunch with Dax. I’ll call him right now and set up a lunch date. Will that make you happy?”
I picked up my phone and scrolled to his number in the call log, hitting dial before I could change my mind.
Sandy smiled triumphantly as she watched me.
The phone rang three times, and I was almost hoping he wouldn’t answer when his voice suddenly filled my ear.
“Well, hello, Josephine Marcus.”
“What?”
“You called me Wyatt Earp earlier, when I said seeing you was fortuitous, but it was actually Josephine Marcus who said it in the movie. Tombstone, right?”
I smiled. “Yes. You’re right. It was Josephine Marcus.”
“Did you find an empty slot on your calendar?”
My eyes met Sandy’s and she nodded at me to go ahead, so I took a deep breath and asked if he was available on Thursday.
“Thursday works. Shall I pick you up at your office?”
Apprehension crept in, and I hesitated. “Oh. Um,” I looked away from Sandy and rubbed my hand against my pants to try and dry its sudden moisture. “You don’t have to pick me up. I can meet you downtown somewhere.”
“All right. I had a place in mind for lunch, but it’s over off Mills and Colonial. Is that too far?”
Sandy leaned across and whispered, “Just let him pick you up.”
I waved her away and closed my eyes. “No, that’s fine. Just text me the address and I’ll meet you there. Wanna say one o’clock?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you Thursday.”
“See you Thursday.”
Sandy poured me another glass of wine and I let her.
10 CUCUMBER WATER
My phone rang a few minutes after twelve, and when I saw his number, I thought he was calling to cancel. The level of disappointment I felt surprised me, and I forced my voice to sound nonchalant when I answered.
“This is Maggie.”
“How fortuitous! That’s exactly who I called!”
I smiled, still nervous to hear why he was calling. “Is that your favorite word?”
“Fortuitous? No, actually, I don’t know that I’ve ever used it much before. It somehow seems appropriate this week, I guess.”
His voice was wistful, and I resisted the urge to ask what was special about this week before he continued.
“I don’t know if you’ve peeked out the window, but it looks like it’s going to rain on our parade.” He paused, and my smile faded as I realized he really was calling to cancel. “I’m sure you don’t want to get soaked in the middle of your work day, so I was wondering if you wanted me to pick you up at the Arts Center valet or would you rather grab something to eat there?”
My relief at him not canceling was immediately replaced by a sense of panic at the thought of having lunch with him in the cafe downstairs. On a rainy day, everyone in the building ate there rather than braving the wet outdoors. I had no desire to answer a million questions about who I was dining with and why.
While my preference would certainly be to drive my own car, I couldn’t ignore the logic in having Dax pick me up under the covered valet entrance.
“Valet is fine,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t hear the hesitation in my voice.
“Alright. I’ll pick you up about a quarter ‘til? Wear a red carnation so I know it’s you.”
I recognized the movie reference and smiled with a chuckle. “That might be hard to pull off with such short notice, but I’ll be in a long black coat and black boots so you know what to look for.”
“I have no doubt I’d recognize that red hair of yours anywhere.”
I blushed, and my smile expanded. “Then I guess it’s fortuitous for you that I’m not wearing a hat! I’ll see you downstairs.”
The hands on the clock dragged as I tried unsuccessfully to focus on the work at hand for the next hour. I’d been standing by the glass doors for several minutes already when I saw him pull under the porte cochere in a huge, black pick-up truck. I don’t know what I expected him to drive, but the truck only solidified his cowboy image in my head.
I braced for the cold as I swung the door open, hugging the coat tightly around me as the wind whipped my hair across my face.
Dax got out and greeted me at the passenger door, waving away the valet to open it for me himself.
“I found you,” he said, his grin wide and his green eyes bright.
“You found me,” I said with a smile, thankful that I’d worn pants as I grabbed the door and climbed into the truck, which would have been nearly impossible to do gracefully in a tight skirt.
The warmth of the heated seat was a pleasant surprise, and I settled into it as I took in the luxury of the vehicle’s interior.
It was remarkably clean for what I assumed was a ranch truck, and it smelled of the cinnamon air freshener that hung from the rearview mirror. An insulated coffee cup sat in the drink holder next to his cell phone, and the console tray beneath the stereo held a clear box of mint-flavored toothpicks.
A blast of cold air swept inside when he opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel.
“Nice truck,” I said, nervous at the thought of silence now that we were alone together.
“Thanks. It gets me where I need to go. Comfortably.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever ridden in a truck before, but if I did, it wasn’t like this.”
I glanced behind me at the ample rear seat as he merged into the downtown traffic.
“Really? No one you know drives a truck?”
I shook my head. “Can’t think of anyone. Of course, you’re the only person I know who owns a ranch.”
“Trucks are useful on a ranch. So have you seen The Shop Around the Corner, or had you just heard the red carnation line before?”
“Of course! I watch it every year at Christmas.”
“Wow. Okay. And what about its modern remake?”
“You’ve Got Mail?” I tilted my head and looked at him, trying to picture the cowboy before me relaxing in front of the TV watching romantic comedies. I giggled at the mental image.
“What?” he asked, looking at me once he’d stopped at the traffic light.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just surprised that…I don’t know.” My voice trailed off as I tried to think of a way to explain the reason for my surprise without insulting him.
“That what? That I watch romance movies? Tough guys have feelings too, ya know.” He smiled and directed his attention back to the road as the light turned green.
The casual mention of feelings stirred the anxiety lurking just beneath my calm facade, but I looked out the window at the rain, determined to keep it under control and enjoy the moment.
“I think the original was better,” he said. “What was the book she was supposed to bring to the cafe with her?”
“Anna Karenina.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Very good.” He nodded in approval.
“I told you I watch it every year. Besides, when it comes to movie trivia, you’d be hard-pressed to stump me.”
He raised his eyebrows and glanced at me. “Is that a challenge?”
“Do what you must,” I said with a smile, feeling a bit emboldened and uncharacteristically flirtatious.
He slowed the truck and adeptly backed into a parallel spot along the busy street, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed by his ability to put the large truck in such a tight spot with the rain and heavy traffic.
“Let me grab the umbrella and I’ll come around to get you,” he said as he braced his arm against the driver’s door.
“I have my own.” I took my umbrella from my shoulder bag and unbuckled the strap to remove the cover.
“I can come get you,” he said. “You’ll be drenched by the time you get the umbrella open through the door.”
“No more drenched than you’ll be,” I said. “I can open my own umbrella and my own door.”
Dax shrugged with a smile. “Do what you must.”
I was pleased that he didn’t argue the point, but a little surprised. I’d half expected him to insist.
Even though I opened the door just wide enough to snake the umbrella up and out, the rain poured in, wetting my coat sleeve and pants leg before I could get the umbrella open. I could practically feel my hair frizzing as I hopped out onto the curb.
Dax stood at the rear of the truck underneath a wide black umbrella, clearly big enough for two. He waited for me to reach him and then looked both ways before crossing the street.
“So, this is Tako Cheena?” I asked, reading the name emblazoned across the restaurant’s window. It was a small place, tucked in between a costume shop and a vintage clothing store. It had a total of seven tables and a long bar set up along the window for additional seating.
“You’ve never been here, then?” he asked as he closed his umbrella and reached to take mine, shaking it slightly before holding the door open for me to enter.
I shook my head, cautiously looking at the other diners to see if they seemed pleased with their meals.
“You’re in for a real treat. It’s one of my favorite places near downtown. Guarantee, after today, you’ll be coming back.”
Dax chose a table against the wall and held out a chair for me as I removed my coat and positioned it across the back of the chair so the sleeve could dry.
He handed me a laminated menu card from the bucket on the wall, but I noticed he didn’t take one for himself.
“What do you recommend?” I asked.
“A little bit of everything. You won’t know what you like until you try it.”
I handed him back the menu. “Then surprise me.”
His eyebrows raised a bit, but his smile grew wider. “Okay. I like it. How adventurous are you?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
He chuckled. “Any allergies? Major dislikes?” I shook my head and he continued. “You want a drink? They have cucumber water.”
The thought of him sipping cucumber water was too much for me, and my laughter bubbled up and out of me before I could contain it.
“What? What’s funny about cucumber water?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I replied, clearing my throat and trying not to laugh again. “I’m sure it’s wonderful. Let’s have cucumber water.”
“It’s good for you.”
My laughter bubbled up and out again. “I’m sure it is. I would love to have some. I’m looking forward to it. I never knew cowboys drank cucumber water.”
“Oh,” he said with a smirk. “I reckon cowboys drink whatever they want to. I thought you didn’t know many cowboys.”
“I don’t.”
He leaned forward and grinned. “Then how do you know what cowboys drink?”
I laughed again, surprisingly relaxed and at ease with our banter.
“I don’t. Obviously.”
He signaled the waitress that we were ready and rattled off his order. “We’ll have two cucumber waters,” he said with a wink in my direction, “and give us a chicken panang burrito, a Korean beef taco, a panko-crusted cod taco, and a four-cheese arepa with slaw.”
I noticed the way she watched him as he talked, and I felt an odd sensation of possessiveness, like he was mine for the hour.
It wasn’t difficult to see why she might be attracted.
His ever-present smile was hard to resist, and his easygoing temperament was engaging.
He wore no coat, despite the cold, and the tan of his skin in mid-February indicated he probably spent most of his time outdoors year-round.
His gray button-down shirt was open at the collar and the sleeves were folded back neatly across his muscular forearms. His hair was slightly damp, and its waves covered the tops of his ears and rested along the edge of his collar.
He laughed at something the waitress said as she walked away, and when he looked at me, it was remarkably easy to smile back at him.
“Hopefully, you’ll like something in all that,” he said.
“I’m sure I will. How’d you find this place?”
“Oh, I’m always on the search for something off the beaten path. I try to stay away from the chain restaurants with the cookie cutter menus. Somebody recommended this place a couple years ago, when it first opened. Been coming ever since.”
I smiled as the waitress set down two cups of cucumber water, and when she walked away, Dax raised his cup as though he were toasting.
“To cucumber water and new adventures.”
I laughed and touched my cup to his. “And cowboys.”
“Yes ma’am.”
We both took a drink, and he looked at me expectantly. “Well? What do you think?”
I laughed again, sure that he must think I was li
ke a giddy teenager with the number of times I was giggling.
“It’s good. I’ve had cucumber water before, Dax. I was just surprised that you ordered it. I guess I thought you’d have, I don’t know….“
“Something more manly?” he asked, one eyebrow arched.
“No, that’s not, well, I guess. It sounds horrible when you say it that way, like I was stereotyping you or something.”
He smiled. “So maybe I should have ordered a strong, foamy ale or a shot of whiskey?”
“Oh Lord. I’ve really stepped in it here, so could we change the subject?”
His laughter let me off the hook.
“Sure, what would you like to talk about?”
“How’d you get involved with the hospital trauma unit?”
His smile faded, and something dark passed across his eyes just as the waitress brought our lunch.
He didn’t answer the question when she left, and I pretended not to notice.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, cutting each taco and burrito in half and passing it across the table.
“So much food. I can’t eat all this,” I said, even as my stomach was growling at the delectable aromas assaulting my senses.
“You have to try a bite of each, so you’ll know what to order when you come back.”
It only took a couple of bites for me to determine that I would definitely be back, and I would never balk at any recommendation he made.
He stretched his back against the chair when we’d had our fill, and I thanked him again for introducing me to such a delicious find.
“So, you have the one daughter getting married? What’s her name? Gail?”
“Galen.”
“And I met your daughter-in-law, so I’m guessing you have a son?”
I nodded. “Cabe.”
“Interesting names,” he said.
“Coming from someone named Dax, I’m not sure how I should respond. But then, I saw the other day your name is actually Dexter, right?”
“Yes. Dexter James. My brother was two when I was born, and I guess he never could get Dex to come out correctly. His Southern accent drew it out and the name Dax kind of stuck. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
