“OK then.” He sighed. “I’ll have to rethink my plans. Now I don’t know what to do.”
“We can watch a movie another night.” I glanced at my watch—the shower awaited, as well as an appointment with my tweezers. I needed to bushwhack my brows before I’d even allow myself to think about going on a date.
“It’s not the movie,” he said. “What I was really hoping was that—” Behind him the oven timer went off with a continuous beep, beep, beep, beep…
“You better get that,” I said, pointing. “And I really have to get ready. We can hang out all day tomorrow, OK?”
“OK.”
I left him looking like a kid who’d been abandoned at a bus station. Such an odd turn of events. A week ago I hadn’t seen Hubert in months. Now, just when I finally had a potential boyfriend in the works, Hubert assumed I’d spend every available moment with him. Well, he’d just have to wait.
Getting ready, I made a mental note to visit Sephora online to buy some new cosmetics. And as long as I had the computer fired up and the credit card out, it wouldn’t hurt to order some new shoes. Piper had some sandals with a metallic-y bronze look that I just loved. They went with everything and were so cute. I’d have to ask where she got them. A trip to the mall wasn’t the worst idea, either. I tended to shop for pieces—a new top here, some jeans there. Piper had been telling me for years that I needed to purchase whole outfits, accessories and all. That always seemed like a lot of work and money, but I was starting to see the advantages.
Even with my own incomplete wardrobe, I was able to put together a fairly cute ensemble. I’d made friends with Mr. Round Brush when I was blow-drying my hair, and it turned out sleek and full of body. With some effort and makeup, I actually looked presentable. No heads would turn, but when I smiled I was passably attractive. I practiced expressions in the bathroom mirror and was horrified to realize that my interested-listener face actually looked like a frown, complete with an ugly vertical forehead wrinkle. I’d have to remember to use an alternate expression. Keeping my face neutral made me look simple-minded. My half smile and head-tipped-back pose was good, but it would look odd if used too much. Oh well, I’d just have to wing it.
When I got downstairs, I was stunned to find Ryan and Hubert sitting in the living room talking. I hadn’t heard the bell ring, and it wasn’t six thirty yet—I’d been watching the time.
Ryan sat up straight in the wing chair, looking like an interviewer’s guest on a PBS show, complete with button-down shirt and pleated pants. Hubert sat slouched over the coffee table, wearing jeans and a T-shirt splattered with something—gravy? Ryan was talking about the history of King Street. Something about how he’d researched the records at city hall. When I entered the room, both men stood.
“Look who’s here,” Ryan said, grinning. “Lola, looking lovely.”
Nice alliteration. “I didn’t know you were waiting,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no trouble at all,” Ryan said, smiling broadly. “Hugh and I were having a great time talking, weren’t we?” He turned to Hubert, who looked pained. Over the years people had tried various abbreviations—Hugh, Bert, Big H. Our physics teacher in high school once even called him Hube. But she only did it once. Misusing Hubert’s name was like waving a red cape at a bull. He might not charge, but he’s not going to like it.
“He goes by Hubert,” I said, attempting a bit of damage control.
“Hmm?” Ryan didn’t catch the conversational shift.
“His name. He prefers Hubert.”
Ryan’s face softened. “What did I say?”
Hubert coughed into his fist. “You called me Hugh.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t believe I did that.” He smiled, but Hubert was clearly not placated, so Ryan tried again. “But it’s sort of the same thing, isn’t it? Just a shortened version?”
“Sure, Ry. Exactly the same thing.” Hubert’s sarcasm startled me. I’d never heard that tone coming from him. In fact, it sounded more like something I might say. Hubert smiled then. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the moment had passed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and said, “So, where you kids going tonight?”
I could tell Hubert was annoyed that I wasn’t going to be staying for roast chicken and DVDs, but too bad. How often did I have a date? Couldn’t he see that this was an opportunity for me? I opened my mouth to answer the question, but Ryan was ahead of me. “We’re going to an early movie and then out to eat.” He turned to me and said, “I made reservations at Singha Thai Restaurant. I hope that’s fine with you.”
“Singha Thai? Perfect,” I assured him. Hubert gave me a surprised look. I knew he was remembering a previous conversation in which I’d said I didn’t like Thai food, and that had once been the case, but with Ryan I was determined to be more open-minded. I really needed to learn to be adaptable. “Well, I guess we should go,” I said, gesturing toward the door. “Good-bye, Hubert. See you tomorrow.” Ryan said good-bye too and followed me out.
His Jag was parked curbside in front of my walkway. When I was putting on my seat belt, I glanced over at my house and saw Hubert watching us from a gap in the drapes at the front window. I lifted my hand and waved, but I guess he didn’t see me because the drapes dropped shut and then he was gone.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
While we stood in line to get our tickets for the movie, I had time to admire Ryan properly. It wasn’t just his good looks, which were considerable; it was the whole package. He had the look of a man who was comfortable in his own skin. And what great skin it was—covering all six-feet-plus of lean physique. I could tell from the fit of his suit that he was muscular, but not vein-bulgingly, freakishly so.
His face was handsome, though not in a Ralph Lauren model way. You wouldn’t see him and automatically think he’s full of himself, or if you did, his smile would negate that notion. He had a killer smile, one I could get lost in. It made his whole face light up and caused these cute little wrinkles at the outer corners of his eyes.
We made small talk about our choice of movies, finally settling on a romantic comedy. I noticed that when he spoke he leaned over to give me his undivided attention and made full, shiver-inducing eye contact.
The theater was only a few miles from my childhood home, and there was a pretty good crowd, but sadly I didn’t see one person I knew from high school.
“Popcorn?” Ryan asked after he’d bought the tickets and we entered the lobby. Behind the refreshment counter, teenagers in striped vests flitted around like hummingbirds, squirting golden liquid onto tubs of popcorn and filling cups with crushed ice and soda. The popcorn smelled wonderful. I could almost taste the salty goodness of it, but I turned it down, telling him I didn’t like to eat during movies. I ixnayed a beverage, also. I couldn’t imagine maintaining a good impression with greasy fingers and a pressing need for the bathroom.
Ryan ordered a soft drink for himself: half regular Pepsi and half diet. As soon as he told the girl what he wanted, a shudder went through my body. Half and half was exactly the way Mindy took her cola. And here she thought she’d invented the fifty-fifty combination. Ha! Coke was her cola of choice, but she’d reluctantly accept Pepsi in a pinch. She was very particular about the drink being exactly half and half—I’d seen her send back drinks she thought were too sweet. Besides her, I’d never met anyone who specified a combination when ordering a soft drink.
“Interesting choice of beverage,” I said as the girl handed him his change.
He stuck a straw into the X on the lid. “I always order it this way. Regular soda is just too sweet. I really prefer Coke, but I’ll take Pepsi if that’s all they have.” He saw me give him a look. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just that my sister orders it the same way. I never met anyone else who drank it like that.”
“Your sister—the one who’s getting married?”
“That’s the one.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Interesting.” He stepped away from the
counter. “Should we go sit down?”
Inside the theater we discovered that we liked sitting in the exact same spot: the middle of the middle. He let me go first, and I found the exact center of the row. I liked that he was sitting on my right. Piper always said it was my best side. “The sound is perfect when you’re right in the center,” I said.
“I’ve always thought that too,” he said, taking a pull on his drink and setting the cup in his holder. “This is nice. I haven’t been to a movie in a long time. Nothing against your friend, but I just wasn’t up for staying in and having roast chicken tonight, although it did smell good.”
I had to have heard wrong. “What was that about roast chicken?”
“Your friend—what’s his name?”
“Hubert.”
He smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, I just can’t get that name to stick in my head. It’s so odd. Anyway, Hubert suggested we eat dinner with him and then all of us go out and do something downtown. He really made a case for it. I felt sorry for the guy, but I wanted to spend the evening with just you.”
I was stunned.
“I hope you don’t mind?” Ryan leaned in toward me.
“No, of course not. I already told him I wasn’t staying for his dinner. I can’t believe he asked you after we’d already discussed it.” What was the deal with Hubert trying to horn in on my date?
“I told him maybe another time. He seems like a nice enough guy. How long ago were you two a couple?”
“Hubert and me? We were never a couple.” I wanted to make this very clear. “We’re just friends. I’ve known him since junior high. Until recently I hadn’t seen him in a long time. His girlfriend kicked him out of their apartment, so I said he could stay with me.”
“That’s strange. For some reason I got the impression he was a former boyfriend. Something about the way he talked about you.”
“No, just friends. That’s all.”
“Well maybe it came off that way because you’ve known each other for so long,” he said.
“That’s probably it.”
“Because he was reading me the riot act about treating you right.”
I felt my stomach drop. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“No, I’m completely serious.”
“The riot act?” I tightened my grip on my armrest. Was Hubert losing his mind? And if so, why couldn’t he do it elsewhere? Ryan must think I was a complete freak.
Ryan set his hand over mine, and I felt myself relax. “Maybe ‘riot act’ isn’t the right way to put it. More like he’s your dad, or something. He told me what a terrific girl you are and listed off all your good qualities. Nothing I didn’t already know, though.” His fingers curved underneath my palm. Our hands fit together perfectly. “Then he said he hoped I realized what a special person you were.”
Oh good Lord. “What did you say to that?” I felt my heart quicken.
He gave my hand a little squeeze. “I said sure, of course I could tell you were special from the moment I met you, but he didn’t seem very convinced.” He looked distractedly around the theater. I got the impression he didn’t find Hubert to be a very interesting topic of discussion.
When the lights dimmed, there was a scuffling of activity as people turned off their cell phones and settled back in anticipation of the movie. The teenaged girls in front of us slouched down in their seats and rested their feet on the chairs in front of them.
I’d always liked the previews, and this time they were particularly good, even the obnoxiously loud Mountain Dew commercials. Ryan continued to hold my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. To anyone else, we might have looked like two people who’d been dating for years, or a married couple with a newborn back home with the babysitter. I wondered what it would feel like to be married to Ryan. He seemed so mellow; I couldn’t imagine anything getting him down. Not like Piper’s husband, Mike. Piper had told me he’d been worthless when she was in labor with Brandon. Mike had alternated between being impatient that it was taking so long and acting agitated that she was in pain. At one point he’d even left the room, saying he couldn’t stand seeing her face during contractions. Piper thought it was funny—the whole “men are such babies” thing—but I was appalled. He left the room? What a jerk. I wouldn’t even want a baby with a guy who wasn’t going to be there for me.
I wasn’t sure what kind of father Ryan would be, but I was willing to bet he’d make beautiful babies. For some lucky woman. Probably not me, but still, here we were in a dark movie theater, his thumb stroking my knuckles in a way that would have made my knees buckle if I weren’t sitting down. And who would have thought this particular scenario was even a possibility a week ago? Certainly not me. So maybe there was hope after all.
I watched the movie from two different places emotionally. Part of me viewed the story on the screen in the usual way. I saw beautiful people involved in humorous, implausible situations. I laughed along with the rest of the audience when the couple was trapped in the elevator. She was adorable, all Southern accent and petite build, and he was tall and good looking and serious. I wanted them to end up together even though she was flaky and he was unsure.
But another part of me was acutely aware of Ryan sitting next to me, the length of his arm alongside mine, our hands touching. At one point he repositioned his hold on me so that our fingers interlocked. I glanced down then; in the dim light our hands folded together reminded me of prayer.
I’d written an article for the magazine once about the value of physical touch for babies and toddlers. The doctor I’d interviewed was adamant that touch deprivation was detrimental to a young child’s health and development. He went on to talk about its importance for adults and how many people, especially elderly people living in nursing home environments, often lack the physical touch needed for their emotional health. None of the adult stuff was relevant to my article, of course, but I listened politely. Touch deprivation, he’d said, was an epidemic in America. At the time I’d agreed that yes, never being hugged or caressed, or having sex for that matter, was a sad thing indeed. It was only later that I realized I fit into that category. Me and eighty-year-old ladies with names like Mabel and Cora had more in common than I’d like to admit. But maybe now my personal drought was over.
The movie was over much too quickly. I could have sat in the comfort of my padded seat indefinitely, smelling the popcorn and alternating my gaze at the screen with sneaky peeks at the handsome man next to me. All my senses satisfied in one sitting.
When the credits ran, half the audience got up to leave, including the teenage girls in front of us. The murmur of voices in the theater sounded generally pleased with the movie. I could always tell by the collective tone whether or not people felt they got their money’s worth. Ryan sipped from his Pepsi and made no effort to move, so I remained motionless as well. I was glad he was a stay-for-the-credits kind of guy. I myself liked to see things through to the end.
“So what did you think?” Ryan said when the house lights went on. He had leaned over to ask, his lips just inches from my ear. “Did you like it?”
I was startled for a moment, until I realized he was talking about the movie. “Oh yes, it was great,” I assured him. “Really funny.”
“I thought so too.” He took a thoughtful sip from his cup. The last of the soda, judging by the sucking noise. “I always go for something funny, rather than serious or depressing, if I have a choice.”
“Me too.” Another thing we had in common. Too bad he was seriously out of my league.
We rose out of our seats and followed the few remaining stragglers out to the brightness of the lobby.
“Our timing is a little off,” Ryan said, glancing at his watch. “We have an hour to kill. We can either go for a leisurely drive before heading for dinner, or go straight to the restaurant and have a drink at the bar while we wait.” He looked at me questioningly. “Whatever the lady decides.”
Quick—call the Associate
d Press! Chivalry was alive and well, after all. “Either way,” I said, and then I realized I sounded wishy-washy. “Or we could do both—go for a drive and then if we have time, stop in the bar?”
Ryan made a slight bow. “As you wish.”
We were grinning at each other like overjoyed third graders when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Mindy and Chad standing behind me.
“I thought it was you!” she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I told Chad it was you.” As she spoke, Mindy grinned and bounced on the balls of her feet. Such a little bundle of energy. “He just couldn’t believe you’d be out on a Friday night. Aren’t you usually in your jammies watching Netflix right about now?” She spoke as smugly as if she’d caught me joining Weight Watchers.
I had a few strategies for dealing with Mindy, the most effective of which was to ignore her barbs. I touched Ryan’s elbow to indicate we were together. “Ryan, this is my sister Mindy and her fiancé Chad.” I gave my sister a threatening look, even though that never worked.
Ryan extended his hand to Chad. “Ryan Moriarty. I’ve heard so much about you both. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” In return, Chad pumped his hand vigorously and grinned.
“But I’ve heard nothing about you.” Mindy dramatically pushed her hair behind her ear with a broad sweep of her hand. A childhood habit designed, I always believed, to draw attention to her crowning glory. She always complained about her hair, but her protests didn’t fool me—she was just fishing for compliments. Her hair was thick and gleaming and gorgeous. And she knew it. “Lola, you sneaky thing, you. I had no idea. How long have you two been going out? You are going out, aren’t you?” She directed the question at Ryan.
I swallowed and looked up at Ryan, who gave her his most radiant smile. “I first laid eyes on Lola the day she moved in across the street from me. We hit it off immediately, didn’t we, hon?”
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