by Amy Harmon
“Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“I was surprised you asked me. I thought you might be angry with me.”
Mr. Dawson raised an eyebrow. “Have you been to many book signings, Elizabeth?” I couldn’t read his expression. Maybe he was angry after all.
“Actually, no. Last night was my first.”
“I suspected so.” Mr. Dawson took a bite of his sandwich. I waited, nervous and uncomfortable, for him to say more. When he took another bite, I began eating my sandwich.
The sandwich was awful. It took all my willpower not to gag. I looked between the pieces of flatbread, trying to be discreet. There was a layer of romaine, a thick spread that looked suspiciously like dog food mixed with sunflower seeds, and a layer of sprouts. I forced myself to chew until I could swallow the thick sludge in my mouth.
“Is there somewhere I could get a drink of water?” I asked.
Mr. Dawson reached across the desk and picked up his phone. “Meg, would you please bring us two bottled waters?” A minute later, Meg, who turned out to be Miss Exquisite, walked in with two bottles of Evian and a withering expression.
“I gather you weren’t very impressed with Ms. Eggleston’s presentation last night,” he said when Meg had left.
“No, I wasn’t. I had the misfortune of overhearing your conversation before she gave her presentation. I’m afraid it tainted the rest of the evening for me.”
“I see.” He took another bite of sandwich. Did he have the same kind of sandwich? How was he not choking?
I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I offended you, but I’m not sorry for what I said to her. She treated us all as inferiors and then she nearly made that girl cry.”
“Which probably proved her point that the girl was ill-equipped to deal with the literary world.”
Was he defending her behavior? “I’m sorry, Mr. Dawson. But she wasn’t trying to help that girl. She was bullying her to make herself look more important.” I took another bite of my sandwich—not because I wanted it or because it tasted good. It didn’t. But I needed to occupy my mouth so I wouldn’t have to speak for a minute, even if it meant risking death by gagging.
I watched Mr. Dawson’s face. His jaw looked strong and manly as he chewed. His hair was just the right length and his eyes were so blue. It was like I was looking at Mr. Darcy. I wanted to touch his face to prove I wasn’t dreaming. But of course I didn’t.
Mr. Dawson swallowed hard, my first clue that maybe his sandwich was strangling him after all. “I guess I’ll have to be more careful what events I invite you to,” he said.
So it had been an invitation! I stifled a smile. Did this mean he intended to invite me to more? “I guess you will, Mr. Dawson.”
The beginning of a wry smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. I watched his lips and hoped the smile would grow but it didn’t. Mr. Dawson looked at me and I knew he’d caught me staring at his mouth. I quickly looked out the window behind his desk.
“Why do you call me Mr. Dawson?” he asked.
Because Elizabeth called Mr. Darcy Mr. Darcy. But of course I couldn’t say that. “I suppose it’s because of our business relationship.”
“Is that what this is? A business relationship?”
I blushed all the way to my toes. “You know what I mean. The bank.”
“Why don’t you call me Matt? Mr. Dawson sounds so old.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-eight. And you?”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“We’re much too close in age for you to be so formal.”
“All right. Matt. Thank you for lunch.”
“Would you like to join me again tomorrow?”
“As long as Ms. Eggleston won’t be here.” I smiled at my little joke. Matt raised his eyebrow but didn’t say anything. “That would be nice,” I said, cursing my lame attempt at humor. I wrapped up the last few bites of my sandwich and stood to leave.
Matt reached out and took my wrist. “I still think she was right about that girl, but what you did was kind.”
It was hard to put words together with his warm, strong hand on my wrist. I held perfectly still, wishing his hand would never move. “I’m not sure Ms. Eggleston knew that girl well enough to be the one to give her harsh advice. And sometimes it’s better to be kind than right.”
“Point taken.” Matt let go of my wrist and walked with me to the front door. Meg kept her eyes averted as we walked by. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Matt said.
My wrist still felt warm as I walked. Just for fun, I flexed my hand like I’d watched Mr. Darcy do about a hundred times.
Chapter Seven
“Hey, good news,” Janessa said, tossing her keys in the bowl. She looked at the television and stopped. “What are you doing, Lizzie?”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not watching the whole thing. Besides, I thought you were going out to dinner with Ben tonight.”
“So when you think I’m not going to be home, you watch the movie?”
I smiled. “Only sometimes.”
“This is so sad,” Janessa said, shaking her head.
“I have a reason for watching. I needed to know what Mr. Darcy calls Elizabeth.”
“And this matters why?”
“Because Mr. Darcy—Matt Dawson—asked me to lunch today and he wondered if he should call me Elizabeth or Lizzie.”
“First, congratulations on the lunch date. Second, Mr. Darcy should not factor into this at all. You should have him call you whatever you want him to call you. Who cares what Mr. Darcy called Elizabeth?”
“Calm down. It’s not a big deal.”
“Exactly, Lizzie. And Mr. Darcy called her Miss Elizabeth. You know that.”
“I do now. But my mind went totally blank when he asked me. I was so worried he was going to be angry with me and then, suddenly, he was asking me to lunch.”
“Was he angry?”
“He didn’t seem angry but he thought Ms. Eggleston was right. He must not have been too upset because he asked me to lunch again tomorrow.”
“Lucky you. Lunch with a sullen, proud man who thinks it’s okay to bully customers.”
“Can you at least pretend to be happy for me?”
“If this is what you want, Lizzie, sure. I’m happy for you. What did you tell him to call you?”
“Elizabeth.”
“I guess tomorrow you can tell him to make it Miss Elizabeth. You might as well live the dream.”
“Very funny. What was your good news? And why aren’t you with Ben?”
“Ben had to work late. The good news is I picked up some pear and bleu cheese ice cream at Salt and Straw. Want some, Miss Elizabeth?”
“You know I do.”
We were halfway through a quart of ice cream and dinner at Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s when my phone chirped. It was a text from Chad.
Hey, I know we have plans for Saturday, but I’m craving Mexican. Want to go to dinner tomorrow?
I read the text to Janessa. “What should I do?”
“Go to dinner.”
“But Mr. Dawson, I mean Matt invited me to lunch again.”
“So you’re skipping dinner?” Now Janessa was just being difficult.
“Of course not. I mean, I’m seeing him tomorrow. What if he wants to do something in the evening, too?
“Did he mention doing something in the evening?”
“No.”
“Then you have no plans. Besides, if he asks you out for tomorrow night, it will be good for him to know you’re in demand. And don’t forget, you’ve still got eight dates left with Chad. Go to dinner and you get to knock off another one.”
* * *
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so full in my life,” Chad said. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach.
“I know. I might be sick.”
It was happy hour at Por Que No and between us, we’d just consumed a huge bowl of chips, salsa, and
guacamole, four virgin margaritas, and eleven tacos.
“Do you want any flan?” Chad asked.
“I don’t know where I’d put it.”
What happened next wasn’t supposed to happen. Ever. And I didn’t mean for it to happen this time. I just didn’t see it coming until it was too late.
“Have you seen any good movies lately?” Chad asked.
“I haven’t gone to a movie in ages, but I watched part of Pride and Prejudice last night.”
“What is it about that movie? My mom and sister like it, too.”
“Probably because it’s one of the best movies ever made.”
“You really think so?”
“I love it.”
“Allison—that’s my sister—she says the best way to impress a girl is to watch Pride and Prejudice with her.”
Uh oh. I tried to hide my qualms with a laugh that sounded artificial to my ears. Long ago I’d decided my Pride and Prejudice was a hallowed movie—only to be shared with a chosen few. I knew it would be difficult, if not impossible, to hide my feelings about the movie. And about Mr. Darcy. How could I betray Mr. Darcy by watching him bare his soul while I sat beside another man?
“Let’s watch it.”
“I don’t know. You probably wouldn’t like it,” I said. “There’s no action. It’s all dialogue.”
“Should I be offended that you think I couldn’t handle a movie with dialogue?” Chad was teasing me and I should have teased back but I was too busy panicking.
“It’s not that I think you couldn’t handle it. I just don’t think you’d really like it. We could watch something else. Mission Impossible? Transformers?” Please. Anything but Pride and Prejudice.
“I’m afraid you’re only making me more curious to see what all the fuss is about. There’s a video store close to my house. Let’s go get it.”
I made other suggestions at the video store but in the end, we walked out with Pride and Prejudice and Chad’s thumb was covering Matthew Macfadyen’s face.
* * *
Chad’s house was a small bungalow on a street of small bungalows. He told me he’d bought it as a foreclosure the previous year and he was fixing it up a little at a time. It was clean and sparsely furnished.
“Please don’t judge me by my decorating. I’m not a trained interior designer,” Chad said.
“The décor suits you perfectly,” I said. “I’d call this eclectic old bachelor.” A dilapidated couch and a comfy recliner faced the big-screen television that hung on the wall above the brick fireplace.
“I may be a bachelor but twenty-five is a little young to be called an old bachelor.”
“Fine. We’ll call it eclectic young bachelor.”
“I feel much better. You take the chair. This couch has seen better days. It came from my Grandma’s house and I think she bought it when my dad was a kid.”
Chad offered me milk, water, or PowerAde, the only drinks he had in the house. I chose water. He put in the movie and sat down on the side of the couch closest to my chair. A few clicks with the remote and the menu appeared on the screen with the familiar lilting piano music and Keira Knightly standing on the rocks of the Peak District, her coat and hair blowing in the wind. He pushed a button and the movie started.
At first I felt self-conscious. I reminded myself that to Chad, this was just a movie. But it felt like my deepest hopes and dreams were parading across the television screen for Chad to look over and analyze. He’d think I was irrational and crazy. He’d probably laugh at me and my silly dream.
“So what do you recommend, to encourage affection,” Mr. Darcy spoke from the television.
“Dancing, even if one’s partner is barely tolerable,” Elizabeth replied.
“Good one,” Chad said.
I glanced at the small version of Chad’s crooked smile. Something inside me warmed. Chad had recognized how perfect Elizabeth’s retort was. I started to relax and enjoy myself.
I stole occasional looks at Chad throughout the movie, expecting to see boredom etched on his face, but if he was bored, he was hiding it well. Twice, Chad looked at me and smiled. I didn’t feel nearly as ill at ease as I’d expected I would.
“That was good,” Chad said as he drove me home. “I can tell you really like it.”
“It’s been my favorite movie since I was sixteen.”
“What do you like best about it?”
That question was loaded. Did I really want to tell him? Of course I didn’t. But maybe if I did, he’d realize I was a waste of his time and he’d move on. Chad was a really nice guy and didn’t deserve to put any hopes into a girl who could only be happy with Mr. Darcy. Two lunches with Matt had me feeling insanely hopeful. If Chad didn’t ask me out again, I wouldn’t end up hurting him when things worked out with Matt.
“My favorite thing about the movie is Mr. Darcy. I think he’s close to perfect.”
“Really? Even though he’s so mean to her?”
“He’s only mean because of their cultural differences. And when he knows he loves her, he’s willing to set all that aside and do anything for her. I think he’s misunderstood in the beginning.”
Chad parked outside my apartment and turned to face me.
“How is he misunderstood?”
“He’s lost both his parents. He feels responsible for his sister and the family estate. And he’s in love with a girl who he thinks can’t fit into his life. And then, even when he thinks he has no chance of winning her, he still tries to help her. That shows his true feelings.”
Chad looked at me for a long moment. “That’s true,” he finally said. “He’s probably a better guy than he seems at first.”
Why was I suddenly choked up? Was it that Chad understood my movie or was it because his eyes were soft and kind? I held my hands tightly in my lap as an unfamiliar feeling clutched my stomach.
Chad put his hand over my clasped ones. I looked at his hand resting on mine. It felt safe and sincere and warm and pleasant. I resisted the urge to turn my hand over and hold his. And then his hand was gone and I wanted it back.
* * *
“You look great,” Chad said as we walked to his car. I’d collaborated with Janessa about what an adult should wear to a high school Sadie Hawkins dance. We’d settled on her gray dress with tiny white flowers, my red tights and black pointy-toed shoes.
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure what a chaperone should wear,” I said.
“That’s perfect.”
“What exactly do chaperones do?” I asked Chad at The Boot, an Italian restaurant with the best mushroom and sausage rigatoni I’d ever tasted.
“The first half, my assignment is to patrol the dance floor and make sure no one is doing any dirty dancing. The second half we’ll be patrolling the rest of the building—making sure no one is sneaking into the bathrooms or under the bleachers.”
“I hope they pay you for this.”
“Enough to buy this dinner,” Chad said.
“You’re going to take on this awful job and spend the money on dinner? You should have bought something for yourself with the money,” I said.
“What makes you think this isn’t for me? I’m happy to have dinner with you and I’m glad you’re going to keep me company tonight.” I tried not to smile. “Don’t worry. I’m spending the money exactly where I want to.”
We arrived at the dance before it started. Bright lights lit the room and a DJ in a Trailblazers ball cap checked the sound system. Giant autumn leaves made from construction paper hung from the ceiling. Chad introduced me to a couple of teachers who were setting up the refreshment tables. I helped arrange yellow and orange sugar cookies and cupcakes on the table while Chad talked to the DJ.
Before long, someone turned down the lights. The construction paper leaves looked almost pretty in the subdued light. Students began to arrive and soon the gymnasium was full of loud couples and louder music. I could tell it was a girls’ choice by the eager expressions on the girls’ faces and the indiff
erent swagger of most of the boys. Why was it so hard for some of these girls to see that their date wasn’t as attentive as he should be? They say love is blind but perhaps high school crushes are even blinder.
“See the couple over there?” Chad nodded toward the corner where a boy and girl were already wrapped around each other and kissing. And it wasn’t even a slow song. “I’m going to take a little stroll. You can wait here or come with me.”
“I’ll watch from here this time,” I said.
“Chicken.” Chad smiled and started dancing toward the corner. Terrible, arm-flinging, leg-kicking dancing. His moves had nothing to do with the beat of the song. He twitched and wiggled as he spoke to them and soon they were laughing and dancing separately. Chad danced a little longer beside them as they exchanged a few more words and then he shimmied back across the dance floor.
I laughed as he moonwalked the last ten feet toward me.
“You’d better not be laughing at me,” Chad said.
“You are a terrible dancer,” I said.
“I’m not that bad. I promise. It’s just a lot easier to get the kids to do what I want them to if they’re laughing than if they hate me.”
“I think they just feel sorry for you,” I said.
“Laughter or pity. Either one is okay if it gets the job done.”
When it came time to patrol the halls, I was glad for the break from the loud music but I missed watching Chad make a fool of himself as he cooled the hormones of the more amorous students.
Most of the classrooms were locked and it didn’t take long to check bathrooms and bleachers. We repeated the route several times and only found one couple in a dark alcove by the band room.
“So is this the worst date you’ve ever been on?” Chad asked as we walked down a long, dim hallway.
“Not at all. I could watch you dance all evening.”
“I’m glad you were entertained.” Chad looked at his watch. “Our responsibilities are just about finished. Come with me.” He took my hand and we walked back to the gym.
“Last dance of the night,” the DJ said as we walked into the gymnasium. “No one should be sitting this one out.”
