Frantic pounding on my door.
I opened it.
There stood beautiful Brad Steel, looking flustered. Beads of perspiration dripped from his forehead, pasting his dark hair to the sides of his neck and face. He wore a white button-down shirt, no tie, and a few black chest hairs peeked out. Black pants and black shoes.
“I’m so sorry, Daphne. God, you look beautiful.”
I warmed, fuzzy feelings rushing through me, along with a sense of panic.
And I realized why I’d frozen earlier. I was nervous for this date—this first real date. Here was my chance to end it with Brad once and for all. I wasn’t falling for this. He as good as stood me up.
I forced myself to calm down. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to pick you up. We’ll have to skip drinks at the Four Seasons, but we can still make our reservation.”
“Really? Enjoy yourself, then.”
“Daphne, I’m sorry. Something came up.”
“Interesting. I don’t recall getting a phone call, and I’ve been right here.”
“I know. I just wanted to get here. I just wanted to get to you.”
“You got here. It’s too late.”
“No.” He walked into my room and closed the door. “It’s not too late. It can’t be.”
“What kind of person do you think I am? I’m not a doormat.” Something I’d learned junior year, though I didn’t recall when or why.
“Of course you’re not. Please, Daphne. Please.” He touched my cheek.
Sparks shot through me.
The last shred of panic dissolved, and I knew, in that instant, I’d do anything for this man.
Absolutely anything.
Chapter Twenty
Brad
“Please,” I said again.
Shivers quaked through me. What would I do if she said no? She couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
If she did, things would never be the same. I’d blown it, all because Wendy had shown up.
“All right,” she finally said.
An anvil crashed down off my shoulders. Thank God. Thank God.
What the hell was happening to me? Why did she matter so much in so little time? It was crazy. Completely crazy.
“I’ll make this up to you.” I stroked her soft cheek. “I promise.”
“Let’s just go,” she said. “I mean, I got all dressed up and everything.”
“I know. That dress is amazing. You’re so beautiful, Daphne.”
Her cheeks blushed a soft pink, a lovely contrast to her fair skin and the black wrap dress. Boy, did she have long lean legs. They went on for miles.
She didn’t talk much during the drive to the restaurant, and I didn’t force it. Silence was okay with Daphne. It felt good, actually. It felt right.
Tante Louise was a French restaurant in downtown Denver. I’d been there a couple of times with my family when my father traveled to Denver for business. Our place was on the western slope of Colorado, the other side of the Rockies.
“Aunt Louise,” Daphne said softly as we walked toward the door to the eatery.
“I’m sorry?”
“Tante Louise means Aunt Louise in French.”
“You took French?”
“Yeah, for three years.”
“You stopped senior year?”
“No. Three years. Freshman, sophomore, and senior.”
“Why not your junior year?”
She went rigid for a moment. “I was abroad junior year. In London.”
Oh? That was a surprise. “Really?”
She cleared her throat. “Yeah. I stayed with a relative. It was my mom’s idea. Get me cultured, you know.”
“Wow. I’ve never been out of the country. You’ll have to tell me more about it.”
She didn’t reply. The maître d’ led us to our table and helped Daphne into her seat. Then he gave us some menus. “Bon appétit.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I don’t want you to drink tonight,” Daphne said.
“I wasn’t planning to, but why?”
“Because I can’t. And I don’t like to drive with people who’ve been drinking.”
“You’ve been out with me before,” I said. “I never have more than one drink if I’m driving. Or two if I’m eating. I have a solid rule never to ever drink and drive. My friend Tom got a DUI in high school. He was a minor, and his dad got it swept under the rug. The record was expunged when he turned eighteen, but he had to have weekly urine tests for a couple years. Big pain.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Just a lamppost,” I said. “He got lucky.”
She nodded.
Silence again. She scanned her menu.
“I haven’t been here in a while,” I said, “but last time I had the Sole Beaujolais. It was excellent.”
“I don’t eat a lot of fish,” she said. “I like salmon, though. But…”
“But what?”
“How do I know the fish were treated humanely?”
“Just make sure you order something that’s wild caught. That way they weren’t farmed for meat.”
She nodded. “Makes sense.”
This wasn’t going well. She was still angry with me, and I couldn’t blame her. I reached toward her and grabbed the menu from her hands. “Daphne, look at me.”
She met my gaze. Sadness laced her eyes.
“Please. Let’s have a nice time. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
She sighed. “I was too.”
“Then let’s enjoy ourselves, okay? I’m really sorry I was late, but I can’t keep saying I’m sorry. You either have to forgive me or get rid of me, I guess.”