He smiled big when I opened the door. “You look beautiful.”
A feeling of shame ran through me. He looked neat and handsome. His dress shoes confused me. If he had ever worn them before, I guess I hadn’t noticed. They seemed out of place on him. Or maybe it was that they seemed out of place for Alaska.
I wore a wool dress with knee-high boots, and I’d pulled my hair back in a low ponytail.
I shut the door behind me. “Thank you.”
He held his hand out for me and helped me down the stairs.
We drove to a small, quirky little restaurant in town, famous for Cajun style cooking and steaks. Our table sat in a room that looked like a greenhouse, all plexiglass walls and ceilings. Dimly lit lamps gave it a romantic outdoor feel, while still keeping us warm and comfortable.
Thomas held out my chair for me as we sat. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He took his own seat. “Should I order a bottle of wine?”
“Yes, thank you,” I responded, stiffly.
After the waitress left our table, he said, “Liz, this doesn’t have to be weird.”
I dropped my shoulders and exhaled. “Is it that obvious?”
He let out a soft laugh, “Yes. And we’re friends if nothing else. Why are you uncomfortable?”
I shook my head, and sighed. “I haven’t dated in a while. And maybe because we are friends, it seems weird to be on a date.”
“Maybe don’t think of it as a date. Think of it as a business dinner.”
“Kind of defeats the purpose of why you asked me out, then, doesn’t it?”
He smiled. “Whatever makes you more at ease works for me.”
The waitress appeared and poured two glasses of wine for us. “Do you need a few more minutes to decide on dinner?”
Thomas gave her a charming grin. “Yes, please.” She nodded and left our table. He turned to me. “Now, why don’t you start with what happened with you when you went home a few weeks ago. That seems to be the crux of all my problems.”
His attempt at sarcasm relaxed me. “Hardly, but ok.”
We spent the next hour talking about my family and his. The waitress returned at some point and we ordered dinner. Another glass of wine and I told him about Clay and my sister, and how I’d needed to get as far away from them as possible. That I couldn’t breathe around my family.
He listened quietly. His patience allowed me to share things I’d never shared with anyone. My hurt. My pain. My sadness. The feeling of being so disposable. I found myself crying and he handed me a tissue from the inside of his suit pocket.
“I just felt so alone,” I sniffled.
His eyes were sad. He reached across the table and wrapped my fingers in his. “I’m really sorry, Liz.”
“It’s getting better.”
He smiled wanly at me. We finished our dinner and he drove me home.
Cool, crisp evening air, and a clear, starry sky. The setting as he walked me to my door was perfect. Tree branches, ruffled by the light breeze, scratched at the roof over our heads.
Thomas was taller than me. A few inches shorter than Brett, and leaner, but tall enough that I needed to look up at him.
He tilted his head, searching. I leaned towards him, giving him permission to kiss me. With a soft touch, he reached out and held onto my upper arm, pulling me a little closer.
My breath quickened. Excitement? Nerves? I waited.
When his lips touched mine, they were soft and tentative. I waited. He waited. When he tilted his head to take the kiss deeper, I kissed him back.