Page 58 of Engulfing Emma

Inside he pulls out a barstool for me. It’s nice to know chivalry isn’t dead even though this isn’t a date.

I think of the four outfits and three pairs of shoes I tried on before settling on the sundress. I’ve never put so much thought into what I’m wearing. Not even foractualdates I’ve gone on.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asks.

I order the house chardonnay, and Brett asks for a Crown and Coke. “Have you ever been to Seasons Twenty-One?” I ask.

“No. But my friend, Bass, and his wife go there a lot. He’s the one who recommended it.”

“Do you go out much?”

“Some. A night out with the guys here and there. Sometimes we go to a baseball game.”

“But not to dinner?”

He takes a sip of his drink, eyeing me over the rim of the glass. “Are you asking if I go on a lot of dates?”

“Of course not,” I say, taking a drink of my wine. “But now that you brought it up, do you?”

A smile spreads across his face. “I just got my final divorce papers a few weeks ago, so no, I don’t date a lot. How about you?”

I shrug. “A little.”

“When is the last time you went on a date?”

“About a month ago I guess.”

“Didn’t work out? Did he have bad breath? A third nipple? A hairy back maybe?”

I laugh. “No, no, and no. I just rarely go on second dates.”

“Oh.” He looks at me sideways. “Well I knowyoudon’t have bad breath or a hairy back. And I definitely would have found a third nipple. So I doubt the issue is with you. They must all be duds. Are they teachers?”

“Some.”

“Some? Just how many dates do you go on?”

The conversation is getting too personal, but I can’t think of anything to say, so I blurt, “Are you hungry? Should we go eat?”

“You’re ready? You’ve barely touched your wine.”

I bring the glass to my lips and gulp the rest. Then I leave a twenty for the bartender. “There. Ready.”

Brett gazes at the money I left on the counter. I can almost see the battle going on in his mind. “Fine. But I’m paying for dinner.”

“I thought dinner was payment for you fixing my sink.”

“Goingto dinner was payment, notpayingfor it.”

“You can’t buy my dinner, Brett. This isn’t a date.”

“I get that I haven’t done this in almost ten years, and maybe times have changed, but date or not, I’m a guy and you’re a girl, and I’m not letting you pay for dinner. If you think that’s somehow sexist of me, then I’m sorry, but that’s how I roll.”

I have a hard time not smiling. He’s pretty handsome when he’s demanding. “Fine. Pay for dinner. Jeez. Did you always get your way when you were married?”

As we step inside the elevator, I think that maybe Brett was right. Having a drink before going up does help.

“Amanda,” he says angrily and moves to the back wall.

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