Page 46 of Finders Keepers

Taking a deep breath, I place my hand gently on his forearm. His skin is warm through the fabric of his shirt. He waits patiently as I step out of the car, giving me time to find my balance.

With my hand resting lightly on his arm, we walk toward the restaurant entrance. The evening air carries the scent of the delicious food cooking inside, and for a brief moment, I allow myself to enjoy this simple act of walking beside someone who seems to respect my boundaries.

The restaurant has twinkling lights strung across the entrance and window boxes overflowing with flowers.

“Hi, I made a reservation,” Gavin says as we approach the hostess stand. “Under Mitchell.”

The hostess, a young woman with a friendly smile and a neat black apron, leads us to a cozy corner table near a window. The whole place feels warm and intimate, with exposed brick walls and copper accents everywhere, from the light fixtures to the decorative plates on the walls, hence the name, I suppose. The Copper Pot suits it perfectly.

“Your server will be right with you,” she says, handing us our menus with a practiced flourish.

I open mine but find myself lowering the menu and peeking over the top at Gavin instead of reading it. The soft lighting enhances his strong jaw line, and he catches me looking at him and I quickly duck back behind the menu. I curse at myself. Caught red handed. I inwardly roll my eyes at myself.

“So,” he says, setting his menu down, “tell me more about these succulents.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you don’t want to spend our whole date talking about plants.”

“Bailey,” he says, his voice serious enough to make me look up. “I want to know everything about you. The plants, your passions, your favorite books, what makes you laugh, what scares you… all of it.”

I swallow hard, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “That’s… that’s a lot to share on a first date.”

“Well I’m hoping that there will be more than one, if you’re up for it.” he replies with a sheepish smile.

Our server arrives then, introducing herself as Rebecca, and taking our drink orders. I opt for a glass of sweet tea, and Gavin does the same.

“Okay, your turn,” I say, feeling bold. “Tell me something about you that I don’t know.”

I watch as his expression shifts, a mix of amusement and slight embarrassment crossing his face. He scratches at the back of his neck and then leans in closer across the table.

“Alright, but you have to promise not to laugh… too much,” he says, running a hand through his dark hair.

“I promise nothing,” I tease, leaning in as well.

He glances around dramatically, as if checking for eavesdroppers, and I do the same. “So, you know how I’m a veterinarian who handles all sorts of animals?”

I nod, trying to keep my face neutral.

“Well,” he continues, lowering his voice, “I’m absolutely terrified…” He trails off. Looking around again “of hamsters.”

My lips twitch and my eyes grow wide. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Hamsters,” he repeats, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Those tiny little rodents with their beady little eyes and stuffed cheeks. Can’t stand them.”

“But… but you’re a vet.” I whisper-shout, trying desperately to keep my promise not to laugh too much. “You handle dogs and cats and horses….and even cows.”

“I know, I know,” he groans, but he’s smiling too. “It happened when I was eight. I had this evil hamster named Mr. Whiskers that was gifted to me by my aunt. One day, I was trying to help clean its cage, and the little demon escaped. It ran straight up my pant leg.”

At this point, I can’t hold it in anymore. I burst out laughing, covering my mouth with my hand to muffle the sound. “Up your pant leg?”

“It gets worse,” he says, shaking his head.

“I panicked and started running around the room, trying to shake it out. Knocked over my mom’s favorite lamp, tripped over the coffee table, and ended up falling into the Christmas tree. It was July, by the way, my mom just really liked having a Christmas tree up year-round.”

I try picturing little eight-year-old Gavin in this scenario, struggling to hold in my laughter. “What happened to Mr. Whiskers?”

“The little monster finally fell out and scurried under the couch. My mom was trying not to laugh while also being mad about the state of her living room, and I was traumatized for life.” He leans back into his booth seat. “To this day, whenever someone brings their hamster into the clinic or any little rodent for that matter, I make my assistant handle it. I’ve treated snakes, ferrets, even a baby alligator once, but hamsters?” He shudders dramatically. “Nope. No thank you.”

Rebecca returns with our drinks. “Y’all folks ready to order?” She smiles and holds out her notepad and pen.

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