Page 71 of Accidental Blind Date
Libby
Iopen the door to my apartment and immediately wonder what Dax is thinking. The entire thing, kitchen, living space, ‘bedroom,’ all of it could fit in the living area of his house. But strangely enough, it doesn’t actually bother me. I have never been ashamed of my home, no matter how small and quirky it is.
“It’s alive,” he says and for a moment, I am confused. Then I realize he is looking at the window. “The tomato plant from the night when you were–”
“A mess,” I cut him off. “I was a total mess, and you were a gentleman.”
Dax scoffs at that. “I think I was anything but.”
“You drove me home,” I say.
“And I shoved my hand down your blouse,” he points out.
“It was for my safety,” I say, and we both smile. I can feel the heat in my cheeks at the memory but again, it doesn’t bother me. Instead, because I feel pretty and because the Social knows how to make a muddled gin and tonic heavy on the gin, I twirl over to him. “So, because your two lovely daughters were kind enough to give me a tour of your gorgeous home, I would like to give you a tour of my humble abode.”
“Absolutely,” he smiles. “But first…” Dax bends down and takes off his shoes, setting them next to the door by my array of more haphazardly kicked off shoes. Then he follows me the three steps before we stop.
“This is my kitchen, obviously. Complete with a tiny space dishwasher, tiny space pantry, and tiny space two-seater table.”
“I like the fridge,” he says, walking over to it and as he runs his hand over the surface I can tell he means it.
“Why thank you. It happens to be an original 1950s Frigidaire. And yes, it’s supposed to be that color. It’s supposed to be pea green.”
“Like I said, I like it.” He opens it up and reveals a six pack of craft beer, a bowl of grapes, some string cheese, and an array of yogurts. “I see you have all the essentials.”
“What can I say?” I like a good vanilla yogurt. You want a beer?” I slip past him, making no effort not to brush my front against his back, and snag two bottles. Then I open one of the drawers and pull out a bottle opener.
“Does that say Cheers on it? Like the show?”
“You do know the bar is here in Boston right?”
“Of course,” he says as I hand him a freshly cracked bottle, “I haven’t watched that in forever.”
Dax’s eyes sweep over the rest of the kitchen, which isn’t much, but it has everything it needs. A few cabinets, a gas stove, a coffee maker, and coffee mug hooks. Above the sink is an abstract painting of a woman looking upward towards the sun that readsHoney your soul is golden.The old cabinets are painted an emerald green to match my dress and the backsplash is brick, save for one wall that is covered in black floral paper.
“Onward,” I say as I hold out my bottle and we trek another ten feet over to the window, the one holding the tomato plant which is crazily still thriving. There’s a wicker partition separating the dining slash kitchen area and the quote-unquoteliving room. The TV stand is old, wooden, and painted brick red. The couch is retro, mustard yellow and boxy. And the wall framing the street facing window is covered in more art and random photos.
“This is where I watch murder documentaries and Molly Ringwald movies,” I say.
“Is your hardware on the TV stand…” he walks over and touches one of the knobs. “A rabbit?”
“Peter Rabbit, obviously,” I answer, and a wide smile stretches across his face. Then I take his hand and tug him in the other direction. Tall, cube bookcases full of books, obviously, create a wall of sorts. And on the other side is my bed, a queen with a colorful quilt, polka dotted white and black sheets, and more pillows than anyone could really need.
There’s a gold nightstand that I found at a yard sale, a lamp that looks like it belongs on the desk of a 92-year-old accountant, and lights draped over the golden metal bedframe.
“Fairy lights,” he says, our fingers still entwined.
“Your girls have good taste,” I say, knowing that’s what he’s thinking. My ‘room’ resembles their book nook. “And that’s about it,” I conclude. “Oh, other than the bathroom which tragically has no bathtub, but does contain a stackable washer and dryer which is a rare luxury in these old apartments.”
“A luxury indeed,” he smiles, his voice low and thick.
“It’s small, I know. But it’s home and I like it.”
“It’s cozy,” he says. “Nothing wrong with that.”
The air seems radiant, like coals in a campfire. And after a moment of his warm eyes holding my own, Dax reaches out and takes my beer from me and sets both the bottles on the bookshelf between Sense and Sensibility, and Wuthering Heights. Then he steps closer to me, cupping my face in his palms. I close my eyes, expecting the kiss to immediately follow. But then I feel nothing,but his breath, whiskey and amber ale scented, I open them again.
“He had no idea what he had,” he tells me, and it takes a second before I realize he is talking about my ex.
