Page 68 of The Sweet Spot
The evening is absolutely perfect, and I can’t imagine anything better. That is, until Chris holds out his hand to me and says, “May I have this dance?”
Ah, yes.This is the better part. “I would love to.”
We receive lots of hoots and hollers from our friends as we walk onto the dance floor.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” Chris says. “All the times we’ve been here, I wanted you to be mine. I wanted the right to hold you, touch you, kiss you. Dance with you, not as yourfriend, but as yourboyfriend.”
I blink back tears. “You’re going to make me cry.”
He cups my face. “I hope they’re tears of joy.”
Sniffling, I nod. “They are.”
We dance several dances before we return to the table for a cold drink and more teasing.
* * *
On Saturday, when I work a half-day, Chris stays home with Granny.
On Sunday, we spend the day together, the three of us. Early afternoon, Chris runs back to his house to get his mail and check on things. When he returns, he brings more clothes and his laptop.
After dinner, Chris makes popcorn for us, and we watchMary Poppins—the original Disney classic. It’s another one of Granny’s favorites.
Granny’s in her recliner, covered with her favorite crocheted throw, Pumpkin napping on her lap, happily munching on her bowl of popcorn. Remarkably, she’s no worse for wear after her walkabout adventure.
Chris and I are stretched out on the sofa, his arms are around me, his nose is buried in my hair.
This is heaven.
Originally, Chris said he wanted to stay here with me because of David, but now that David seems to be behaving himself—I haven’t seen or heard from him since Chris served the notice of the restraining order—does this mean Chris will go back to his own house? I’m afraid to ask him. I’m afraid of his answer. Because I don’t want him to leave. But I also don’t want him to feel obligated to stay.
I’m amazed at how easily we’ve fallen into a comfortable routine living together. His shoulder is doing much better. It still bothers him, but not nearly as much. We’ll find out more at his doctor’s appointment coming up.
Everything’s perfect.
* * *
Chris invites me to go with him to his orthopedic appointment in Estes Park on Monday. We leave around noon. I’m driving so he can give his shoulder a rest.
His doctor checks his range of motion during the appointment and asks what his pain level is. Chris says he’s healing well, and the doctor seems to agree.
“I’d say you’re fit to return to work, but please take it easy for a couple of weeks. Let the other officers do the chasing and the heavy lifting, all right?”
As we’re leaving the doctor’s office, Chris says, “We have some time before we have to be home. How about a dinner date?”
“A date?” I smile. I realize we’ve never gone on an actual date. I mean, we do things together all the time now, and we eat meals together. We even sleep together. But we haven’t gone on adate. “I would love that.”
“What sounds good?” He rattles off a list of popular local restaurants, everything from American cuisine to Italian to barbeque to a steakhouse.
“How about the Italian restaurant?” I suggest.
“Mama Rose’s, it is,” he says. He pulls up directions on his phone.
We arrive at the restaurant at an odd hour, 3 PM, so there’s no wait. We’re seated by a window overlooking the riverside patio.
I order fettuccine Alfredo. He goes for the lasagna. Our server brings us breadsticks and salads to keep us busy while we wait for our entrees to arrive.
“How’s your food?” Chris asks right as I’m taking a bite.
