Chapter 5 #2
Someone who deserves a night out with a guy who looks at her like she hung the moon.
“Okay,” I whisper to my reflection. “Let’s do this.”
I tug my clip out and brush my hair, blow-drying the ends to give them a bit more shape. My hair falls around my shoulders in thick dark waves, and I use the curling iron to touch up a few pieces around my face.
Now for the war: my closet.
I flip through hangers, clothes swishing as I shove them aside. Too casual. Too tight.
My fingers land on a deep green wrap dress hiding at the back. I bought it online a year ago and never wore it because I convinced myself I couldn’t pull it off.
The color matches my eyes, though, and the fabric is soft and drapey, hugging my curves in all the right places.
“Tonight’s the night,” I tell it, yanking it off the hanger.
I slip it on, pulling the wrap ties around my waist. The neckline dips enough to be flirty without the risk of flashing anyone, and the skirt swishes around my knees. I tug at the wrap once, twice, then force myself to stop before I pull it too tight.
A bit of mascara, a swipe of eyeliner, some lip gloss. I add small gold hoops to my ears and slide on a dainty necklace my grandma gave me.
By the time I’m done, my stomach is a knot of nerves and excitement.
I steady myself as a soft knock sounds on the door.
“Daisy?” Ledger’s voice. “We’ve got about ten minutes if you want to head out on time.”
“Coming!” I call, turning back to the mirror one last time.
“This is fine,” I tell my reflection. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
I open the door.
Ledger is standing in the hallway, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other wrapped loosely around his keys. When he sees me, he goes completely still.
“Wow,” he says quietly.
My breath catches.
“You, um… you look really nice,” I mumble.
His gaze travels over me again, slow and appreciative, not lingering anywhere long enough to make me uncomfortable but long enough to make my knees feel like jelly. “You look… beautiful, Daisy.”
There it is again.
Beautiful.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He clears his throat. “Beans is fed and settled. I let him out back, and he’s already curled up in his bed. I double-checked the back door.”
My heart does a gooey, melty thing. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
“I wanted to,” he says simply. “Ready?”
I nod, grabbing my purse and a light cardigan from the hook.
Ledger steps closer and, without a word, gently takes my cardigan from me, holding it open so I can slip my arms into the sleeves.
Who even is this man?
“Let’s go,” he murmurs.
He opens the front door, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back as we step onto the porch. The night air is cool, the sky already slipping into dusky purple.
I follow him to the truck. It’s a short drive to the restaurant, and I spend it trying to calm my racing heart. Palmer’s looks even fancier than I remembered. The old brick building is lined with twinkling white lights, and the big windows glow warmly from the inside.
I swallow as Ledger comes around to my side of the truck and opens my door, offering his hand to help me down.
“You’re sure this isn’t too much?” I ask quietly as my flats hit the pavement. “We could still go get tacos. I’m totally a tacos-on-the-first-date kind of girl. Well, I think I am.”
“We’re absolutely getting tacos at some point,” he says firmly. “But I wanted to take you somewhere special. This is our first date.”
We share a smile, and his hand rests on the small of my back as he leads me to the door.
A woman in a black dress beams at us from the hostess stand. “Hi! Do you have a reservation?”
“Ledger, for two,” he says.
“Of course. Right this way.”
We follow her through the softly lit dining room. The walls are a deep navy, and the tables are set with white tablecloths, with candles flickering in small glass holders. Quiet music plays, something jazzy and smooth, and the whole place smells like garlic and butter and heaven.
The hostess leads us to a small corner table by the window. It feels private, cocooned.
“This okay?” Ledger asks, pulling out my chair.
“It’s perfect,” I say honestly as I sit.
He takes the seat across from me, and for a minute, we just smile at each other over the candle between us.
My stomach flutters again.
We order drinks—Coke for him, a glass of white wine for me—and scan the menus.
“Everything looks good,” I murmur, my eyes widening at the options. “I should have skipped lunch.”
“What did you get?”
“Half a turkey sandwich and a handful of pretzels. I ate the other half on my break between clients. Glamorous, I know.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Better than MREs.”
“What are those like?”
“Imagine if cardboard and sadness had a baby,” he says dryly. “Then someone sprinkled in too much salt and called it dinner.”
I snort, then slap a hand over my mouth. “Sorry, that was probably not the vibe this place is going for.”
He’s grinning now, really grinning, and the sight does something weird and warm to my chest.
“I like your laugh,” he says.
“I snorted.”
“I know.” His eyes glint. “Still like it.”
Flirt.
I look back down at the menu to avoid combusting. “What are you thinking of getting?”
“The steak looks good,” he says. “Or the lasagna. But I had a burger for lunch, so… probably pasta.”
“Lasagna,” I echo. “You said that was your favorite.”
He pauses. “You remembered?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Of course.”
His gaze warms, and for a second, I forget we’re in public. It feels like the air between us is thick and charged.
The server arrives, saving me from drowning in his blue eyes. We order lasagna for him and chicken piccata for me. Once the server leaves, I take a sip of my wine to steady myself.
“So,” I say, setting my glass down. “You said you’re headed back to Virginia soon?”
He nods, resting his forearms on the table. “Yeah. I’ve got about a week left here this time. Then back for training and… whatever comes next.”
“Deployments?” I ask quietly.
“Maybe.” Shadows darken his eyes for a second before they’re gone. “It’s unpredictable. Comes with the job.”
I twist the stem of my wineglass between my fingers. “Is it weird, starting something with… with someone when your life is so… mobile?”
His jaw flexes. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve never… started something before.”
He stills. “Never?”
I shake my head, cheeks heating. “You’re my first date. Like… real date. Ever.”
He blinks, stunned. “Seriously?”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” I mutter, staring at the little candle instead of his face. “I’ve been kind of busy keeping my life from falling apart. And no one’s ever seemed… worth the headache. Or they felt like boys, not… men.”
There’s a long pause. I risk a glance up.
Ledger is watching me with a look so intense and focused it makes my heart beat against my ribs.
“I feel honored,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“That you’d spend your first real date with me,” he continues. “I know I’m not… the easiest option.”
“Neither am I,” I say wryly. “I come with debt, a leaky roof, a co-dependent dog, and a small business that likes to flirt with bankruptcy.”
His lips twitch. “Daisy.”
“What?” I ask, suddenly defensive. “It’s true.”
He leans forward, his voice low and steady as he says, “You also come with a legacy business that your family built that you’re still fighting for.
A home you love so much you’d rather take in a random stranger than lose it.
A best friend who knows she can call you for anything.
And a dog who thinks you hung the moon. That all sounds pretty incredible to me. ”
Emotion stings my eyes, hot and sharp. I blink up at the ceiling, willing it away.
“Stop,” I whisper.
“No.” He’s smiling now, but there’s nothing teasing in it. “I like that you care so much. I like that you talk to your dog and hum when you’re distracted and leave bobby pins in every room.”
“You noticed that?”
“Stepped on one this morning,” he says dryly. “Felt like a landmine. Still worth it.”
I laugh, my throat tight. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But I know what I want.”
My heart flips. “And what is that?”
He holds my gaze unflinchingly. “You. I was waiting for someone special, and now I’ve finally found her.”
“Ledger,” I whisper, licking my lips.
“This is my first date too,” he admits.
My brain bluescreens. Just shuts down.
He said it so casually, like he’s stating a fact.
Before I can respond, our food arrives, breaking the spell. The plates are hot and smell incredible. Chicken, lemon, capers. Cheese, tomato, and baked pasta. My stomach growls audibly.
Ledger chuckles. “Eat,” he says gently. “We can talk logistics after you’re not seconds away from gnawing on the table.”
“Rude,” I mutter, but he’s right.
We dig in. The food is as amazing as it smells. I make a soft, involuntary noise on the first bite, then immediately slap a hand over my mouth.
“Oh, my God,” I mumble. “This is so good.”
“Duly noted,” he says, eyes warm. “Palmer’s for when I want to spoil you with food. Tacos for when you’re craving them.”
We fall into easy conversation again. He tells me a bit about growing up in San Francisco: foggy mornings, crowded streets, sneaking down to the bay with Lula when they were kids. He talks around his parents’ deaths, but I don’t push.
I tell him stories about the salon. The time Mrs. Graff tried to convince me to cut her bangs on a full moon for “extra luck,” or when the plumbing went out mid-perm day, and I had to call the local handyman in a panic.
He laughs in all the right spots, asks questions, and listens like every word matters.
At one point, my phone buzzes in my purse. I check it quickly under the table.
Alexi: DID YOU GO ON THE DATE? Are you alive? Is he hot? (Cough, cough, I’m dying. Text me details.)
I bite back a laugh.
“Everything okay?” Ledger asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just Alexi, trying to live vicariously through me while refusing to see a doctor.”