Chapter 7
Barrett
“I’m coming over.”
“Wait? Why?”
“A woman you have admitted being attracted to, who Bernie says it’s obvious you’re gaga over, invited you to dinner. I am going to make sure you dress the part. See you in a half hour.”
My sister hangs up the phone, leaving me standing in my room staring at myself in the mirror. I am already dressed for Abigail’s tonight. I think I look pretty good.
Thirty minutes later, there’s a knock at my front door. Opening it, I find my sister there, holding a bottle of wine and an incredulous expression on her face.
“OK, nope,” she says, handing me the bottle, and walking into my home.
“What’s this? I already bought wine.”
“Is it from Duskwood Winery? Because, if not, you’re taking what I brought. Bringing a bottle from a local vineyard is an extra nice touch, don’t you think?”
“Cal, this isn’t a date. She just invited me over to thank me for helping her out the other day.”
My sister shuts me up with a look.
“Your jeans are good, but that shirt is too baggy. Let’s go look in your dresser.”
I look down at my perfectly normal sized shirt.
“This isn’t baggy.”
“Lordy. B, listen to me. Yes, it’s a fine shirt. But the ladies like to see men’s muscles through their clothing, which you happen to have. So you need something tighter.”
I rub my forehead and follow her to my bedroom. Ten minutes later I am wearing a maroon long-sleeved shirt, which Calissa says shows off my quote-unquote gross brother muscles perfectly. She pops five mints into my mouth and drags me, coughing from the sting of them, out the door.
Looking up at the sky, she says, “Looks like rain. You be safe. And have fun tonight. I drove by the Edison Street project she worked on with you guys, and it looks great. She has real talent.”
I smile to myself, agreeing.
“OK, bucko, get moving. I hope it goes well.”
Hugging my sister, I remind her that tonight is not a date, which earns me a smack on the arm, and I jump into my truck.
* * *
Abigail’s place smells amazing when I walk in. But, even more so, she looks amazing. She is wearing a snug turquoise sweater with dark jeans that hugs every curve of her gorgeous body. Calissa and Bernie know me well. I am pretty gaga over this woman.
After I get a good fire going in her fireplace, a loud crack of thunder startles us.
“Do you mind getting out my candles? Probably would be a good idea to have them on hand.” She asks me from her kitchen.
Abigail's studio apartment is small, but nice.
She points to the table where she keeps her candles and lighter, so I set them up around the room.
As I light two for her kitchen table, she walks over with bread straight out of the oven.
She looks up at me; the candlelight flickering around her beautiful face, and I fight the urge to kiss her.
“You look nice tonight, by the way.” she says, shyly. “I like your shirt.”
The meal she cooked for us is delicious. I felt nervous about tonight, but with the rain outside, the fire crackling inside, her fantastic cooking, and the way she looks at me, I feel at home in her presence.
“Tell me about your business with your brother. How long have you run your own company?” she asks, as she pours us more wine.
“Around a dozen years now, I guess? We started the company after my wife, my ex-wife now, suggested it after the two of us were so miserable at our old jobs. And she was right. We definitely prefer being our own bosses to overworking for others.”
“So, you were married?” Abigail asks casually, before taking a sip of her wine.
“Feels like a lifetime has passed. We divorced like a decade ago. How about you? Ever been married?”
“In my 20s I got close, but no,” she says, looking out the window right as a flash of lightning brightens up the sky.
“Not your thing?” I ask, hoping I sound as casual as she does.
Abigail looks back at me, her blue eyes piercing into my own, and she smiles.
“Only not my thing with the wrong guy,” she says, her cheeks blushing as she smiles at me.
At the end of dinner, I insist she relax on the couch while I wash the dishes.
She, however, refuses and insists on drying them as I wash.
Being close to her in the kitchen is making me feel warm.
I wish I wore a t-shirt instead of this maroon shirt.
I wonder if she can tell how much I enjoy being near her when she looks out the window and lets out a gasp.
“It’s flooding!”
Sure enough, when I look out the window, I see her street is washed out. The rain is coming down hard at this point.
“You can’t drive in this. It isn’t safe.”
“Oh, uh, I think my truck can handle it.”
Abigail looks at me with the toughness I witnessed in our conference room a few weeks back.
“I don’t have a guest room, but my couch is comfortable. You’re staying the night.”
Before I get a chance to respond, the electricity goes out.
* * *
I wake up on her couch to the power back on and the sound of the shower going in the bathroom. The fire isn’t out yet, so I throw a few more logs on to warm up the room. I then walk to her fridge and peek in, seeing what I can whip up for our breakfast.
Abigail must have brought clothing into the bathroom, because she comes out dressed with her hair wrapped up in a towel. She is makeup free and rosy-cheeked from the warmth of the shower. And she looks like an absolute knockout.
“Are you cooking?” she asks, not hiding the delight in her voice.
“I am. My way of thanking you for letting me stay last night. I hope you like scrambled eggs?”
After we eat, I look out the window and see that while it’s lightly misting outside; the road is back to being driveable. At least for my truck. I gather my stuff and head to the door while she follows. Turning to her, she's so close I could bend down and kiss her.
“Thank you for dinner, Abby.”
“I had fun.”
“Me too. And, well, I’d like to take you out on an actual date sometime, if you’d like?”
Abigail answers me by rising on her tiptoes and kissing me with her soft, smooth, perfect lips.
“I was hoping you’d ask me that.”