Chapter 4 #2
Bess looks relieved when the server comes back with our drinks, and I’m grateful to see my order isn’t some fruity cocktail.
“Do you need a few more minutes with the menu?”
“We do, actually,” I tell her, picking up my, as yet untouched, leather binder and opening it.
Bess does the same, and seems to be a little preoccupied, her eyes only drifting over the menu.
“What are you in the mood for?” I prompt her, scanning the blackboard on the wall behind her. “One of the specials is smash-burger tacos with mango salsa, which sound really good. I might get those.”
“That does sound tasty. Maybe I’ll order that as well.”
She lowers her menu decisively and slides it to the edge of the table. A move noticed by Rachel, who promptly appears at our side. With a nod from Bess, I order for both of us.
As soon as the young woman collects the menus and disappears, Bess’s phone starts vibrating on the table. She quickly grabs it and drops it on the bench beside her.
“Do you need to…?”
“No.” She shakes her head, but doesn’t elaborate.
A slightly awkward silence settles over the table, and I quickly lift my glass for a toast.
“Cheers, hoping the food is as good as it promises to be.”
“Well, well, well…”
I turn around to find the voice belongs to Buck Wilson, our local veterinarian. To my surprise I spy Bonnie Sadlowski, who owns a hair salon in town, behind him. That’s a matchup I would not have guessed. Bonnie looks a little flustered as she raises a hand in greeting.
“I could say the same, Buck.”
Ignoring me, he turns to my companion.
“Bessie, darlin’. Fancy seeing you here…and with this big lug.”
He claps me on the shoulder and squeezes it with some force. For an old guy, he’s got a strong grip.
“You, I’ve been meaning to have a word with,” he directs at me. “Someone dropped a box at the clinic last Sunday. Three, maybe four-month-old pup inside. Little guy was malnourished, but otherwise healthy.”
I raise my hands to cut him off. We’ve had these discussions before. Emily was allergic, so it was a non-issue then, but ever since she passed away, Buck’s been on my case.
“Told you before, Buck, not getting a dog. It wouldn’t be fair to the animal with my hours.”
“Ahh, bull hickey,” he dismisses my point. “You’ve got a kid, and every kid needs a dog.”
I shake my head in exasperation. “Yeah, except my kid is graduating next year and will be going off to college, so where does that leave the dog then?”
“Aghh, cute little thing too,” he grumbles, before turning hopeful eyes on Bess. “What about you? He’s not overly big, smart as a whip, and would make for a great companion. You could keep him with you in the coffee shop. He wouldn’t be any bother.”
To save Bess from being put on the spot like that, I quickly intervene.
“Another time, Buck? It’s our first date.”
“Well, shit—pardon my French—why didn’t you say something in the first place? Letting me gab on.” He flashes a toothy grin and two thumbs-up. “Go on then…as you were.”
As fast as he appeared, he’s gone, being hustled to a table clear on the other side of the restaurant by Bonnie.
“I thought this was just a friendly dinner,” Bess notes when I turn my attention back to her.
“Yeah, well. I lied,” I confess. “But in all fairness, you must’ve known it wasn’t when I first suggested this place.” I run a hand over my clean-shaven chin. “And I don’t shave for just anyone.”
She avoids my eyes but a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. Then she floors me with a question that tells me more about her than she’s looking to have answered by me.
“Why?”
She doesn’t elaborate. Not why now, or why me, but simply why. It betrays curiosity, interest, insecurity, and uncertainty. Which means answering is going to be a trip through a minefield for someone who has a history of blundering like a bull in a china shop.
I lean my elbows on the table and look her in the eye, even though hers are still focused on a spot somewhere beyond my shoulder.
“Because any time the subject of dating or relationships comes up in any conversation with anyone, the first person I think of is you. Because I like being with you, talking with you about anything and everything. Because when I have a crap day, one of those smiles of yours flashed my way when I walk into the coffee shop washes it all away. Because I’ve wondered for a long time what your lips taste like.
And because I know I’m ready to take this step and hoped you were too. ”
Somewhere halfway through my declaration, her eyes slid back to lock on mine.
She’s quiet for a moment, and I’m half prepared for her to give me the old heave-ho, when she suddenly tilts her head to the side, a slight glimmer in her eyes and a half-smirk on her face.
“For someone who self-proclaims he’s not good with words, that was pretty impressive.”
I grin back at her. “Yeah? That good?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get carried away, now.”
“Damn, I was hoping for a reward.”
I love the way her face is so quick to betray emotions. The blush is cute.
“Oh look,” she quickly diverts attention. “That must be our food.”
As loaded as both her question and my answer were, the rest of dinner was as easy as you’d expect between two people who’ve been friends for a long time.
Conversation was light and comfortable, topics spanning from the merits of pet ownership, via the start of the turkey hunt, to next Friday’s pastry of the day at Strange Brew.
But just as I’ve asked for our bill, Bess’s attention is once again drawn to her phone as it has several times during our dinner. The difference is, this time she looks up at me.
“I should probably take this.”
“Of course.”
I have no choice but watch her go as I wait for the bill, even though my instinct is to follow her outside. She didn’t even bother with a coat. Whoever it is who has been blowing up her phone, it’s crystal-clear Bess does not really want to talk to them.
That does not sit well with me.
Grateful I have enough cash on hand when the girl brings me the bill, I peel off enough bills to include a generous tip and slap them on the table. Then I grab both our coats on my way out the door.
At first, I can’t find Bess. Shoving down a flash of panic, I scan the parking lot before walking around the side of the building where I catch a flash of the vibrant blue of her sweater.
She’s leaning against the wall halfway down the alley, her back turned to me and a slump in her shoulders I don’t like seeing. I slowly walk toward her, straining to hear at least some of her side of the conversation. I’m a cop, I can’t help myself.
I only pick up a few words before she catches on to my approach and swings around.
“I can’t, Ken. I can’t.”
Her eyes are wide when she sees me, and she immediately ends the call.
“Who is Ken, Bess?”