29. 29
M y makeup and hair are done, but I’m still in my robe trying to decide what to wear.
“Why am I so nervous?” I ask Dom as he lies on my bed, throwing a baseball in the air. Where the baseball came from, I have no idea.
“Because you’re excited?”
I am, but the nerves seem to be winning. I look at him, holding two different hangers in my hands. “Which one of these?”
I first put the plain black t-shirt dress in front of me before switching it for the red pantsuit I had worn to Charlie’s rehearsal dinner.
“Why did you say yes?” he asks, without answering my question, just like I ignored him.
My thoughts go back to the grocery store and the jealousy I felt watching women check out Parker.
“I think because I just need to know what could have been if Miles hadn’t had a girlfriend when I first met him. That I didn’t just fall for Parker because he showed interest in me after all that, but because of him .” I move the clothes in front of me again. “Which one?”
“Where’s he taking you?” he asks, without looking at the options.
“He didn’t say.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
“I was too busy looking at the hundred thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds hanging from his neck when I video called him to say yes.”
He sits up with a grunt, taking a chug of water from his water bottle on my side table.
“Lawson does love his jewelry. He’s probably taking you somewhere fancy. He’s pretty known for that in the locker room.”
“Oh God. Am I going to be talked about in your locker room?” I ask him, my voice whiny. “Why are you letting me do this?”
“Relax, he doesn’t talk about his dates. And if I remember right, you got me grounded for two weeks the last time I tried to tell you who to date. Plus, Mom told me you’re a grown woman and to leave you alone, so I’m staying out of it.”
“I’m just going to text him.”
Throwing the outfit options on my bed, I grab up my phone, typing out a text to Miles.
Anya : Hi Miles. It’s Anya. For our date tonight, where are we going? I’m trying to make sure I dress appropriately.
Miles Lawson : We are going to Harbor View Bistro. Can’t wait to see you.
“He says we are going to Harbor View Bistro. Isn’t that supposed to be fancy? ”
“You know that blue dress you have that makes you look like a ‘50s housewife minus the mood stabilizers?”
“I’m afraid to say yes to that.”
“Wear that. With those shoes with the things.” He wiggles his fingers around in the air. One thing I’ll say about Dom is he’s very supportive, even if not always effective support.
“The shoes with the things?” I ask, rooting around inside my closet, looking for the dress he suggested. “This dress?”
“Yeah, that one. With the shoes.”
“Oh my God, what shoes?” I ask, hanging the dress on the hook, before turning back toward the closet looking at my shoes.
“Get outta my way,” he says, standing from the bed and shoving me out of his way.
“Dominic, you dick!”
“It’s Stylist Dominic,” he says, rooting around in my closet, pulling out my nude pumps with ankle straps and tosses them at me.
“You couldn’t think of the word strap?” I ask, hanging one off my finger.
“Bite me. I’m pretty, not smart.”
“Are you pretty, though?” I ask, and he flips me off as I grab the clothes and move into my bathroom, shutting the door to change.
I put on the dress, and I know Dom was right in picking it. While it has a sweetness to it, the deep V neckline shows enough cleavage so it crosses the line from sweet to sexy. I put on the shoes Dom picked out and check myself out in the mirror.
Looking polished and feeling hot, I give myself a wink in the mirror before opening the door.
“What do you think? ”
“Lookin’ good,” he says, flashing me a thumbs up. I move to my closet once more, grabbing out a cream pashmina just in case it’s cold in the restaurant.
My phone vibrates, the screen lighting up with a text from Miles.
Miles : Arriving in thirty seconds
“Okay, he’s about to be here. Lock up when you leave, yeah? Let us get away before you head out.”
“Have a good time,” he calls out as I head for the front door.
Miles raps on the door twice and I pull it open before it stops echoing in the entry.
“You look beautiful,” he says in way of greeting.
“Thank you. You look very nice as well,” I say, taking in his green suit that looks like a second skin. His cream knit shirt shows the ridges of his muscles. Everything about his outfit looks brand new and perfectly coordinated and stylish. I almost feel frumpy next to his outstanding style.
“How was practice today?” I ask as we make our way to the car.
“It was good. Just a quick run through. I’m sure Dom told you,” he says, opening my door for me.
“He didn’t mention it,” I say, not really sure what to talk to him about. The car ride is full of awkward silence as we make our way to the restaurant.
Harbor View Bistro comes into view and the evening is perfect. Sky painted in burnt oranges and pinks as the sun sinks down, the water is bathed in gold as it crashes on the shore. I shut the car door behind myself and even if this date is a dud, I’m very excited for the experience.
“Welcome, Mr. Lawson. We have your table ready. Would you please follow me?” the hostess asks rhetorically. A part of me wonders if it bothers Miles to have people recognize him. It must be oppressive to have the spotlight on him. It’s been unnerving whenever I’m out in town and someone stops me to talk about House of Desire .
She turns and guides us through the dining room. As we turn the corner from the entry, the glass wall comes into view and the stunning sunset.
And right in front of the glass wall is Parker and a stunning woman with soft looking, blonde hair. I stop in the middle of the restaurant, staring. Miles runs into me with an oof.
The sound must carry, because I’m now looking into Parker’s shocked green eyes, his jaw dropping. While he was the one who pushed, saying I should go out with Miles, I didn’t expect for him to go on a date, too.
Especially at the same restaurant as my date. Too many emotions run through me as I stand here, unable to break eye contact.
“Something the matter?” Miles says, putting his face in my line of sight so he can see my face while his hand gently rests on my arm.
“No, nothing’s the matter,” I say, and finish making my way to the secluded, semi-circle booth the hostess is standing by.
“How’s this?” she asks, placing the menus down at each place.
“It’s great,” I say, scooting in on one side while Miles comes in from the other.
“Perfect. Your server will be Frances and she will be right with you.” And just like that, she’s off.
“This is amazing,” I say, trying to pretend like my world didn’t just implode. The dining room is dimly lit with candles, the walls painted a darker shade of green, enhancing the coziness. I open the menu, but the words all blend together .
“Everything is good, but you really can’t go wrong with the filet mignon with truffle butter. I’ve also heard the lobster risotto is delicious.”
“Both of those sound delicious. Do you come here often?” I ask, searching for a topic of conversation I can focus on.
“I’ve been here a few times. Do you think we should get some wine with our meal?”
“Good evening,” our server says, walking up at the perfect time to keep me from having to respond. “My name is Frances and I will be taking care of you today.
“Our specials tonight are a delicious grilled swordfish steak served with a tangy mango salsa, and paired with a coconut rice and sauteed broccolini. The second special is a succulent rack of lamb encrusted with rosemary and garlic, cooked to your preference, and served with a rich port wine reduction sauce. On the side are creamy mashed potatoes and roasted Brussels sprouts.”
I think of Parker picking Carmen’s meal over mine and going on a solo date with her. But before the memory can make me spiral, I lock it down.
“I’m going to have the filet, medium-rare. Bring me whatever wine the chef suggests,” Miles says.
“And for you, ma’am?” she asks, turning to me.
“If you had to pick between the lobster risotto and the lamb special, which would you go with?”
It doesn’t really matter. I’m not going to be able to taste any of it anyway, knowing Parker is twenty feet away enjoying the company of a beautiful woman. I take a peek at their table and the woman is basically vibrating with happiness at whatever Parker is saying and he gives her a small smile .
“While our normal menu items are tried-and-true staples of our dining experience, I do think the lamb shines.”
“Let’s do that. Medium, please? And I’ll have a glass of wine the chef suggests, as well. Thank you.”
She gives us a nod, taking our menus before hustling off to put in our orders. Another server brings over bread and butter, filling our water glasses at the same time.
“I saw some commercials for House of Desire the past few weeks. How was that experience? Media days are my least favorite days of my career, what with all the people bossing us around on where to be and what to say.”
For the first time since I saw Parker, I really focus on Miles.
“We had a lot of that, too! Throw in having to try to do natural reactions four or five times so they could get the shots they wanted. It’s hard to look genuinely shocked on the fifth take of a disagreement,” I tell him and he smiles. It’s a great smile and a small piece of my stomach flutters at having it pointed in my direction.
And so our date goes, on and on. We go back and forth asking questions as we eat some of the best food I’ve ever had.
“What sorts of hobbies do you like to do in the off season?” I ask Miles, trying to find some common ground.
“I typically visit various golf courses or go out on a friend’s yacht for some relaxation and sun. Do you often get out on the water?”
“My bakery takes up a lot of my time and I don’t have any friends that own boats. What’s your favorite golf course?”
The fun I’ve had has really surprised me. I didn’t think I’d be able to focus on anything other than Parker over by the window, and while I did glance at him a few times, I’ve enjoyed talking to Miles. But it’s become evident that there’s a large divide between our interests the longer we talk. He’s a lovely guy, funny and smart, but I know that we aren’t a good fit. We stand from the booth, I can’t wait to get home and change into my comfortable clothes.
Miles leads me from the dining room and I am counting down the last twenty minutes of this date to get me back to my house. We walk across the parking lot and he grabs my hand, linking our fingers. I look down at my hand in confusion.
“I had a great time,” he says and I look at him like he might have gotten a concussion between the table and here. There’s no way he enjoyed that date.
“The dinner was great,” I hedge.
We arrive at his car, but instead of going around to his side, he gives me a dazzling smile.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.