3. Banks
3
BANKS
As I turned the ignition, I was filled with doubts.
What was I thinking going on a blind date based on a rambling phone message?
I sat unmoving, my hand clutching the key. Ignoring the message was a possibility. I could pretend I never received it, it did populate late, after all. Reg and his comfortable shoes would have to solo Valentine’s Day. That was a good option, because the one thing more odd than me accepting the date was for Reg to call out of the blue because my boss said I worked too hard.
But I had to be pragmatic.
I was due for a promotion. It had been hinted at during the cozy lunches I shared with Foster. He thought he’d done me a favor by arranging this date. By not turning up, it’d be a huge F U.
Unless… unless… My Scrambled brain tried to grasp the thoughts as they flitted in and out. What if this was a test? If I bowed out, or chickened out might be a more appropriate term, what did that say about my ability to head a division at work?
Damn. I’d be screwed if I didn’t follow through.
And what was the worst that could happen if I met with Reg? A lousy date that went nowhere and I went home alone.
I had to do this, so I swatted away any remaining questions and drove to the restaurant. It was a little early for dinner but perhaps that was the purpose of the comfortable shoes. We’d do whatever first and eat later.
Peering in the window, there were middle-aged and elderly couples dining. They were probably retired and preferred to eat early. I kinda liked the sound of that and looked forward to it when I no longer had to worry about work, a promotion, and pissing off the boss.
But none of them looked like a Reg, and besides, they were coupled up.
Oh. Ohhhh! What if Reg had a partner and they’d decided that on Valentine’s Day they’d ask a third person to join them. Interesting but not my thing.
Standing inside the doorway, I perused the pink balloons, the roses, and pink napkins on every table, along with pink candies. My tummy ached from all the sweetness.
The host asked if I had a reservation, and his tone suggested if I didn’t, who the heck was I trying to barge in when everyone else had booked months earlier.
This was a little awkward because Reg had probably booked a table using his given and family names. I stumbled over “Reg,” hoping the host would check their tablet and lead me to a table in the corner where a sexy Reg sat alone, sipping a glass of expensive champagne, just waiting for me.
The host looked me up and down. Oh gosh, did Reg have a sidekick who checked his dates, and if they didn’t measure up, they got booted? I glanced at the door. It was close enough that I could dash outside and be in my car in under a minute, and I could forget tonight ever happened.
“He’s in the back.” The guy spoke into the mic attached to his headset. He called me “some guy looking for Reg.”
Some guy? What the? Reg must have had a number of dates meet him here, of which I was the most recent. But it was weird that the host was asking for Reg on the staff network.
The doors leading to the kitchen swung open and a man strode toward me. I gulped. He literally took my breath away, and my brain had to remind me to take air in and out of my lungs. He was dressed much the same as me, with smart pants and a nice shirt.
But he wore a tie, and I bet there was a matching jacket over the back of whatever chair he was going to park his butt in. My hand went to my pocket where I’d shoved a tie at the last minute.
“I…I can p-put this on if you prefer.”
“Not much use where you’ll be spending the night.”
Oh my gods, he was saying I’d be naked and flat on my back. I’d made a small leap or perhaps a gigantic one, and him saying I didn’t need a tie led me to bed, naked, and cock time.
“And a T-shirt would have been better.” That was accompanied by a smile, but when he got closer, his face contorted as though he’d smelled something bad. He reeled back, and I froze, wanting to sniff under my arm, but my body refused to obey the signals from my brain.
“I’m sorry.” I undid the top button and pulled out the cotton fabric. “Got a tee already. Does that help?”
“Ummm.” Reg was also having trouble breathing, and I wondered if he suffered from asthma. He was studying my chest. I was a little pale, not having been in the sun much. “We’ll find you an apron.” He checked out my shoes. “Your feet might hurt by the end of the night.”
Apron? Perhaps we’d be working with clay.
Reg righted himself, and I noted the pink blush on his cheeks. “Thank you for coming at such short notice. Tonight is one of our busiest nights of the year.”
My eyes alighted on his name badge. He was definitely Reg, but he was also the manager. That couldn’t be right. He wouldn’t be going on a date when as he said, it was a busy night in the restaurant.
“Our regular dishwasher broke his foot. Lousy timing on Valentine’s Day.” He turned and beckoned me as he walked toward the kitchen doors. I did my best not to ogle his butt, but damn, it was fine. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t turned up.”
Shoot! This wasn’t a date. It was a job. He needed me to wash dishes.
I opened my mouth to explain the mix-up, but he glanced over his shoulder and his smile warmed my heart. Gods, it was his secret weapon, and I’d agree to anything if he continued grinning at me.
“Glad I could help.” I rolled up my sleeves.