Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
I looked in the bathroom mirror at The Bees Knees and applied another layer of lip gloss. I really needed Rosie the Riveter energy tonight; hopefully she would help me be brave with that “can do” attitude and not make a fool of myself.
5:45 p.m.
I exhaled slowly.
My phone vibrated. Was it Grant canceling? My stomach did flips and unleashed butterflies, letting me know I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I grabbed my phone out of my back pocket.
It was Mom.
I answered. “Hey, Mom.”
“I talked to Jane.” I could hear Spike meowing in the background.
“Of course you did.” I put her on speaker and set the phone on the counter.
“Remember, you promised to try.”
I could imagine Mom and her stern finger waving at me as I stared in the mirror and pinched a curl, using my mouth to open a bobby pin. “I’m going—what else do you want from me?”
“For starters, stop pretending you want to live in the fifties.”
I grabbed the ends of the handkerchief headband and tightened it. “What do you mean?”
“In the fifties women couldn’t hold most jobs, couldn’t serve as jurors, couldn’t own property, and there wasn’t even birth control. You don’t want to go back in time as a woman.”
I thought of my prized independence that I enjoyed. “You’re right, I don’t actually want the fifties.” I picked up the phone. “I want someone who acts like a gentleman.” I left the bathroom and went to close the till for the day. “Someone to open the door for me, give me a jacket when I’m cold, and to accept me for me.” I turned the small key on the old till with the faded yellow buttons, opening the cash drawer.
Mom sighed. “You can and should expect those things, but the men of the romantic movies in the fifties, and today for that matter, aren’t real.” I could hear dishes clanging in the background. “Real men are far more complicated, frustrating, and wonderful. They are real, and that’s what you want. Trust me, you want something real. And in real life it takes time to get to know a person.”
I huffed as I grabbed the money out of the drawer. “I do want something that’s real, but I want something that lasts. I want to be able to feel good in my skin when I’m with them. I want to feel like they appreciate me partly because of my idiosyncrasies, not in spite of them. I want to feel like he wants to be with all of me… Maybe that’s still too big of an ask, though.” I put the bills into the envelope and grabbed my phone off the counter.
“The more time I give it, the more potential it has to hurt when they don’t choose me.” I rubbed my forehead. I didn’t want to put myself through this again. What if after that time, I had to fight to stay true to myself?
“Not when, Em. If.”
I felt the tension build behind my chest. I put the money into the safe.
Could it be if and not when ?
I walked to the back of the store and grabbed my jacket and purse, turning off the lights.
“You are uniquely beautiful. You love being independent, and you love vintage furniture, black and white movies, and so much more. You are not cookie-cutter, and neither is your date. It takes time. Be yourself and learn who he is. Then if it doesn’t work, you will know it’s because you weren’t compatible. But you won’t ever know if you don’t try.”
I took a deep breath. Mom was right, like always. “Love you, Mom.” I flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “I promise I’ll try.” My hands were already jittery with nerves.
“That’s all I ask. Love you, Emma.”
“So does this mean we’re even, then?” I gave a nervous laugh.
Mom scoffed. “That depends on how it goes tonight.”
Message received. I’m not let off the hook until I give this an honest try.
I locked the front door and double checked it was secure. “All right, I need to go, Mom.”
“Okay, bye honey, have fun.”
I dropped my phone into my purse and saw Grant walking down the sidewalk toward me.
My throat went dry at the sight of him. Cary Grant had high cheekbones, stiff side-parted hair, and tailored suits. This Grant was the opposite in a lot of ways with his black sports jacket, tapered jeans, and loose, wavy, and soft brown hair. And he was beautiful.
All right, Rosie, don’t fail me now.
He stepped up beside me and held out his arm for me. “Do you like Italian?”
My mouth instantly watered, and not only from Grant’s good looks, or how he was looking at me. “Love it.” I slid my arm through his elbow and walked beside him. Being this close, I noticed my head was even with his shoulder. He smelled like soap and leather .
“Perfect.” He led me down the street. “Let’s go to my favorite place, then.”
He looked down at me and smiled.
“Sounds great.” I smiled back, and my glossy lips didn’t even quiver.
“You are beautiful.”
Holy Cannoli! This man was setting me on fire.
I pinched my lips. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
We continued down the sidewalk. “So, what’s your favorite movie?” Grant asked.
I cringed. Ugh! Why did he start there? I would rather start with color. My answer would be normal. “I’m sure it’s not your style.”
He tilted his head toward me. “Try me.”
“Well, ones with Cary Grant, for starters.” I felt heat warm my cheeks. “I like Roman Holiday , Gone with the Wind , To Catch a Thief , Fiddler on the Roof… ” I paused, waiting for him to stop me. “I also like Emma or any Jane Austen or Charles Dickens adaptation. Oh, and musicals!” Grant’s lips pulled down and I chuckled. “It’s fine. I know, I have unusual movie tastes.” It was fine.
“I technically saw some Fiddler on the Roof .” He grimaced. “My mom tricked me into watching part of it when I was younger. I’m sorry, but it was so boring.”
I chuckled. “You were probably too young to understand its brilliance.” I bumped his shoulder. “How about you? What movies do you like?”
He pressed the crossing button, and we waited at the street corner. “I like action movies like Jason Bourne, Marvel, oh, and the Transformers movies were good. Not as good as the old cartoon, though.”
I hadn’t seen any of those either. Oh, wait. “I saw Thor with an old boyfriend. It was pretty funny.”
What?! I stutter stepped as we began across the street. Why had I brought up old boyfriends? My face burned, and I refused to meet Grant’s eyes. We walked past a group of teenagers racing on scooters.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked up at him. He wasn’t going to take the bait.I rose to the challenge. “What about you? Have you seen a black and white movie with a girlfriend, maybe?” I forced my face into confidence I didn’t feel.
Grant smirked. “Not yet.” He winked.
A rush of tingles ran up my spine. He reached for the door handle beside us and held it open, allowing me to go through first.
I was wrapped in the aroma of a garlic bread hug. “It smells delicious!” I looked at the sign above the hostess. Leo’s Pasta. “I love Leo’s!” I had never actually been inside the restaurant though.
“Same.” Grant added. “Have you tried their bread dipped in balsamic vinegar?”
“Nope.” I shook my head.
“It’s so good. You have to try it.” Grant turned to the hostess. “Two, please.”
She looked down at her chart, nodded, and grabbed two menus. “Follow me please.”
We followed her through the room with dark wood accents, grapevine painted wallpaper, and low-lit booths to our table.
I sat and took the menu she handed me. No need to prove I had the one on my fridge memorized.
Looking over Grant’s shoulder, I noticed Peter, the man who delivered my takeout. His kind eyes and happy smile lit up with recognition.
Crap! Grant was soon going to know just how much I loved Leo’s.
I ducked my head, hoping that Peter hadn’t recognized me.
“Emma!” He came to my side.
Guess I wasn’t so lucky. I peeked up at him and smiled.
“It’s good you came to see me this time.” He chuckled.
I met Grant’s curious gaze over the table. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I told you I liked it here. Hey, Peter. ”
Grant chuckled.
“Hey! No movie date night tonight, eh?” Peter raised his eyebrows and gestured toward Grant.
I put both hands over my face, wishing I could melt into the floor.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Grant.” Grant held out his hand toward Peter.
I peeked up to see Peter’s mouth drop open with excitement as he shook his hand. “Grant?” Peter pointed excitedly at me. “His name is Grant. Guys,” Peter hollered back to the kitchen. “Emma has found herself a Grant.” Whoops and cheers came from the back and I hid my face behind my hands.
Well, this was definitely me being me. I guess we were going to test the leaving theory right out the gate.
“No, Peter. He isn’t my Grant, just Grant.” I held my hands up. Grant smirked. He was obviously enjoying the exchange.
Peter waved me off. “Not yet, eh?” He nudged Grant’s shoulder.
“Exactly.” Grant grinned.
What did he mean by that?
It was past time to change the subject. “I think I need some water, Peter.” I was way too sweaty to be socially acceptable. I fanned my face.
Grant pinched his lips in a failed attempt to hide a smile.
“You bet! And what for you, Grant?” Peter smirked.
“Water is great, thank you.”
Peter practically skipped away.
“So you have a lot of guys over for date nights with Leo’s Pasta at your place?” Grant’s eyebrows raised.
“Nope.” I grimaced. “It’s much more pathetic…”
His eyebrows scrunched together.
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I order Leo’s takeout and watch Cary Grant movies in my apartment by myself. It’s kinda my weekend routine. I joke with Peter that it’s my Cary Grant date night.” I scrunched my nose. If Grant ditched me now, I would make Peter give me a ride home.
“Why is that worse?” He tipped his head to the side.
“Seems dramatic and lonely when I say it out loud.” I smiled. “I think it sounds better if I had dates over for them.”
“That probably depends on who you ask.” Grant gave me a wicked grin. “I’ve never seen a Cary Grant movie. I didn’t even know he existed before this whole Kismet thing.”
I did my best to pretend I wasn’t dying of embarrassment. “Well, you may get lucky at my place and get to watch one.”
“Hey, I’m game.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
Wait… What?
“You’re game for what?” Surely he wasn’t talking about watching a black-and-white movie tonight.
He smiled showing off his dimple. “Getting lucky at your place or watching a movie. Both sound like a win-win…”
Wait. Oh. My. Gosh.
Did I really say that!
“Wait, What? That is not what I meant!” I could feel the heat burning my cheeks and I covered my face with my hands.
“Um…” I huffed out a slow breath.
He chuckled. “Unless you didn’t mean to invite me over to your apartment to watch a movie, when you don’t know me…”
I blanched.
“Uh, yeah…”
He chuckled and winked. “Maybe next time.” He dropped the subject.
My posture relaxed as I let out a breath I had been holding.
Peter returned with our drinks and we ordered.
“So, your turn to talk awkwardly about your ex?” I grimaced.
“I’ve been dating mainly casually the last few years.” He shrugged. “I’ve had serious relationships before, but I’m also assuming I have a few years on you.” He raised a brow, asking my age .
“I’m twenty-two.”
He nodded. “Twenty-nine.”
Peter brought out bread and Grant asked for extra balsamic in the oil. He ripped off a piece of bread and used it to stir the mixture and then scraped it against the side of the dish and placed it in his mouth.
“So good.” He looked to the ceiling and slid some bread over to me. “Try it.”
I followed his lead. It was an interesting mixture of bitter and sweet. “Not bad, but I think it’s hard to beat warm bread and soft butter.” I shrugged. “So, what changed the dating routine in the last few years?” I spread some butter on my bread, as he dipped another piece in the vinegar and oil.
He finished his bite. “My dad died.”
I tipped my chin trying to connect the invisible dots. “And you needed to help your mom?”
He scoffed. “No, for the first time, I didn’t have to help my mom.”
I picked up another piece of bread and spread butter on it. “I’m not following.”
“Long story short, my dad was a jerk. I’m happy he is gone.” His lowered eyes flicked to mine. “This is probably not the best first date material.”
“Is it any better than inviting a stranger to your apartment?” I shook my head and rolled my eyes.
Grant raised his left shoulder. “Well, with my portion of Dad’s life insurance money and what I had saved, I bought the venue, The Brick House, and restored it.”
I thought about what that would cost. “So you’ve been too busy starting a business to date?” He nodded. “The few times I’ve been there it seems like you’ve done a wonderful job. I love the mix of warm wood tones, bricks, and industrial.” I licked the crumbs off my fingers.
“The few times you were there sneaking around and diving under tables, you mean.” He shook his head. “But thank you. It has had a lot of unforeseen challenges, but I’m still glad I took it on.” He traced the wood grain of the table with his right pointer finger. “And I’m pretty sure only part of it is because I want to prove my dad wrong.” He exhaled slowly and grabbed the back of his neck with his left hand. “Enough of that, now. What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
Peter soon brought out our food, and I had him cover my cheese ravioli with parmesan.
“So tell me about The Bees Knees and your obsession with the old movies.” He smiled and reached his other hand out across the table, holding his palm up and fingers open, waiting to let me place my hand in his.
I stared at his hand—should I take it? I looked up to his face and was met with his kind eyes, a smile, and that blasted dimple.
Oh what the heck, why not? I put my hand in his.