Chapter 7
Reva checked her reflection in the rearview mirror one last time before stepping from her Escalade onto the pavement. She shook her head, wondering again why she’d agreed to an online date, then drew a deep breath and headed for the entrance to the Gun Barrel Steak and Game House.
The drive to Jackson Hole had taken about forty-five minutes—time enough to conjure all the reasons why this ill-conceived date was a bad idea. First, Reva did not date—casually or otherwise. She didn’t see the point. No one had captured her attention in that way since Merritt. Perhaps she was as picky as her girlfriends suggested, but need she point out that Thunder Mountain did not have a smorgasbord of dating options?
In their brief text exchange, she’d learned Bert Reilly had recently relocated from Los Angeles. Like so many people moving to their area lately, she suspected he wanted to escape the big city to enjoy a serene life in the mountains. If that were the case, she certainly couldn’t blame him.
The Teton Mountains, with their dramatic peaks and pristine landscapes, called to the heart like a siren’s song. Anyone lucky enough to call this area home was embraced by an ever-changing tapestry of natural beauty and adventure.
Her heels clicked against the concrete as she made her way up the steps to the door. Inside, the interior was themed to reflect the spirit of the Old West and the natural surroundings of Wyoming. Taxidermy animal mounts and antique firearms adorned the walls. The main dining space was spacious with a rustic yet elegant atmosphere. Weathered wooden beams, heavy leather upholstered chairs, and a massive stone fireplace gave the space the feel of a hunting lodge. But the centerpiece of the entire look was a life-sized mounted buffalo she knew from earlier visits the waiters introduced as Clyde.
Reva scanned the tables, feeling her nerves whittle at her normal confidence. Finally, against the wall sat a man who looked just like his online photo. He noticed her at the same time and waved.
She headed in that direction.
Upon her approach, he stood, a smile spreading across his face, radiating a warmth that matched the soft glow of the lights overhead. Her nervous state dissipated, replaced by a warm flutter of excitement and anticipation. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“Reva, it’s so great to finally meet you,” he said, his voice tinged with genuine enthusiasm. He offered a friendly handshake that lingered just a moment longer than expected, his eyes sparking with a mix of admiration and kindness. “You look wonderful,” he added, his compliment sincere and effortless, as he gestured towards the table, inviting her to sit. The ease of his greeting, so natural and unpretentious, put Reva further at ease, igniting a hopeful spark for the evening ahead.
Suddenly, she was glad she’d taken the time to choose an outfit in a copper color that set off her eyes.
A waiter showed up at their table asking to take their drink orders.
“I’ll have a glass of sparkling water with an orange twist,” Reva told him.
Bert looked up at the waiter. “An old-fashioned for me—a double. Makers Mark. No ice with a dab of grated fresh ginger, a sprig of thyme, and served in a pre-chilled glass.”
“Uh, I’ll check and make sure we have fresh ginger,” the waiter reported with an apologetic tone. “If we don’t, is there a substitution I can make?”
Bert’s eyes narrowed with disapproval. “You don’t have fresh ginger?” He diverted his attention across the table to Reva. “What kind of nice restaurant doesn’t have fresh ginger?”
Despite his rude comment, the waiter’s expression didn’t alter. “I’ll check and see what we have available, sir.”
“Thank you,” Reva said.
He nodded, then moved from the table, leaving the two of them alone.
Bert knit his fingers and placed his palms on the table. “So, tell me all about yourself.”
Reva took a breath, trying to recall what the girls had provided in her online profile. “Well, I grew up near here—in Thunder Mountain. I left after high school to attend Tulane, got my law degree, and hurried back home as fast as I could.”
“Your profile says you are the mayor of Thunder Mountain?”
“Yes,” she admitted, reluctant to be too open with her information. Stranger danger was a real thing. That’s why she’d insisted on meeting in a public place.
“I looked you up,” he explained.
Reva wished she’d thought to do the same. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this computer dating thing.
“I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, seeming to notice her discomfiture.
“I—well, this is my first online dating experience. I’ve never really gone out with a?—”
“Stranger?” he offered.
She nodded and let a tiny smile drift onto her face. “Yes. Like I said, I’m new to this.”
He waved off her concern. “I’m an old pro.”
“Oh?” She tucked the information away. “Tell me about you. I mean, I read your profile information, but I’d like to know more.”
“I’m in insurance.” Before he could finish, his phone buzzed. He picked it up. “Hi, Mama. Yes, I’m here.” He paused. “Yes, she’s lovely. Just like her picture.” He paused again, listening. “No, I won’t eat any beef that is not grass-fed. No, I haven’t had a chance to look over the menu, but I’m sure they have kale. If they do, I’ll order a salad. Would you like me to bring some home to you?”
Bert never looked up as their drinks were delivered to the table, including the fresh ginger he wanted. He described the restaurant to his mother…in detail. “I’ll bring you here sometime, Mama. You’ll like it, I think.”
Reva took a sip of her sparkling water and listened, trying not to scowl as she took in the conversation. Was he actually having an extended telephone visit with his mother while having dinner with her?
Minutes later, he finally hung up. “Sorry,” he said as he placed his phone face up next to his napkin. “That was my mama.”
“So, your mother lives in L.A.?” she asked.
“Oh, no. Mama moved to Jackson Hole with me.”
Reva slowly nodded. “I see. Uh…any other family? I mean, is it just you and your mother?”
Over the course of the next few minutes, she learned Bert was an only child. He’d lost his father as a child to an accident. His mother’s name was Leotha and she loved to cook, but only health-conscious items. Preservatives were of the devil. She also suffered from gout.”
“Sounds like the two of you are…close?”
Bert beamed. “That would be affirmative. She’s the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known. I’m a lucky boy.”
Reva tried hard not to roll her eyes. The main course had not yet arrived, and this date was already shaping up to be unviable. Especially when Bert launched into detailing all the many gifts his mother had given him over the years, presents that included his most prized possession.
Reva listened, half-amused and half-bewildered, as Bert excitedly rambled about the metal detector his mother had gifted him last Christmas. He delved into the mundane specifics with an enthusiasm that she found perplexing, describing the length of its telescopic shaft, the diameter of the search coil, and the various beeping tones it emitted depending on the type of metal detected.
His eyes sparkled as he recounted the settings for differentiating between ferrous and non-ferrous metals, a detail that Reva noted with a nod, though she hardly understood why it mattered.
Then, Bert’s monologue took a bizarre turn as he began to list the peculiar treasures he had unearthed—a collection of vintage bottle caps from the 1970s, a surprisingly well-preserved rubber duck with a metal collar, and, most baffling of all, a rusted keychain with a half dozen keys, each leading to an unknown lock.
Reva couldn’t help but smile at the sheer oddity of his finds, wondering if the metal detector was a tool for unearthing treasures or a gateway into Bert’s uniquely quirky world.
A world she couldn’t wait to exit.
When the waiter appeared to take their orders, Reva ordered a bowl of soup—butternut squash topped with coconut and nutmeg foam. She could eat that fast and end this, maybe beg off with a headache if need be. Sitting on the sofa in her slippers with a good book sounded good right now.
Unfortunately, Bert was not in a hurry.
He slowly scanned the menu, asking dozens of questions. “How are your steaks cooked? On a grill or over an open flame?” He looked at Reva. “Grills are never cleaned properly. Mama says the metal leaches and attaches to the proteins in the meat. She read that in Your Wellness Today magazine.”
He returned to grilling the waiter (no pun intended, she thought) before finally settling on bison ravioli—a dish described as served with white wine garlic sauce with cherry tomatoes and goat cheese. “But hold the cherry tomatoes,” Bert said as he handed his menu off to the waiter. “And the goat cheese. I’d like a side of whipped sweet potato puree, but could you simply cut that into little square chunks and give me butter on the side? Unsalted butter if you have it. Bring a little extra.”
The waiter nodded. Before he could finish lifting the menu from Bert’s hand, her date suddenly changed his mind and held on to the printed board. Confused, the waiter raised his chin. “Is there something else you’d like, sir?”
“Dessert. Bring three servings of that bourbon pudding right there.” He pointed to an item on the menu. “Make one of them to-go.” He looked to Reva. “Mama loves bread pudding.”
She held up an open hand. “None for me.”
“Oh, c’mon. Those calories aren’t going to put any more meat on your bones. Live a little.”
Her jaw stiffened. “I don’t do bourbon.”
“Well, this isn’t a drink. It’s pudding.”
“I don’t drink,” she clarified, her tone one that invited no more argument.
“What? You’re an alcoholic?” He turned to the waiter and lifted his empty cocktail glass. “Speaking of, I’ll have another, please.”
When he turned back, Reva couldn’t help but scowl. This man was proving to be rude, boring, and obnoxious.
He examined her expression. “Oh, hey—I’m sorry. So you’re an alcoholic.” He waved off the situation. “No problem. My mama’s brother was a drunk. Cool guy. He died of liver cirrhosis.”
Bert turned to the waiter. “Just box hers up, and I’ll take it home with me.”
Reva knotted her hands underneath the table. This date couldn’t end fast enough. She fully intended to throttle those well-meaning friends of hers if they ever meddled in her romantic life again.
She suffered through the remainder of the meal, happy when the waiter finally brought the bill to the table.
Bert opened the black leather check holder, took a quick look inside, and handed it back to the waiter. “Could you split the check, please?”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter replied, daring to sneak a sympathetic glance at Reva.
Reva felt her facial muscles tighten. She quickly retrieved her wallet and held out her credit card. “No, that’s all right. I’ve got it covered,” she offered. No way did she want to extend the time with this man, not even long enough for the bill to be recalculated.
Bert glanced at his Rolex. “I hope you don’t mind ending our time together a little early. I promised Mama we’d watch Northern Exposure on Netflix. She’s waiting for me.”
“No, no…that’s fine,” she assured him.
He got out his phone and opened an app. “So, Reva. When do you want to do this again?”