Chapter 7
Vivian
“All I’m saying is that when someone has a mom that’s hot as hell, they should come with a disclaimer.”
His name is Nate, and he just finished telling a story from his early twenties about a blind date gone wrong. He had gone to pick her up, but when the door opened, he mistook her mother for his date because she was so attractive and youthful.
I laugh, looking across the dinner table at him. He chose a Mediterranean tapas-style restaurant, which I love, but find challenging for a first date. Deciding on dishes to share without knowing each other’s preferences can be tricky. “I totally get that,” I say, nodding. “My mom is a bombshell. She’s a Pilates instructor, and has a rocking body. All the guys in high school wanted to hang at my house because my mom was a MILF.”
He’s cute, I tell myself. Not in an obvious way, but in a boy-next-door kind of way. His hair is blond with a high fade and a crew cut. He has beautiful blue eyes that light up when he laughs. He has a nice smile and a decent build. I’m not usually attracted to blonde guys, but I find myself drawn to him more and more as the evening goes on. Yes, he is definitely a good-looking human. I am pleasantly surprised to be having a good time. Nate is funny. He tells engaging stories, and I find myself laughing at them. He isn’t as witty as Ben or Leo, or as good-looking, but that isn’t a fair scale to go off for anyone.
Stop .
I’ll never find anyone if I keep comparing men to Ben or Leo. I have to look at people with a fresh set of eyes.
The conversation has flowed easily tonight. Nate works in tech, but honestly, whenever someone mentions a tech job, I half-tune out because I know I won’t understand it anyway. If I were certain there’d be future dates, I might be more inclined to grasp what he does for a living. But that’s third-date material.
I glance at the tip line as he signs for the check. Good. He’s not a shitty tipper. A bad tipper can be improved over time, but I can’t stand a consistently poor tipper. To me, it says a lot about someone’s character.
Everything about Nate looks good on paper so far. I guess I shouldn’t expect less—Kara did set us up after all. She knows me, and she wouldn’t waste my time with someone who isn’t worth getting to know. The physical attraction is there, but I’m not sure if there’s a connection yet.
We exit the restaurant, his hand on the small of my back, which doesn’t bother me. I take that as a good sign.
“Do you live close?” he asks. “If you do, I could walk you home instead of you taking an Uber… unless you think it’s too cold,” he quickly adds.
Smiling, I realize he wants to spend more time with me. It is cold, but my blazer does a good job of keeping me warm.
I was careful with my outfit selection tonight, wanting to feel sexy without turning it on too much. I never want to overdo it on the first date, just in case we don’t vibe.
I chose a black bralette under a fitted, sheer long-sleeve black shirt, tucked into dark fitted jeans, and black thigh-high boots. I polished the look with a black blazer and a black Gucci belt—a perfect outfit for fall.
“Yeah, I’m pretty close. Probably fifteen minutes. I’d love to walk,” I say, feeling self-assured.
I ask him about his family, and he proceeds to explain his very large, very blended family.
“Oh my gosh, five sisters in a six-year span?” I ask, shocked. Two sisters from his dad and three from his stepmom, two of them being twins. “That’s a whole lot of hormones. ”
“Let’s just say things were never dull,” he says, chuckling.
We’re halfway to my house when he slows his walk to look at me hesitantly. What is that expression? Worry? Concern?
Oh, shit.
Sympathy.
All of a sudden, I know what’s coming.
“So,” he stammers, searching for the right words. “I hope you don’t mind, but Kara told me about your situation.” He seems unsure of himself.
“Oh? She did?” I look at him inquisitively. Alright, dumbass, let’s do this.
“Yeah. She told me about your, um… your husband. And I, uh… I just wanted to make sure you were in the right mindset to be dating,” he stammers. “Because I really like you. But I don’t want to waste my time getting to know you if you’re not emotionally ready for a relationship.”
And there it is. His flaw. He completely lacks emotional intelligence.
Are people really this fucking clueless?
I try to think of some way to respond that isn’t snarky.
I lost my daughter too, did you also want to talk about that? No? That’s uncomfortable for you?
Fuck. I’m so angry with Kara right now. How could she? But then I think, how could she not? There’s no way you set someone up with a young widow without divulging some of that sensitive information. You’d have to give them a forewarning, make sure they could handle it. Though I can’t blame her, I’m pissed.
I feel betrayed.
This is my story to tell, when I am ready. My hell, I haven’t even told Leo yet.
“Are you okay?” I hear him say over my shock. “I’m sorry if that was…”
I cut him off. “Stop.” I turn my body toward him, my hand in a stop sign position, unsure what to do next.
He stares at me, confused .
“I’m sorry, Nate. You’re a nice guy, but I’m not comfortable talking to you about this. Nor do I have to. I’ll walk myself the rest of the way. Thank you for dinner; I had a nice time.”
Leaving him stunned, I turn on my heel and take long strides to get the hell away from him and the discomfort as quickly as possible.
I’m devastated. For the first time, I think about myself through the eyes of my friends, and it makes me feel so small. I know they love and care for me, but they all treat me the same. They scamper around as if I’m fragile, afraid that I might break. My eyes get misty, and I fight the urge to cry or be offended.
All I can do is learn from this mistake and move forward. No more blind dates set up by friends.
* * * * * * * * * *
Sunday-The Next Day
I end the call and reach for my hair dryer, feeling relieved. My mom is one of my best friends, and I tell her everything. We talk at least once a week, usually on Sundays. I know her opinions can be biased, but she is a wise woman whose advice has never led me astray. Talking to her was just what I needed after my date last night. I feel better.
She and my dad just got back from visiting my mom’s family in Spain, so I had to catch her up on the past few weeks. She always asks about Leo. My mom is obsessed with him and keeps telling me to be patient because this is how her and my dad’s relationship started. I mostly roll my eyes at that one. It’s definitely not the same. My dad wasn’t sleeping with the entirety of Boston while he was at Harvard when they met, and she wasn’t a born-again virgin widow. See? Very different scenarios.
I look at the time on my phone. Shit. I accidentally slept in, and then my mom called. I talked to her with wet hair while standing in my bathrobe. Now I only have fifteen minutes until I meet Leo out front for brunch .
I love our coffee and brunch dates the most. I look forward to my coffee in the mornings more than anything, and I love breakfast food. Between that and Leo’s company, it’s an absolutely perfect start to my day.
Exhaling my burdens, I tip my head upside down and power dry my hair. At 8:55, I throw on some leggings, a cropped sweatshirt, and sneakers. My hair is straight today, a rare occurrence, and I didn’t have time for much makeup. Just a swipe of mascara and a touch of lip gloss, but that’s okay; I don’t usually wear much anyway. As long as my lashes are done, I feel good. I race out the door, determined to beat Leo, but he’s already there, waiting for me.
He looks at his watch, then eyes me, lifting a brow. “You sleep in, Walker?”
“I’m two minutes late!” I exclaim, meeting him with an embrace that makes my toes curl.
“Ah, I’m just giving you shit.” He puts his hand on my head and ruffles my hair.
Fucker.
“Your hair is different,” he says.
“Yeah, I didn’t have time to curl it.”
He shrugs. “I like it this way too.”
“Thanks,” I say, glancing his way with a smile.
“Wildberry?” he asks.
“Yes!”
“Which one? I mapped them both, and they each say a seventeen-minute walk.”
“Let’s go to the one that’s north. I have a pickup order at Nordstrom. I’d love to swing by on the way home and grab it if you don’t mind,” I say as we near the end of our row of townhouses.
“North it is.” He places his hand on the small of my back, and gestures to the right at the end of our street.
Wildberry is a pancake house and café that serves something for every palate. Their food always tastes fresh, and I love their skillets! My mouth is watering just thinking about them .
“I didn’t hear any sexual escapades last night,” I say, giving him a playful nudge. “Date night with your hand?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Hey, at least I didn’t have to wear a condom.”
Smartass.
“How do you always do that?” I ask.
He furrows his brows. “How do I do what?”
“The comebacks. You’re so quick and witty.”
“Is that a compliment I hear?” He grins. “I’m flattered. Truly.” He places his hand over his heart in gratitude, as if he just won a Grammy.
As we walk together, the conversation flows easily. It’s as if we’ve known each other forever. While waiting for a walk signal, I breathe in the fresh air as it cools my cheeks. It’s a beautiful morning. There’s a chill in the air, but the sun is on full display, warming the skin on my face. I look around and up at Leo. He’s tall, with the sun catching the angles of his face just right, making him look even more attractive than usual. I feel happy, and I welcome it.
As we approach Wildberry, the delicious aroma of pancakes and coffee wafts through the air.
“Oh, I almost forgot to ask,” Leo says, resting his hand on my shoulder, “how was your date last night? Normally, I’d ask if you got laid, but since it’s you, did you manage to run any bases?” he teases, as if we’re teenagers.
We are bombarded with chaos as he opens the door for me. There’s going to be a decent wait judging by the number of people here. We walk to the hostess desk and put our name on the list. Twenty to thirty minutes, that’s not so bad. We find a bench outside to sit while we wait.
“So? How was it?” he asks, his hands bracing his thighs as he looks at me.
“Um… it was good… it was fine. No bases ran, wasn’t feeling it.”
Dumbfounded, he stares at me. “That’s your answer?”
“Do you need me to repeat it again?” I ask sarcastically.
“You baffle me, Walker. That’s all you’re gonna give me?” He lifts his hand in an exasperated, questioning gesture. “Jesus, no bases ran? Not even a kiss? You play a hard game. ”
I glare at him. “What do you want me to say? That it was going great, I liked him a lot, then he asked me about something personal that he shouldn’t have known about?” I ask irritably, my voice sharp as the memory stirs fresh anger within me.
“For fuck’s sake. Yes! Be real with me. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He shakes his head. “What do you mean he asked you about something personal?”
I glance down, sighing. “Kara told him some… personal stuff. Things about me and my life that are mine to tell.” I look up at him. “And mine alone.”
“About your past relationship, or whatever it is that you won’t talk about?”
I nod.
“And he had the audacity to ask you about it?”
“Ha. Yeah,” I scoff. “And then I basically told him to fuck off and left him standing alone.” I laugh softly to myself, still shocked by my own actions.
“Well, that’s un-fucking-believable. Are you alright?”
I search his face, scanning his eyes for any hint of insincerity or pity, but all I see is genuine concern and respect. Keeping eye contact, my voice is barely audible. “I’m good,” it comes out as a whisper. “Thanks, Leo.” He doesn’t break eye contact, and I feel… seen. Why is it so easy with him?
“Hey,” he whispers, swiping a piece of wind-blown hair out of my face. “That was fucked up of him. And good for you, for standing your ground. You should be proud of yourself. Yeah?”
The corners of my mouth tug upward into a small smile. “You’re right… I should be.” It’s all I can think to say, my thoughts scattering under the intensity of his gaze.
Despite this growing connection, Leo still shuts me out when it comes to any questions regarding his family. I feel like we have a mutual understanding. We both have something we aren’t necessarily hiding, but aren’t completely truthful about either. And I think we just know that when the time is right, and we feel ready, we will share it with each other.
* * * * * * * * * *
Saturday, October 21
The Following Weekend
I told Leo I’d meet him at The Red Door for Michael’s birthday get-together. He had a business dinner and was going to have to go straight from there to the speakeasy. I intentionally arrive twenty minutes late to avoid the chance of being there before him.
I’m standing outside the door, gathering all of my confidence as if it’s something tangible, something I can hold in my hands. I’m incredibly nervous and uncertain as to why. I’m good with people… but these are Leo’s people, and I want to make a good impression. I survey my outfit one last time in the reflection of the door. I have on a black sweater tucked into a warm taupe wool mini skirt, paired with black suede knee-high boots, showing off my legs. My hair is softly waved and parted down the middle.
I take a deep inhale, exhaling slowly as I enter the code that Leo gave me. Apparently, this place changes the entrance code daily, ensuring only those with a reservation can enter. The lock clicks, and I open the door, greeted by a hostess in a black flapper dress with a jeweled bandeau on her head. She is young and stunningly beautiful.
“Hi, what’s the name on the reservation?”
“It’s under Leo Weston,” I say.
“Your party is this way,” she says, gesturing for me to follow her. It’s a decent-sized room for a speakeasy. Longer than it is wide, I take in the ambiance. It’s early 1920s, the bartenders all dressed accordingly; the men in long-sleeve button-up shirts, buttoned vests, and newsboy hats or fedoras—many of them with mustaches that fit the time period—and the women in flapper dresses and bandeaus. It has a very Peaky Blinders feel. As she leads me to the back of the room, I spot Leo and give him a wave .
“Walker!” he shouts as he stands to meet me. “You made it!” Giving me a quick kiss on the cheek, he turns to his friends for introductions. “Everyone, this is my neighbor and friend, Vivian. Vivian, this is Michael, his wife Stella, Meredith, and Adam.” I shake everyone’s hands as he announces their names.
Our little corner is furnished with different styles of leather-back chairs, a leather sofa, and two round coffee tables. Meredith, who looks like a runway model, is sitting on the sofa, next to where Leo was, and the other three are in chairs. Meredith is the kind of stunning that makes you question your own confidence. If I didn’t know she was happily married to her wife, I’d probably feel a pang of insecurity at the mere thought of any chance with Leo. She is that beautiful. Leo gestures for Meredith to scoot down to make space for me on the sofa.
“Let’s get you a drink before you sit, love,” Leo says, taking my arm and guiding me to the bar. “We have a waitress, but I don’t bloody know where she is.”
We inch our way to the bar, and Leo flags down one of the bartenders.
“Hey man, what can I get you?”
“Hey mate,” Leo says to the bartender, then turns to me. “What are you drinking tonight?” He studies me so intently that I feel he’s trying to memorize my face.
“I’ll have a Manhattan.”
“She’ll have a Manhattan,” he tells the bartender without taking his eyes off me. I look away, admiring the bartenders and their 1920s attire, but I can feel his eyes boring into me, making my palms sweaty.
“This place is really cool,” I tell him, turning back to face him. “Do you own this place too?” I tease.
He laughs. “No, not yet anyway. I’m working on it.” He winks at me, and I realize his accent is heavier tonight. I’ve noticed this a few times now. When he drinks, it’s like all of his London upbringing comes out.
“Let’s go get you acquainted with the gang.” He starts to leave the bar but pauses, turning back to me with a mischievous smile. “By the way, Walker, you look fucking sexy tonight. ”
I feel a flush of warmth as he turns back around and heads towards our table. I follow, drink in hand and my confidence bolstered by his comment. Goddamn him!
He has a way of simultaneously making me feel nervous and comfortable, which doesn’t make any sense.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Vivian, you’ve got to come! This year it’s going to be a casino-themed party with cocktail attire. Everyone goes all out, it’ll be so fun. Right, Leo? Tell her she has to come!” Meredith insists as she looks toward Leo. She has just invited me to her big New Year’s Eve party.
“Yes, Meredith’s parties are epic. We can go together if you’d like,” he says, placing his hand on my thigh, my bare thigh, giving it a little squeeze. It’s friendly, but it sends a wave of heat between my legs.
What. The. Hell.
I’m two Manhattans in, and I am feeling it. I don’t drink liquor very often, so I’m a lightweight when I do. Leo’s hand remains on my thigh, his thumb now moving back and forth, caressing my thigh, no longer just friendly.
We are friends. We are friends. We are friends. I tell myself over and over.
Oh my God, I haven’t been touched in so long. It’s doing things to my body way too easily. Why is his hand still there? I look around at the group. Everyone is engaged in some form of conversation. I look at Leo as he sips his whiskey, and come to the conclusion that he must be drunk, which would explain the hand. I stare at it, willing it to move, unsure if I want it to move up my thigh or for him to remove it. I try to calm my breathing and act normal, everything is fine. He just doesn’t realize his hand is still there.
I’m panicking inside. I’m so turned on and confused, and my inhibitions are starting to numb. I put my cocktail down and switch to water.