Chapter 17
Despite my early morning news, I have big plans to show up for my first official date with Reeve as the hottest, most pulled-together version of myself.
The day passes in a way that cannot be described as anything but an absolute gong show.
There’s another pipe burst on three and a faulty fire alarm on five.
The chair yoga teacher calls in sick, as does the “Art with Your Heart” instructor, leaving me downward dogging and decoupaging during the moments I’d typically reserve for deep breaths or, lately, thinking about Kitty’s will or, more important, my date.
“I think we’d better call the doctor,” I tell him when I check his forehead with my palm and find it both hot and clammy.
“Oh, there’s no need.” He waves me off.
He begins to cough, and it becomes clear that there is, in fact, a big need.
“Well, I think we need a second opinion.” I pick up the phone and call the doctor in Southampton. He happens to be on his way home and promises to stop by.
The clock on the wall ticks past 4:00 and then 4:30. At 4:45, the doctor finally arrives. He checks Mr. Minard’s temperature and listens to his lungs.
“I think we need to take a little trip to the hospital tonight,” the doctor says to Mr. Minard, then, later to me in the hallway, “You made a very good call. He’s okay for now but may not be in an hour or two.”
When Zoe gets off after her shift, she finds me in the lobby watching the paramedics rolling Mr. Minard out to the waiting ambulance.
She kisses him on the forehead as he rolls by. “What’s happening with Bernard?”
I catch her up on the doctor’s prognosis.
“I’m going to ride with him,” I tell her. “I don’t want him going all alone.”
Zoe glances at the time on her phone. “Don’t you have a date with Reeve tonight?”
“Yes.” I calculate his estimated distance away. “I’m going to have to cancel. I feel terrible, but—”
“Nope!” Zoe turns my shoulders toward the elevator. “I’ve got this one. You go…” She sniffs me. “Have a shower. Then have a swooningly romantic evening that I will live vicariously through when you tell me all about it tomorrow.”
She taps me on the butt.
“Are you sure?”
She waves me off. “You can repay me with eternal devotion.”
By the time I get home to my apartment, I have a mere thirty-two minutes remaining before Reeve is set to pick me up.
My keys are in one hand. My purse and lunch bag are in the other. I’m moving so quickly up the stairs that I almost step on the bundle lying in front of my door as I shove my key into the lock.
It’s a small wicker basket filled with three wax-covered cheeses, a box of crackers, and two miniature pots of jam, all wrapped in clear cellophane. Stapled to the top is a hot-pink Post-it with a note scrawled across it in blue pen.
You didn’t tell me West Lake already had a cheesemonger.
What it really needs is a florist.
I can’t wait to see you tonight.
Reeve
I don’t think I breathe the entire time it takes me to read the note twice. When I finally do, it’s deep and gasping, accompanied by a dizziness that I am not entirely sure is from the temporary lack of oxygen.
I recognize the handwriting—and the cheese, for that matter.
Baskets just like it sit in the window of A Shore Thing: the gift shop on the corner, which sells everything from seashell-covered tea towels and handmade tea cozies to beef jerky and, as Reeve pointed out, an assortment of locally sourced cheese.
The gift shop doesn’t deliver. Its owner, Lizzy Gowdie, barely leaves her chair behind the counter, especially during the winter months when she opens only between the hours of ten and two—if she opens at all.
I can almost picture Reeve charming her over the phone.
His honey tone convincing her to deliver this to my doorstep, and the names she would have called him before begrudgingly agreeing.
My Reeve-inspired daydreaming costs me another ten minutes.
By the time I get into the shower, it’s twenty to six.
I have no time to debate my outfit and opt for my black jeans and a slinky black blouse, which I inherited from Zoe, who bought it online and passed it to me when it came three sizes bigger than the XXS she ordered.
My intercom buzzes as I’m drying my hair. I abandon it, still damp, and use the precious few seconds as I buzz Reeve up to apply a single coat of mascara and lip gloss. The result is not how I imagined looking for our first date, but it’s a lot better than how I looked twenty minutes ago.
“Hey.” I open the door to find him standing in a suit and that same brown wool coat from a few weeks ago, his hair back to its perfectly polished coif save for a single dark lock curling over the center of his forehead.
“You look so nice. Are we going somewhere fancy?” I look down at the outfit I deemed cute and a little sexy only moments ago and suddenly find it less so.
He steps inside, ignoring my question and producing a bouquet of twenty-four perfect red roses from behind his back.
“I know I sent the cheese, but I wasn’t one hundred percent confident it would show up. And as I said, I want to do this right.”
I take the roses from his hand, a matching blush crawling up my cheeks.
He produces a bottle of wine from a bag I missed with the distraction of the roses. “I figured we could have a drink before we go.”
He holds up the bottle. It’s a fancy French champagne with a name I wouldn’t dare to try to pronounce.
I nod, flushing again, this time from the realization that I have never owned a champagne flute and am about to make us drink from two red wine glasses I bought on sale from the home section of the Superstore.
Reeve pops the bottle but doesn’t comment as he fills the glasses and hands one to me.
“Cheers.” He clinks his glass with mine.
I drain mine quickly, avoiding his eyes. “Are you sure I’m dressed okay?”
He steps toward me, taking the glass from my hand.
Our bodies are so close now that I can smell the scent of his expensive aftershave.
I linger, simultaneously wanting to bury my nose in his neck and also regretting that the only thing I smell like is the ambiguous mound of fruit on the bottle of my drugstore body wash.
“You look beautiful.” His hand drops, dangling next to mine until he hooks my pinky finger with his ever so lightly.
“I had to go into work this morning. My boss asked me to prep a last-minute presentation, and I didn’t have time to change.
But unfortunately, that also means I need to go back tonight.
He’s called a Sunday morning meeting for the whole team to prep for the client presentation on Monday. ”
It’s a moment before what he has said fully hits me.
“You drove three hours just for dinner? You could have canceled.”
He shakes his head, abandoning my pinky to lace his whole hand with mine. “I had it in my head that I would see you tonight. I lied the other week. I couldn’t wait. But we should get going. Our reservation is for six-thirty.”
I nod, weighing the sweetness of his gesture tonight with the practicalities.
We live three hours apart. That’s six hours of commuting just for dinner.
He seems willing to do that now, but this relationship is still shiny and new.
Pheromones and hormones are still weighing heavily in our decision-making— but how long will that last?
Reeve’s car is parked on the street in front of the pizzeria.
It’s still warm inside as we climb in and take Main Street out onto the country highway.
The drive to Port Logan takes almost twenty minutes.
It’s a dark stretch of country road where only a handful of cars pass in the opposite direction.
“I think you’re really going to like this place,” Reeve says as he pulls to a stop at the traffic light just before the downtown stretch. “I might be biased, but I swear it’s the best food in Bruce County.”
“Pro tip from a local. You don’t wanna let Rosie hear you say that—unless you want to eat a cold Lou’s breakfast for the rest of your life.”
He smiles and flicks his right blinker, taking us toward the Cranberry Inn. My heart sinks a little, but Reeve doesn’t slow as the parking lot nears. Instead, he drives past, taking a quick left down a side street and pulling in behind a blue-sided building.
“Have you ever been here?” He cuts the engine and unclips his belt, shifting in his seat to face me.
“You’re taking me to the Moose?”
His face lights up. “I should have known better. Of course you know it.”
“Best food in all of the Bruce Peninsula. And yes, my warning about Rosie is from learning the hard way.”
He opens his door, slips out, and is around the back of the car and opening mine before I have my seatbelt fully off. He reaches out his hand and helps me to my feet, and I have this urge to kiss him again.
I am not usually one to make the first move. Especially since whatever we are doing is still so undefined.
But my body takes over.
It’s just a quick, soft brush of my lips over his.
A taste. A fix.
But when I pull away, his arm comes around my back, and he presses me hard against the side of the car. His hand is in my hair, tongue parting my lips. It’s a kiss I can feel all the way down to my toes.
One kiss turns into two, then three. Until I lose count, and he pulls away, out of breath.
“We should really go inside.” His thumb runs the length of my lower lip. But then he kisses me again, this one too brief, before pulling back with a groan. “Quick, before I change my mind.”
I lead him from the back parking lot down a narrow alley to the front of the building.
The outside of Nona Sardo’s Italian Eatery looks like a simple residential cottage.