Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
“Are you really not nervous?” Becca asked for the fourth time. She’d called to lend her unneeded moral support for, as she put it, my first date in eons . I put her on speaker phone while I finished getting ready.
“Why would I be nervous? It’s dinner with a person I see all the time. Nervous is reserved for crazy stuff like jumping out of an airplane or telling my mother that I’m never having kids. Eating a meal with Trey Collins isn’t near as frightening as either of those scenarios.”
Noah fussed in the background, and then went silent, meaning she’d slipped him a pacifier. “But this is a date. You understand that, right?”
I considered having the date verses hang-out semantics debate with her, but opted for sarcasm instead. “Oh, my gosh. Really? Are you sure?”
Becca was not amused. “Fine. That was a stupid question. I can’t believe you’re actually going.”
“It’s dinner,” I repeated. “People eat, and sometimes they eat together. I’m not fitting Trey for a tux, Becca. Don’t read too much into this.”
“At least tell me what you’re wearing.”
Not having a lot of time to prepare offered the benefit of less time to panic and overthink the wardrobe. Trey was used to seeing me in my plain teacher clothes, which was about ninety percent of my wardrobe. But I did own a little color.
“Since we’re going to DeBlaze, I’m wearing jeans with my black boots and that purple top we found at Robinson.”
One of my favorite Italian restaurants, DeBlaze at 131, was walking distance from my apartment and had a nice relaxed atmosphere. They offered a phenomenal meatball starter, and the bourbon bacon cheesecake was to die for. The food was a little pricey but nothing too crazy, and every entrée was both tasty and filling. Robinson was a huge shopping area to which Becca dragged me now and then, mostly against my will.
“Purple is a good color on you. Did he pick DeBlaze?”
“No, that was my choice. We won’t have to worry about parking, and if I decide I’m done, I can call it a night and walk home.”
Disappointment dripping in her voice, she said, “You already have an escape plan? I thought you were giving him a chance.”
Who went on a date without an escape plan? Especially a first date.
“I’m not saying I’ll definitely leave early. I just feel better knowing I can if I want to.” Doing a half spin in front of the mirror, I second guessed the boots. “Maybe I should skip the boots and wear slip-ons instead. I look like I’m trying too hard.”
“No, no, keep the boots.”
Before I could argue, someone rang my doorbell. “Hold on,” I said, “someone’s here.”
“Is it Trey?” she asked.
Walking through the kitchen, phone in hand, I checked the time on the microwave. “Shouldn’t be. I said dinner at six at DeBlaze. It’s five thirty and this is not the restaurant.”
“What if it is? Please tell me you cleaned.”
“Why would I clean when he isn’t coming to my house?”
To be fair, I probably wouldn’t have cleaned either way. The girls made a big deal about my sloppy habits, but my apartment wasn’t dirty, as in food on the floor or mold growing in the fridge. It was lived in . There were a few dishes in the sink, shoes scattered about, sweaters and jackets and mail and magazines covering any and all available surfaces.
But it wasn’t dirty.
“I’m sure it’s Mrs. Whipple.” I lived in a triplex with Marjorie Whipple on one side and Denver Montana on the other. “They keep giving her my mail.”
As a teacher, I’d encountered my fair share of crazy kid names, but Denver Montana was too good not to have a story behind it. So I asked him once where it came from. His bushy white brows met above his ski-slope nose as he looked at me as if I’d asked the dumbest question in the world. I still didn’t know the answer.
“I hope you’re right,” Becca murmured as I reached the door.
Pulling it open, I did not find Mrs. Whipple on the other side. “Hi?”
A deep blue sweater fit Trey’s body like it was tailored to his impressive bulk, while the loose-fitting jeans settled over black loafers. He managed to look both casual and dressed up at the same time, and I realized I’d never seen him in jeans before.
“Hey,” Trey said.
“Is that Trey?” Becca asked, panicking through the phone. “Oh my, God. Don’t let him in!”
“Is that Becca?”
“You have me on speaker phone? What the?—”
I ended the call and slipped the phone into my back pocket. “What are you doing here?”
“We have a date, right?” he asked, pretending I didn’t just hang up on my best friend.
“Yeah, but I said six at the restaurant. So why are you here ?”
He turned to look behind him, then turned back, eyes narrowed in confusion. “You told me to park here, at your apartment.”
So far we recalled the same conversation. “I did.”
“I parked and now I’m here.”
“But we’re meeting at the restaurant.”
His bald head tilted to one side like a Golden Retriever in human form. “You expected me to park at your house, but we would walk to the restaurant separately?”
I did expect that, but now that he said it out loud, the idea sounded completely ridiculous. “Well, since you’re here, we might as well walk together. I just need to get my coat.”
The dilemma. Did I let him into the mess, or did I make him stay out in the hall? He should probably know now that my less-than-sparkling personality wasn’t my only shortcoming.
“You can come in.” To make space for him, I shoved a pile of shoes off to one side with my foot. “I’ll be right back.”
Without another word, I spun on my heels and headed for the closet on the other side of the living room, unhappy with the tightness in my chest. Spending time together at work was very different from having Trey in my home . This felt way more vulnerable. Like letting him see behind the curtain, where I couldn’t hide.
What if my messiness was a deal breaker? So what if it was? He was the one who started this. The one who said he liked me for no specific reason and that my faults, which I’d been very upfront about, didn’t matter to him. If that was the case, then he should like the messy me as much as the teacher me or the drama proctor me or the me who helped little kids fish for apples.
Still, I could hardly contain the urge to shove him back into the hall and do a frenzied straightening before letting him back in. That I cared so much about his opinion annoyed the ever living daylights out of me.
“I’m ready,” I said, shoving an arm into my coat.
“You’ve got a nice place here.”
I froze with one arm in the air. “What?”
“It’s nice,” he said, leaning forward to see over to the kitchen area. “Lots of natural light, high ceilings, great walkable neighborhood. I like it.”
Slowly sliding my other arm into the coat, I said, “You really do need to get your eyes checked.”
His low chuckle did odd things to my insides. “Why do you say that?”
Gesturing wildly, I pointed out the obvious. “The place is a mess.”
Trey shrugged. “It’s a little messy, yeah, but you’ve been busy with the play. I get not having as much time to clean.”
Oh, was he going to be so disappointed.
“It always looks like this.”
The grin faded. “You live like this all the time?”
“Yes, I live like this. I rarely do laundry and when I do it stays in the basket for a week after it’s already been in the dryer for several days. I hate opening mail so I let it pile up, and I see no point in putting my shoes in a closet when I’m just going to put them back on again. I don’t make my bed, I don’t dust, and I can’t remember the last time I cleaned my shower.”
I may have been a little defensive about my cleaning habits—or lack thereof—but this was my space and I could live in it however I pleased.
After a moment of silence, he said, “You do shower though, right?”
What kind of a question was that? “Of course I do.”
“And the clothes you’re wearing are clean?”
The jeans had been worn a few times but everyone knew you didn’t wash your jeans after wearing them only once. “Yes.”
“Then okay.”
“Okay?” Was this a trick?
“Yeah, okay.” He gestured toward the living room with a lift of his chin. “You’re one of those people who can live in chaos and be good with it. No big deal.”
Still defensive, I said, “This isn’t chaos.”
“Not to you, probably. Didn’t you say you’re one of five kids?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So I’m guessing your house while growing up was pretty chaotic.”
Was it? My brain spun back to a childhood filled with yelling and fighting and noise and Mom pestering us to pick up our stuff. Holy crap, he was right.
“I never made the connection.”
He slid the cuffs of his sweater up his forearms. “Why would you? We all have a different perception of normal, and this is normal to you. Nothing wrong with that.”
Yet people in relationships had to merge their perceptions at some point. “Could you live like this?”
“Yeah, no.”
“But it’s fine that I do?”
Showing exasperation for the first time, he said, “Lindsey, this is your house. It’s not my place to judge how you live in it.”
True, but every other person in my life did judge how I lived, and they never approved of how I kept my space. This man was either a figment of my imagination, or the most accepting human on the planet. Testing to see which, I reached out and pinched his arm.
“Ow,” he griped, pulling away. “What’d you do that for?”
“To see if you’re real.”
“We’ve known each other for months. Of course, I’m real. Do I get to pinch you back?”
I shoved him through the open door. “Absolutely not. Now let’s go eat.”
The walk wasn’t too cold for a November Saturday night, though there were more people on the sidewalks than expected. There were also a few still celebrating the holiday, as we encountered a Spiderman, an undead priest, and a walking banana along the way.
We arrived at the restaurant five minutes before our reservation time, and the hostess sat us right away. One thing about the city of Pittsburgh was that you could find an Italian restaurant on nearly every corner. A slight exaggeration, but not by much. Many of those establishments were family owned and had been around for decades.
They also, for the most part, carried the old world aesthetic, which is where DeBlaze stood out from the rest. Modern and sleek, the chrome, black and concrete accents created an industrial look. The bar was long and glossy and bordered the narrow dining room that was populated with linen-free tables.
The main attraction here was the food, which was excellent.
“If I had to pick a last meal,” Trey said before licking both sides of his fork, “I’d include these meatballs along with a tub of this sauce.”
The restaurant clearly had his stamp of approval. “You’re welcome,” I said with a laugh. “I’m no foodie, but I know when something is good.”
“I can’t believe this is just the appetizer. How good will the entrees be?”
“ Very good,” I said, reaching for my glass of wine. Trey went with pop since he’d be driving later. “So how does a good Irish boy from Philadelphia end up in Pittsburgh?”
“I’m Welsh, thank you very much, and I got headhunted, actually.” He slid the empty bowl to the side and set down the thoroughly cleaned fork. “We had six winning seasons in a row at my previous school in Harrisburg, when one of my assistant coaches heard Carnegie was looking for a new head coach. He dropped my name in the right ear and here I am.”
Sounded like that assistant wanted the top job. “So he wanted you out of the way.”
Trey shook his head. “Nothing like that. I wasn’t happy and he knew it.”
I couldn’t imagine Trey Collins un happy. “Sounds like you had a successful team. Why weren’t you happy?”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin before answering. “For one, successful is a relative term. We weren’t in a challenging division, so though the boys worked hard and had talent, the wins came from the other teams beating themselves more than us dominating on the field.”
“Isn’t a win a win?”
“Sure, but the point of winning is the satisfaction of knowing you did better than the other team. Empty wins don’t feel as good.”
I couldn’t relate, but I got the point. “Is that why you came to a school with a struggling team? For the challenge?”
“That, and the promise they made to invest in the program. Walters High wanted results, but they weren’t willing to pay for them.”
The night of the football game came back to me and I remembered Mrs. Bitterman mentioning the promise of a new practice field. Again, if this school couldn’t fund my small drama productions, how could they afford a new field?
“Pay for it how?” I asked.
The waitress arrived with our entrees, putting the conversation on a brief pause. She set the chicken parmesan in front of me, then the Denver steak in front of Trey. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as the plate hit the table.
“This smells amazing.” The cut of beef was still sizzling.
“The plates are hot,” she said, “so please be careful. Would you like more wine?”
“I’m good, thanks.” She walked away and before I could lift my silverware, Trey moaned while making the first slice through what looked to be a perfectly cooked steak. “Would you and your steak like to be alone?” I asked.
“No, but remember what I said about that last meal? Add this.” The first bite went in and I feared he might melt right out of his chair. “I’m personally offended that no one suggested this place before now.”
“Glad I could give you a life changing experience.” Though I would normally lean on sarcasm, making him so happy caused my cold heart to grow a size. “Back to the conversation. What do you mean by the previous school didn’t want to pay?”
“They expected excellence but provided mediocre equipment and almost no support. The practice field was uneven.” He paused for a sip of his pop then wiped his hands. “You could barely get hot water in the locker room showers, and since we’re eating I won’t describe the smell of that locker room. Even the field where we played was neglected.”
Completely ignorant of what Carnegie offered, I asked, “Is it better here?”
“Much better, but there’s room for improvement. We’ll make the changes over time.” Stabbing a piece of asparagus, he popped it into his mouth and paused. Around the food, he said, “Even the vegetables are good.”
I considered mentioning that the school was strapped for cash and that he likely wouldn’t see his improvements any time soon, but then part of me wondered what would happen if he knew. If the school didn’t come through, would he move on again? To my unspeakable surprise, the thought of him leaving made my stomach tight.
Maybe it was indigestion. Either way, time to change the subject.
“So what do you do when you aren’t coaching?” Pointing to his shoulders with my fork, I added, “Other than work out, I presume.”
“Does running count as working out?”
Silly question. “Yes, it does.”
“Okay, then. Well…” His eyes cut to the distance as if the answer eluded him.
“There has to be something you do that doesn’t involve physical exertion.”
Trey set down the silverware to once again wipe his mouth. “I like movies, and I like to eat. That’s pretty much all I do sitting down, and also why I work out so much. So I can eat whatever I want.”
Again, why was this man spending time with me ? My life goal was to move as little as possible, and I paid no attention to what I ate. Was my waistline what it was in my twenties? Nope. Would I eventually have to cut back when the metabolism slowed? I sure would. But running a mile just so I could have a piece of cake was never going to happen.
“Do you expect the person you date to work out with you?” I asked.
“Not necessarily,” he replied, piling both the steak and asparagus onto his fork. “But they’d have to be up for it, you know?”
I did not know, but I could already guarantee whatever it was, I was not up for it.