Chapter 15 Lindsey
LINDSEY
“Thank you,” I say as Oliver pulls my chair out at Antonio’s Wednesday evening, the scent of his woodsy cologne forcing me to swallow a dreamy sigh.
“Of course.” He sits across from me, and I catch a blissful glimpse of the way his forearms flex in his rolled-up button-down. “You look beautiful tonight.”
“You said that already.” The girlish giggle that tumbles out of my mouth surprises me.
“Not that you don’t always look amazing,” he says. “Because you do. But…wow.”
My cheeks pink. “Thank you. So do you.”
I give silent praise to Kayla, Lucy, and Willow, my own personal glam squad for the evening.
Their efforts made me look good, but they made me feel even better.
Confident, flirty, a little sexy—though that may have also been a result of the glass of wine I pregamed with.
Willow worked her magic on my makeup, and Kayla fussed over my hair with a curling iron while they peppered me with questions.
Once they were finished, I shimmied into my outfit—a loan from Willow.
The emerald green dress fits me like a glove, dipping in a soft V below my collarbone.
It’s the perfect balance of structure and flow with its long, drapey sleeves, hip-hugging body, and a slit in the center that adds a little edge to its midcalf length.
“This place is nice.” Oliver glances around the restaurant, lit only by the votives on the tables and the ornate chandeliers that hang from the high ceilings.
A crystal bud vase with a single red carnation sits at the center of the pristine white tablecloth, and goblets of water were waiting for us on the table, along with two leather-framed menus.
It occurs to me how long it’s been since I’ve been somewhere to eat that didn’t coat their menu in thick, cloudy plastic.
A server approaches with a pen poised over his notepad. “Good evening. I’m Parker, and I’ll be taking care of y’all this evening. Can I get you started with something to drink while you…” He trails off, focusing on me. “Dr. Haggerty! It’s so good to see you.”
“Oh, hi.” I study him a moment, running through my mental files, trying to place him and the pet he belongs to. He’s short, a little more salt than pepper in his hair, especially at the temples.
“You probably don’t remember me.” His deep drawl drips off his tongue like the honey I get at the farmers market. “But you helped me with my cat, Itty, after he had his lil nads snipped off.”
Oliver nearly chokes on the sip of water he’s taking as my eyes widen with recognition.
“Oh my goodness, yes. Parker Rhodes,” I say with a chuckle. “How’s Itty doing? And your grandpa?”
“You know Itty. He’s a firecracker.” He waves his hand as though he’s swatting a fly. “And well, Grandpa is too. If a hip replacement can’t keep him down, I don’t reckon much ever will.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say as Parker shifts his attention to Oliver.
“A heart of gold, this one.” Parker gestures his thumb toward me.
“’Bout four years ago, my grandpa Chuck fell and broke his hip at the church sock hop where he lives back home in Mississippi.
” Except when he says it, it sounds more like Missippi.
“The man is ninety-one years old and still thinks he’s got the moves of Elvis Presley.
Anyway, this all went down the day of Itty’s surgery, and I was distraught because I wanted to be there for Grandpa’s procedure.
Not to be morbid, but you just never know when somebody gets to be that age.
So, Dr. Haggerty here offered to keep Itty at her house for an entire week while I was in Biloxi.
Told me to focus on my family, and she’d take care of everything else. Didn’t charge me a cent, neither.”
“Is that right?” Oliver beams, and a rush of heat sweeps up my neck, knowing where this story is heading.
Please don’t say it. Please, please don’t say it.
Parker nods. “And Itty ain’t no regular cat.
He’s high-maintenance. Thinks he’s from New York City or somethin’.
He has a very specific evening routine, and Dr. Haggerty followed it to the letter.
Itty can’t fall asleep without being rocked like a baby, and he wants you to sing him ‘Purple Rain.’ You know, the ole Prince song?
And he don’t want that radio-edited version, neither.
It’s gotta be the long one. If it’s anything less than eight minutes and forty seconds, he’ll spend the night yowling in your ear. ”
Oliver presses his lips together, stifling a laugh, while I pray for the floor to open up and swallow me.
I clear my throat. “I’m just so glad that Itty and Grandpa Chuck are doing well.”
“Goodness gracious. Listen to me, rambling on,” Parker says, “when I should be taking your drink order. What can I get y’all?”
“How would you feel about sharing a bottle of wine?” Oliver asks.
“I’d love that. Merlot okay?”
“Perfect,” he says, turning to Parker. “Can we get a bottle of your best merlot?”
“Absolutely. Are we celebrating anything special this evening?”
“Oh, nothing—” I start to say, but Oliver speaks up, his gaze lingering on mine.
“Actually, this is our first date. Well, our first official date.”
My heart leaps like a dog making a break for it, off the exam table.
“Oooh,” Parker purrs. “Love that for you. Wonderful. Well, y’all take a gander at those menus, and I’ll be back with your wine.”
“I’m sorry,” Oliver says. “Is it okay that I said that?”
“Yeah.” I fiddle with the hem of my dress, a bundle of nervous energy. “It is.”
“I’m glad.” He bites his lip, hesitating a moment. “So. ‘Purple Rain,’ huh?”
I bury my head in my hands. “Oh my God.”
He laughs and reaches across the table to pry away my fingers. “I think that might be the cutest damn thing I’ve ever heard.”
My skin still prickles from his touch after he removes his hand.
“Okay, but seriously,” I say, lowering my voice barely above a whisper.
“He’s not joking. I thought this was just something that Parker made up or did of his own accord, so on that first night, I didn’t do it, and that cat howled for seven hours straight.
I didn’t miss his nightly lullaby after that. ”
Oliver’s shoulders shake with laughter. “But how did you sing that song for eight minutes? Isn’t, like, half the song a guitar solo?”
I nod, giggling. “Uh-huh. A guitar solo that I hummed quite terribly, I might add.”
“I’m going to need to hear this.”
“Here we are,” Parker says, returning with the wine, pouring it into our glasses. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu? What’s sounding good to y’all this evening?”
“Oh,” I say, lifting the single page from the table, scanning it quickly. “I’m sorry. We haven’t even looked.”
Parker gives a good-natured laugh. “That’s okay.
I get it. Y’all are busy getting to know each other.
How about I bring you some of our crostini to munch on while you decide?
” He gives me a wink that’s about as subtle as a puppy pretending it didn’t just chew a hole in the sofa. “It’s on the house.”
“Thank you,” Oliver says as Parker disappears once more.
I return my focus to Oliver. “Okay, now you need to tell me something embarrassing about yourself so I can feel less like a loser, please.”
“Only cool people can sing ‘Purple Rain’ with the guitar solo.” He takes a sip of his wine. “That’s a fact.”
“You wouldn’t think that if you’d been forced to witness it.”
He grins and shakes his head. “Okay. Something embarrassing.”
“Humiliating, even.”
He taps his fingers along the table for a moment before raising his pointer. “I wanted to be in New Kids on the Block when I grew up.”
I take a pull from my wine, giddy with this new information. “Does that mean you can sing?”
“Not even a little. And definitely not in public, so I’m not sure how I thought that was gonna work.
” He leans back in his chair, his picket-fence-straight teeth gleaming.
“But that didn’t stop me from learning every one of their dances.
Honestly, I still remember them, which is kind of impressive, considering I don’t know where I put my car keys half the time. ”
“Stop.” I cover my mouth with my hands. “No, you don’t.”
“Oh, I do. And I may or may not still sing ‘Hangin’ Tough’ in the shower.”
My giggles become a full-on cackle. “Oh my God.”
He blushes, his smile still intact. “Now you think I’m crazy.”
I shake my head and take another drink. “I used to pretend to be Dolly Parton.”
He leans forward, folding his hands on the table. “Okay, I’m going to need to hear more about that.”
“I used to dress up like her when I was a kid. I’d sneak into my mom’s makeup drawer and smear lipstick on my face, put on her heels, and stuff my shirt with a throw pillow. I used a turkey baster as a microphone.”
“Not a hairbrush?”
I shrug. “Five-year-old me thought a turkey baster more closely resembled a microphone.”
“I bet you were a cute kid.”
I press my palm to my forehead, warm with embarrassment. Though this time, I didn’t have Parker to blame for spilling the beans.
My laugh fades into a contented sigh. “I was a mess and a half. That’s what my dad used to say whenever I dressed up, pretending to be Dolly, or I invented some silly game he’d play along with. He’d laugh and say, ‘Lindsey Loo, you’re a mess and a half.’ I guess I still am.”
Since he died, every moment of joy has been stained by loss, like red wine spilled on a white tablecloth…no matter how much time passes or how much I try to wash it out, it lingers.
“A beautiful mess.”
I drop my gaze to the menu, my heart eyes blurring the words into happy swirls before I look at him again.
“Listen, Lindsey…” Oliver clears his throat and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Maybe this is forward of me to say, but I’ve learned that when you feel something, you’ve got to say it. Life’s too short not to. I really like you.”