Chapter 3 Lila
LILA
Ichanged outfits four times before Mia finally intervened.
“Mom, you look amazing in all of them,” she said from her perch on my bed, sounding exasperated as I held up yet another option. “Just pick one.”
The black dress felt too formal. The jeans and t-shirt too casual. The floral print too loud. Nothing seemed quite right. Whatever right was. God, this was awful. My hands were shaking, for heaven’s sake.
“What about this one?” I held up a navy wrap dress I’d bought two years ago and never worn.
Mia’s face lit up. “Yes! That one. Definitely that one.”
I slipped it on, checking my reflection in the full-length mirror. The dress was flattering without being too revealing—sleeveless with a modest V-neck, the wrap style cinching at the waist before flowing to a midi length. Navy had always been my color—it brought out the blue in my eyes.
“Perfect,” Mia declared. “Wear the strappy sandals. The ones with the low heel.”
“When did you become a stylist?”
“I’ve been watching you work with clients my whole life. I picked up a few things.”
“I’m not a house,” I said, laughing.
She grinned. “Grace and I watch a lot of fashion videos.”
I moved to my vanity to deal with my hair. I’d washed it earlier, and now it fell in soft waves around my shoulders—the result of forty minutes with a round brush and the right amount of product.
“Are you nervous?” Mia asked, watching me apply mascara.
“Terrified.”
“Don’t be. He’s going to love you.”
I met her eyes in the mirror. “Honey, it’s just a first date. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“I’m not getting ahead of anything. I did the research. I read his whole profile like five times. He’s perfect for you, Mom. Trust me.”
I wanted to. God, I wanted to believe that my brilliant, intuitive daughter had somehow found exactly the right person for me in a sea of strangers on the internet.
But I’d believed in perfect once before. And it had shattered me.
“What if he’s not who he seems?” I asked quietly. “What if his profile is all lies?”
Mia came up behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Then you come home and we eat ice cream and watch terrible reality TV and make fun of him. But Mom? I don’t think he’s lying. I think he’s exactly who he says he is.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“My gut.” She squeezed my shoulders. “Just … give him a chance, okay? For me?”
I turned around and pulled her into a hug. “Okay, but maybe check the freezer to make sure we have ice cream?”
“We won’t need it, but I’ve got you covered.”
My throat tightened. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. Now go. You’re going to be late, and that’s not a good first impression.”
The drive to The Pelican took seven minutes, but it felt like seven hours. My hands were sweating on the steering wheel. My stomach was doing complicated acrobatics. Every red light felt like the universe giving me one more chance to turn around and go home.
But I didn’t turn around. Even if I had to grit my teeth, I was going in there.
I parked in the small lot behind the restaurant, checked my lipstick in the rearview mirror one more time, and forced myself to get out of the car.
You can do this. It’s just dinner. With a stranger. Who might be a serial killer. Or worse, boring.
The Pelican had been a Willet Cove institution for as long as I could remember. It sat right on the harbor, with big windows overlooking the water and a dock where boats tied up during the summer. I’d been here a hundred times with my friends. With Mia. Even, once upon a time, with Carter.
But I’d never been here for a first date. God help me. I smoothed down my dress, took a breath, and walked inside.
The restaurant was busy and loud, almost jarring. Just nerves, I told myself, scanning the room, my heart hammering.
And then I saw him.
Vance Prescott sat at a corner table in dark jeans and a crisp white button-down, his thick salt-and-pepper hair styled but not overdone.
Chiseled features. High cheekbones. A strong jaw with dimples on either side of his mouth.
Handsome, yes. But there was something else.
He reminded me of a lion, so large and majestic, with that proud posture, and hands folded on top of the table as if he had all the time in the world.
I stepped closer, my heart pounding in my ears.
He turned slightly and saw me. For a moment, our eyes locked and I swear it felt like a thousand questions and answers floated between us, all unsaid, but ready to spill out of our mouths now that fate had finally caught up to us.
He stood as I crossed the room toward him, and I had to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes. He was taller than I’d expected—probably six-two—with broad shoulders that filled out his button-down perfectly. Hazel eyes. Warm and a little nervous.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. It’s not like me. Usually anyway.”
“Not a problem at all. You’re only a few minutes late.” His voice was warm, with a slight roughness that suggested maybe he’d been nervous too. “You look beautiful.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Thank you. You look really nice too.”
We stood there for a beat. Were we supposed to shake hands? Hug? Should I offer my cheek for him to kiss? Was that European?
Then, he did something so unexpected that it made my breath catch. He lifted my right hand and brushed his lips across my knuckles. Like we were the hero and heroine in a Regency love story.
“I would wait all night if I knew you’d show up eventually,” Vance said.
“I would. Show up, that is.”
“Please sit.” Vance held out my chair, waiting.
I swallowed, jumpy, legs shaking, managing to sit.
He pushed the chair closer to the table as if I weighed nothing.
I was hyperaware of his hands on the back of my chair, the warmth of him just behind me.
Almost familiar. He tucked my chair in smoothly, like he'd done it a thousand times.
He smelled woody and clean—maybe cedar and citrus?
“So.” I set my purse on the floor beside my chair. “Hello.”
“Hello.” He smiled, and some of the tension in my chest eased. “Are you as nervous as I am?”
“Probably more.”
“Walking here, all I could think about was—why? Why had I done this to myself?” Vance said, smiling. Those dimples. Despite his obvious sophistication, they gave him a boyish appearance.
“Same.” I took in a breath, feeling suddenly very thirsty.
“How about now?” Vance asked. “Now that you’re here?”
“Much better. A little better. You?”
He laughed, low and rumbly, like a vintage car. “Much better. Not just a little.”
We stared at each other, like we were in a time travel movie. Like we knew each other, deep down, but it would take some time together to remember it all.
“You live nearby?”
“Above Dorian’s bookstore, actually. While my house is being remodeled. He’s been my best friend since we were kids. Grew up together here in Willet Cove.”
“And now you’re both back?”
“Surprised us both, but yeah.”
A server appeared with menus and water glasses, giving us a moment to settle in. I busied myself with the menu even though I already knew what I wanted. I came here every week with my best friends.
“Do you have any wine preferences?” Vance asked. “Or I can choose? Whichever you prefer.”
I laughed, relaxing a bit. “I say we leave it to the professional.”
“I’m on it.” He glanced at the wine list, his expression thoughtful. “How do you feel about French Chablis to start? There’s one here that’s really lovely—crisp, clean, perfect for a summer evening.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
He ordered it when the server returned, and I watched the easy, practiced confidence when he chatted with her briefly about several of the wines. This was his world.
When the server left, he turned his full attention back to me. “You’re even prettier than your photos. Have you been on the app long?”
“I’ll tell you about that later,” I said, flushing. My daughter put me on the app without me knowing and I freaked out and then changed my mind and now I’m here with you. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“Tell me about being a designer. How did you get into it?”
And just like that, we started talking.
I’d expected the conversation to be stilted. Awkward. Full of long pauses and desperate searches for topics. To my surprise, it was the opposite.
I told him about my work. How I’d started my interior design business when I was still married.
“I decorated all my friends’ homes first, to build up my portfolio.
Things sort of took off after that. But it was still part-time work because I was busy with Mia.
That had to change when we got divorced.
Suddenly I was a single mother with a small business. ”
“Not easy.”
“No, but many women do it every day. A mother does what she has to.” I paused, taking a sip of water. I was not accustomed to talking about myself quite so much. “Thankfully, I’ve had steady clients. Just when I get worried, I always book another job.”
“Is that stressful?”
“Yes, it is.” I wished I could tell him about the television gig, but I’d agreed not to speak about it publicly just yet. “What about you? Tell me about being a sommelier. I’m such a foodie and wine lover that I always imagined it to be a glamorous job.”
“It doesn’t suck, let me say that,” Vance said. “But after I sold my app and came back to the States, I haven’t been working. I’m basically retired. Which is weird.”
“Are you bored?”
“Not yet, no. I have a lot of interests. Hobbies.”
“Such as?” I asked, curious to know everything about this fascinating man.
“Reading. Film. Art. Running. Cooking.”
“We share all of those except running,” I said. “I’m more of a beach walker and Pilates kind of girl. One of my best friends, Gillian, teaches Pilates out of her studio here in town. She’s whipped us into shape.”
“Us?”