Genevieve
If Carrie was a cartoon her eyes would pop right out of her head.
“But we’ve already had sex. Very good sex, as I recall.”
“Yes, but that was out of character for me. I usually only have sex with someone after we’ve been dating for a while and getting serious about each other. Besides, that way we won’t have the physical side of things obscuring our judgment.”
Carrie was looking at me like I was nuts, and maybe I was.
It was all I could do not to pull her up on this kitchen table and make her come so many times she forgot her name.
But I knew that she was worried we were caught up in the forced proximity fantasy, and this was a good way to prove that we weren’t.
If we could both survive. I had a feeling my vibrator was going to get a good workout over the next few weeks.
The dating plan had been Angie’s idea, and I had to admit it was a good one.
Let Carrie get to know the real me, the way I moved through my Seattle life, and yes, she would get a glimpse of my wealth and my normal interactions with my family too, but that was the whole package.
She needed to love all of me, not just the me who hid out in her van and tempted her into having a hot affair.
“So what happens next?” Carrie asked.
“Are you free tomorrow night?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m going back to work tomorrow. Can we meet for dinner around six-thirty? It can be our official first date.”
“Okay, where should we go?”
“How do you feel about falafel?”
***
We met at one of the few restaurants I knew downtown. At my core I was a homebody, so I didn’t eat out often, but I’d been to Taboosh a few times for office birthdays. It was a nice restaurant, but pretty casual and not too spendy.
Carrie was waiting for me when I arrived at six-thirty.
I was wearing the pencil skirt and blouse I’d worn to work, and her eyes looked me over appreciatively as I walked up.
She was wearing dark washed jeans with a crisp white blouse tucked in, and a brown braided leather belt at the waist which matched her dark brown shoes.
“You look nice,” I said, pulling her into a quick hug.
“You look… taller,” she said, taking in the three inch heels I was wearing.
I grinned and held out one foot. “These are my power shoes. Shall we go in?”
Taboosh wasn’t the kind of place where you made a reservation, but we only had to wait about three minutes before they found a table for us near the back.
A stunningly beautiful Middle Eastern woman hustled over, filling our water glasses and bringing us a plate of pita bread and a dish of oil and spices to dip it in.
“Cute place,” Carrie said, looking around.
“The food here is great. How do you feel about sharing a mezza for two?” I suggested. “Then we can have a little bit of everything.”
“Sounds great,” she said, putting down her menu.
After we ordered our food I leaned back in my chair and gave Carrie a smile. “Why catering?”
I realized that for all the time we’d spent together before I left, I’d never asked why she’d chosen this career.
“When I was in college I majored in business and accounting,” she explained.
“After graduation, I worked in a couple of places, two accounting firms, a marketing company, but nothing really kept my interest. Meanwhile, my friend Amy and I started catering on the side for extra money. Turns out I really loved it. Eventually Amy was downsized out of her job, and she asked me to work with her to take the business full-time.”
“Was it hard, making that switch?” I asked.
“Yeah, there’s all this stuff you need to think about when you run your own business like taxes and health insurance.
The first couple of years were leaner than either of us would have preferred, but we gradually built up a solid business.
We get a lot of repeat customers for things like birthdays and retirement parties, those are our bread and butter.
We don’t do big, complicated jobs like weddings, that’s too much stress for us even though we know it’s leaving money on the table. ”
We paused as the server brought a giant platter of food with hummus, tabouli, baba ghanoush, falafel, chicken skewers, and olives, along with some little spinach hand pies and salad.
“Wow.” Carrie’s eyes widened as she saw the spread before us. “That’s a lot of food.”
“I always end up taking some home.”
As we ate we continued our easy conversation.
We’d talked a lot back when I was hiding out at Carrie’s house, but I realized that we’d kept things at a surface level.
Favorite TV shows and books. Dating horror stories.
Basic information about our families. Now we were digging in deeper, learning about each other in a way we hadn’t done before.
It felt nice. Normal.
“I settled things with my parents,” I told her when the conversation lulled. “I understand now why they did what they did, and I explained my own motivation for running away. I think it’s safe to say that none of us are proud of our behavior, but we were able to put it behind us.”
“I’m glad. How’s your dad doing?”
We argued over the check when it came, Carrie winning.
“I pay for our next date then,” I said firmly.
“There’s going to be a next date?” she teased.
“Of course. What’s your schedule like for the rest of the week?”
Carrie thought for a few seconds. “I have a client meeting tomorrow and catering jobs Friday and Saturday, but Wednesday and Thursday are open.”
“I’ll probably need to work late on Wednesday so how about we see each other Thursday?”
“Sounds good.”
We gave each other a platonic goodbye outside of the restaurant, Carrie walking one way to go to her car, me going the other way to walk the short distance to my condo.
The next three weeks passed quickly. Carrie and I were in daily contact, texting throughout the day, sharing memes and talking about our days.
We had dinner a few times. Went to the movies once, sitting near the back and holding hands the whole time.
I even convinced Carrie to try a yoga class with me, then dragged her to the community center instead of the fancy yoga studio she was probably expecting.
“How did you even know about the community center?” she asked as we left our first class.
“I heard one of my coworkers talking about taking a hip hop class here,” I explained. “When I saw they had yoga I figured it would be good for both of us to do some stretching.”
“I liked that more than I expected to,” Carrie admitted. “We should do this again.”
“Agreed.”
Whenever we were together Carrie and I talked, laughed, held hands, we made out a little, but that was all we did.
Our relationship was deepening, but the more time we spent together, the more I felt like a horny mess.
I was so desperate to have sex with her again that Carrie could have shown up for a date wearing a burlap sack and I’d still think it was the sexiest outfit I’d ever seen.
After three and a half weeks of our new dating reality, Carrie shared that she had a rare Friday night off. That’s when I knew it was time to move things to the next level. Or back to the first level anyway.
“How about you come to my place for dinner Friday?” I suggested as we ate dinner at Burrito Burrito one Tuesday night. I’d become as fond of the burritos here as Carrie was, enough so that I’d come by myself one Saturday afternoon when she was working.
“Your place?” she asked, as if she’d misheard me.
We’d spent a lot of time together, but I’d never invited her over before.
“I can cook for you.”
Her gaze turned suspicious. “I thought you only knew how to cook eggs?”
“I can do more than eggs now,” I said archly. “I had some lessons when I was back home.”
The truth was my repertoire was still extremely limited, but I had a few more dishes I could make now thanks to our palace’s head chef.
“Okay, well that sounds good. What time should I come over?”
“How about six o’clock?” I suggested. “I have to work until five and that gives me some time to get ready.”
By ‘get ready’ I meant to plan a seduction, but I didn’t mention that.
She’d figure it out soon enough. Not that I thought she’d mind.
I could tell she was as desperate as I was for us to start sleeping together again.
When we were together there were a lot of lingering looks, ‘accidental’ touches, and our quick, chaste kisses were turning into longer make-out sessions that were quickly becoming inappropriate for public consumption.
I hadn’t been so nervous about a date since I was a teenager. I woke up on Friday buzzing with anticipation and was unable to focus on anything all day. When I finally left work I practically jogged home.
I took a quick shower, grooming myself carefully, then blowing my hair out into soft waves.
After a few minutes of debate I decided to wear a short, casual skirt that flounced around my thighs and a tight fitting knit shirt that made the most of my meager curves.
I looked sexy but not too sexy. Beneath my outfit it was another story.
I’d stopped at a high-end lingerie store the other day and purchased a sexy black lace bra and panties set that was more peekaboo than fabric.
Satisfied with my outfit, I headed into the kitchen to start on dinner.
I propped my phone up against the coffee maker so I could follow the recipe that I’d learned back in Saint Marenne.
It was roasted chicken and potatoes Greek style, with lemon, garlic, and oregano.
Easy and tasty. I opened the chicken breast and tossed it in the pan.
Then I cut up some potatoes and broccoli, squeezed some lemon juice over the food, and poured the spice mix over everything before I put it in the oven.
I closed the door, then I took the food out again, realizing that I hadn’t preheated the oven.
Oops. I remembered our cook stressing the importance of preheating the oven.
I turned the oven up to three seventy five, but after looking at the time on my phone I saw that I was running out of time before Carrie got here, so I increased the heat to the maximum of five hundred. That way the oven would heat faster.
While I waited for the oven to get hot I made a salad and set the table, adding taper candles in silver candleholders that I’d brought from home. The oven beeped, alerting me that it had reached the correct temperature, so I slid the roasting pan onto the center rack and set the timer on my phone.
I headed out to the main living area, making sure everything was neat and clean while I tried to shake the sensation that I’d forgotten something. Then the doorbell rang and it all went right out of my mind.