19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEE N
GRETCHEN
L ife is so good sometimes.
Brady and I fall into a routine quickly, almost as if we’re both making up for the time we’ve lost being single for so long.
I feel like I’ve hit the dating jackpot – he’s warm, sweet, kind, smart, and absolutely delectable to look at, like the human version of an aphrodisiac.
We go to the grocery store together, we eat dinner together, and we’ve gone on more dates in the past two weeks than I’ve been on in the past two years.
He keeps a stash of Gifford’s ice cream in the freezer for our post-work chats, and he dances at Cosmo two more times – once as a firefighter and once as a pilot.
Both times, he keeps his eyes trained on me when he takes off his clothes.
July 4 th falls on a Tuesday, so there are no parties booked, which leaves us available for what Brady says is going to be a memorable evening.
He’s cryptic about our plans, so I’m really excited. Just the fact that he puts thought into stuff is incredible. Even Jenna, who is skeptical of almost every guy, tells me he’s a keeper.
Brady tells me to dress nice and that he’ll pick me up at 5:00 p.m. I opt for a white sundress with yellow trim and a pair of white wedge sandals.
The whole outfit accentuates my tan. I purchase new underwear for the evening: a white lace thong and a matching strapless bra, just in case we end up in one of our respective beds.
Which, to be clear, hasn’t happened yet.
His fault, not mine. I would rip his clothes off in a heartbeat, but he says he wants it to be special – which, obviously, just makes me want to rip his clothes off even more.
At 5 on the dot, he knocks on my door. He’s wearing a pair of pressed khakis and a white collared shirt, rolled up at the cuffs to reveal his bulging forearms. He tells me I look beautiful, asks if I’m ready, and takes my hand as we walk out to his car.
We catch up on the long drive to Provincetown.
I’m surprised that’s where he’s taking me, but I’ve come to learn that nothing about this man should surprise me.
On the way there, we chat about work stuff – he’s nervous because he hasn’t heard back yet from the employer who he had the Zoom interview with a few weeks ago.
He thought the meeting went well, but nothing’s happened since, and he even made it a point to send them a thank you e-mail.
I share that I’m starting to think about classes for the fall and that I have a meeting with my advisor next week to receive my placement for student teaching.
We talk about sub jobs, and I explain that I can only sub for half the semester because the other half I’ll be reporting to a school every day.
But I have started looking, even though it makes me nervous.
I never used to be nervous thinking about my long term goals, but now I feel like I just want to live in the twisted little bubble of Cosmo forever.
We’ve fallen into a different groove without Arrow around.
Cherry’s back at work now and it’s become a really friendly environme nt.
For the first time, pole feels like a sisterhood.
Nothing lasts forever, I remind myself. But I’m enjoying this summer immensely.
It’s also so nice to be able to talk to Brady about work stuff, because Lord knows I can’t share any of that with my parents.
It’s a wonder they haven’t figured me out yet.
I’m in the best shape of my life, I only wear leggings to their house for brunch (since the debacle with the pole bruises, I don’t need any further commentary) and I don’t talk about the Diamond Excelsior at all, when I used to complain about it constantly.
I’ve mentioned that I’m dating someone, so I think that’s making my mom really happy.
Maybe they’re chalking any changes in my appearance or my general attitude up to that.
They ask when they’ll “be able to meet this young man,” and I promise them I will bring him to brunch sometime soon.
The drive to P-Town is easy – a straight shot up Route 6, no traffic, which is also a little surprising. My guess is that because it’s a Tuesday, this July 4 th will be a bit less crazy than if it were on a weekend.
But it’s P-Town. In the summer. Which basically means it’s one gigantic party.
He takes me to a restaurant called The Pearl Necklace.
Yes, I know. Maybe not the best name for a food establishment, but surprisingly, it’s a very high-class place.
I’ve never been there because it’s so expensive.
When we walk inside, I’m surprised to find that the place is completely empty, except for a single waiter dressed in what looks like a tuxedo, minus the jacket. Brady shakes his hand.
“Gretchen, this is Gabe,” Brady say s.
“Enchanté,” Gabe says, taking my hand and planting a light kiss on the top of it.
“Gabe and I have known each other for years. High end dining has its perks.”
“Are you the manager here?” I ask.
“I do a little bit of everything,” he replies.
I raise my eyebrows. “Where is everyone?” I wonder aloud, as Gabe motions for us to follow him into the dining room. The room is empty, except for one lone table against the window, offering a stunning view of Race Point Beach.
“We’re closed on Mondays and Tuesdays,” Gabe explains. “But Brady’s hooked me up before, so I was happy to return the favor. Anyway, please sit. I’ve prepared a menu for you, curated by your date here. Your hors d’oeuvres will be out momentarily. Enjoy the view.”
Brady pulls out a chair for me, and I sit down.
My eyes take in everything – the insane view of the endless sand with the blue waves breaking in the distance beyond it, the lavender hue of the sky just above the water, the ambiance of the room itself, with its cathedral ceiling and pristine wainscoting.
Not to mention Brady himself. He’s sparkling.
It’s almost like he’s giddy with the excitement of having brought me here.
I can only imagine what the meal is going to taste like.
To exactly no one’s surprise, it’s a feast for the senses.
Hors d’oeuvres are a combination of charcuterie, apple-baked brie with a honey-balsamic reduction, and lobster crostini with rosemary butter.
It’s paired with Bollinger champagne, which goes down very smoothly.
We toast to summer. I’m so overwhelmed that if the night ends right here, it’ll still be the best date I’ve ever had by a long shot.
But it turns ou t we’ve barely scratched the surface.
Salads arrive: watermelon and feta cheese over microgreens with bacon-infused house made croutons, topped with lime vinaigrette.
Next, the main course is delivered: New York strip with roasted lemon-thyme carrots and scalloped potatoes.
Each part of the meal is more decadent and spectacular than the next, and we have time to enjoy without rushing, leaving plenty of space for conversation, laughter, and gazing at each other in the setting sun, wondering how we got so lucky.
And then, it happens. Brady asks me to be his girlfriend. I lean in and kiss him, and we toast once more. We’re so cute it even embarrasses me.
After dessert (a white chocolate mousse that is literally to die for), Brady excuses himself from the table.
I assume he’s going to the restroom, but again, I’m incorrect.
Instead, he sneaks out to his car and gets a blanket and a Bluetooth speaker, which he’s brought so that we can sit outside on the sand and watch the fireworks.
He sets us up about 20 feet back from the ever-changing bend of the shoreline where the ocean waves crash down on the beach.
There’s a bonfire quite a way down on one side, and several smaller scattered parties in the other direction.
The noise of happy people carries on the breeze with the salt from the sea.
I’m not sure if I’m buzzing off the food, the champagne, the general vibe of this perfect night or all of the above, but I feel amazing.
It’s only 8:30, so we’ve still got about 30 minutes until fireworks will begin, and on this private stretch of sand, I decide now is as good a time as any to finally finish what we started weeks ago .
Brady secures the blanket with a few rocks and oversized clam shells. He takes off his shoes and socks and sets them on the edge of the blanket as well. “Wait – don’t sit down,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Can you play some music on your phone?”
He smiles. “Of course. That’s why I brought the speaker.”
I look up and down the beach once more, just to be sure we’re really alone. My eyes finally settle on Brady. “Put on the song we were dancing to in my apartment.”
“ Dip It Low ?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds far away, as if it belongs to someone else. My gaze feels misty. I'm trapped inside a cloud. Everything inside of me is soft and warm.
“I’ll have to dance with you if I play that song,” he says. He’s flirting with me.
I like it.
“Good,” I say, my lips upturned slightly into a hint of a smile.
He smirks, then slides his hand into his pocket to take out his phone. He searches for the Christina Milian song and tosses the phone on the blanket when the music starts. Stepping towards me, he says, “You sure you want to start this here?”
Instead of answering, I kick off my sandals, place my hands on his hips and pull him into me.
He groans quietly.
Maybe I’m drunk. I don’t think I am, but this behavior is not exactly on-brand for me.
I consider the fact that I might end up losing this dress in the minutes to come, and realize that I don’t car e.
It’s P-Town, one of the sexiest places on earth.
Nobody will even bat an eye if my ass cheeks are on full display.