Love Me If You Must

19

The clock on the mustard-gold stove read four minutes after six. As I stared at it, the last digit rotated to a five, clicking noisily in the quiet kitchen.

Five minutes wasn’t exactly late.

I wandered over to the bathroom to give myself another final inspection, my third in the past fifteen minutes. I had brightened my face with a rosy blush on cheeks, eyes, and forehead. I’d boiled my dried-up old mascara and gotten just enough goo off the applicator to have some lashes. And I’d scraped out the last bit of color from two exhausted lipsticks and mixed the shades together to come up with a fresh, deep orange that looked flattering with my new blue sweater. I’d have to be careful, however, that my Flamingo Pink nails and Mostly Mango lips never crossed paths. If I had known David was going to be late, I’d have had time to shop for a matching shade of lipstick.

I tousled my bangs to give them a little more oomph and thought back to my conversation with David earlier today. I was sure he’d said six o’clock instead of seven. At least I was ready. My fuzzy top and silky slacks fit like gloves over an hourglass figure I’d apparently been blessed with at birth. I sure hadn’t done anything to earn it, other than tending toward laziness on the food-preparation side. Of course, renovating homes wasn’t exactly a desk job.

I walked back into the kitchen and watched the stove clock flip to 6:15. All the reasons I’d once sworn off relationships were coming back to me. Disappointments, heartaches, and plain boorish behavior seemed too overwhelming to deal with at times. Things stayed nice and simple with just myself to worry about.

I tapped my foot, miffed at myself for falling victim to shattered expectations once again. Outside, the porch creaked. David appeared in the drafty single-pane window of the back door. In his hands was an enormous bouquet of red roses.

I gave a sigh. I was hungry. Eating with David was better than eating alone, even though he’d just broken my first qualifying rule.

“Hi,” I said, letting him and the mass of foliage in. “Wow. Flowers.” I inhaled a noseful of their syrupy sweet odor.

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad and I stopped to pick these up.” He passed me the monstrosity.

“Gosh. Thanks.” I smiled at him, wracking my brain for vase ideas. I peeked over the bouquet at David. He wore black dress slacks and a pale pink oxford shirt under his woolen trench coat. How could a guy that dressed so impeccably have such atrocious taste in floral arrangements? I felt like a centenarian who’d just received one flower for every year of life.

I found an empty paint can in the trash bin under the sink and filled it with water. I stuffed the roses in. They flopped in all directions.

I glanced at David. He had a pitiful puppy-dog look in his eyes. I knew I’d better seem more grateful if I ever expected another overt display of affection.

“These are so amazing. If you’re not in a hurry, I’ll just give them a quick trim.” Of course he wasn’t in a hurry. He was fifteen minutes late.

I snipped the stems with scissors, careful not to get pricked by a thorn. When they were a more manageable length, I placed each flower in the paint can, counting as I did. Twenty-five. I wondered at the significance of that quantity. Maybe it was the number of minutes we’d spent together. Or the number of words we’d exchanged.

I wrapped a forest green towel around the can to hide the paint-streaked label. I stepped back and smiled. The arrangement had morphed into an elegant cluster of red and green, brightening my kitchen.

I determined to give David the same fresh start. Maybe his habits resembled a disheveled bouquet of roses now. But a little tweaking and trimming, and he’d be in just the right shape to make an excellent lifetime companion.

I was certain of it.

“There. Are you ready? I’m starving.” I turned and beamed at him, hoping he’d catch my new appreciation.

“Ready. You look lovely, by the way.” He helped me into my jean jacket, which though not very warm, was more presentable than my ragtag ski parka. The poor thing had seen a few too many winters since college.

We stepped into the darkness. The clocks had changed from daylight savings back to regular time a week ago, but I still wasn’t used to the sight of stars before supper. Through the bare branches of the catalpa, I could see clouds moving to blot out the display.

“A bit brisk, don’t you agree?” David asked. I measured in only a few inches shy of his six foot plus, and I should have had no trouble keeping up with his long-legged stride as we hastened across Main Street. But the pull in my bad nerve seemed worse in the cold, damp air, and I lagged a step behind.

“Brrr. I’m thinking about Fiji for my next project.” I pulled my collar up around my chin. Hot sand and bright sunshine would be just the thing right now. We turned and headed down Independence Alley. Our footsteps echoed against the brick and glass of shops that had closed over an hour earlier. Now, what should have been a charming stretch of cobblestone and old-fashioned lampposts felt more like a scene from a Dracula movie.

I moved closer to David.

My arm bumped his as we approached the cheerful facade of the Rawlings Hotel. The place shone like a friendly oasis in a dark desert. Strands of clear lights and green garland spiraled around tall white pillars and spilled from window boxes. Every pane of glass glowed a warm yellow. I could almost hear, floating on the night air, the strains of an old-fashioned piano. I half expected to walk into the circa 1900 building and see ladies and gents in period-appropriate finery singing Christmas carols.

We entered the lobby, which likewise had been transformed into a winter wonderland. A Christmas tree filled one corner. Its branches sparkled with silver and gold ornaments and yards of shiny ribbon.

I stared in unease. Had I known the downtown merchants decorated for Christmas in early November, I would have insisted David take me to some franchise that waited until the last minute to deck the halls. My appetite dwindled in the face of Christmas cheer I’d managed to avoid the past ten years.

I fingered a tiny crystal angel on the tree. Her wings were delicate but strong as she blew her trumpet to the glory of the newborn King.

Pressure built in my temples.

“Mom,” I whispered as a tear let go and dripped onto the ornament.

“The table’s ready,” David said, touching my arm.

I gave a good sniffle and wiped my cheek before turning around.

“Great,” I smiled up at him. “I’m dying to find out if the beef Wellington is as yummy as everyone says.”

“You won’t be disappointed.” He led me to a table set for two. A happy little flame danced on the center candle, and I hoped its good attitude would rub off on me. I’d been looking forward to my date with David all week. I couldn’t believe I would let bad traffic and a few premature Christmas decorations mar our time together.

I sat in the soft-bottom café chair and laid my ivory cloth napkin in my lap. No need to look at the menu. Beef Wellington was mandatory after Brad, then David, had recommended it.

David settled in across from me, looking devastatingly handsome in the candlelight. I wondered briefly what Officer Brad was doing this evening. I hoped he’d found something to occupy his time after I’d squashed his big date plans with me. Not really a date, I reminded myself. It was just a “welcome to the neighborhood” kind of thing. Brad had made that very plain.

David had made it just as clear that he was taking me on a real date, from the moment he’d announced his impending divorce to the gargantuan bouquet of roses upon arrival tonight. The down-to-earth Brad probably would have brought me two dozen tomatoes.

David set his menu to one side. I took that as a cue that I could start some conversation. We had a lot of ground to cover before we could get on with our relationship.

“So where do you work, exactly?” I asked. First things first.

He hesitated. “Onyx Technologies, in Southfield.”

I knew of Onyx. A tall, black-glassed building at the intersection of Telegraph Road and Eight Mile housed the billion-dollar computer software firm.

“That’s a bit of a drive, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Around fifty minutes one way if I hit the traffic lights right.”

“You must have flexible hours.” I remembered grocery shopping with him on a weekday.

“Yes. Very,” he said.

“You must enjoy that,” I said, a touch of awe in my voice.

“Like I said, I’d dreamed of a career in computers. When Onyx came courting five years ago, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. They set me up with a U.S. work visa and got me out of paying over half my wage in taxes to the British government.”

“Do you miss England? Your family?”

He scrunched his chin. “Never had much of a family to miss. Mum died when I was young. Father did the best he could after that, I suppose, but five kids were too much for him. My oldest sister finished the job. I left for University and never went back. How about you?”

I sat silent for a moment, amazed at the similarity of our stories. “My mom died when I was seven. Dad was in and out of town most of the time, then pretty much disappeared from my life altogether around the time I lost Mom. Grandma took over and I did the university thing too.” I gave a shrug. “But that only lasted about a year and a half.”

David’s eyebrows lifted. “Didn’t care for your professors, huh?”

“I loved my classes. Just hit a string of bad luck. Gram got sick and I owed her big time for raising me. So I dropped out to care for her. I never got around to going back to school after she died.”

The waiter arrived with bottled water. He made a show of breaking the seal on the neck before pouring the contents into two glasses of ice. I breathed an inward sigh of relief for the diversion, hoping David would forget the topic of my grandmother altogether.

David put in our meal request. Then the waiter left, and David and I were alone again.

I leaned forward. “Did you know Casey?”

David stared at me. His brows pulled together. “Casey? You mean the girl from the coffee shop? I’ve gone in for a cup of tea on occasion, but I wouldn’t say I knew her. Not well, anyway.”

“Can you believe she’s dead? And supposedly from arsenic poisoning.” I took a sip from my glass. Cool, refreshing, and arsenic-free.

“It seems impossible. But they’re quite good with all that forensic stuff these days. If the coroner said arsenic poisoning, then arsenic it is,” David said.

“Personally, I think they ought to dig a little deeper. Do you suppose our neighbor is working on the case?”

David pushed back his chair and crossed his arms. “You mean Officer Walters? You’ve met him, I take it.”

“Sure I know Brad. He introduced himself my first night in town. Quite an introduction too, with the train blaring past.” I couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

David scowled. “If Officer Walters is on the case, you can be sure they’ll never solve it. He’s an idiot.”

My defenses shot up. Brad might be a blight on my life most of the time, and maybe he had blown off the body-in-the-basement and the stick-in-the-window incidents, but he had also shown thoughtfulness and caring in other matters. David stepped over the line by flinging insults at him.

I cleared my throat. “I think highly of Brad. I hope you can be more generous toward him.”

David slowly nodded his head. He tipped his chair back on two legs and looked intently at me, eyes glinting. “I’m still getting over the fact that Brad Walters stole my wife. I guess it doesn’t surprise me that he’s already made the moves on you.”