Limelight (Vino and Veritas)

by E. Davies

  “Tomorrow’s perfect.” Then Tag bites his lip and frowns. “My evening’s pretty busy. I have a new batch that needs racking. Do you have a lunch hour? We could meet for coffee.”

  I have no idea what that first part means, but that’s only sixteen hours to wait, which is one-third less torment. Even fewer if you ignore the hours asleep. Or trying to sleep. “Yeah, great.” I hope I sound somewhat cool. “How about noon at The Purple Cellar?”

  Is it too fancy? Especially for lunch? I just want it crystal-clear that this is a date, not a friend-date.

  “Perfect.” Tag’s got the message. He squeezes my fingers gently and lets go of my hand, leaning back. “I’m driving, so I can’t drink any more,” he says with an apologetic smile. “And I’ve got some work stuff to finish up tonight.” Before the crashing disappointment can swamp me, he digs out his phone. “Let’s swap numbers, just in case?”

  I nod eagerly and take his phone, entering my name and number. When he hands me back my phone, I notice that he’s entered Tag as his name followed by a bee emoji.

  “Hold on. If we’re going to be fancy…” I snatch back his phone before he can take it and edit my name field to add the symbol of an open book. “There.”

  “Perfect. I’ll text once I get home,” Tag says with a grin when I finally let him have his phone back. He rises to his feet, and so do I.

  Crap. I don’t know if I should hug him goodbye, or blow a kiss, or wave, or… I freeze on the spot, hands outstretched like Cristo Redentor, that huge statue over Rio de Janeiro. Smooth. Real smooth.

  Tag breaks through the fog of indecision and steps closer to wrap his arms around me in a warm but brief hug.

  If one touch of my hand was enough to scorch me, this is like embracing a forest fire. But I fling my arms around his neck for these too-brief moments as my whole body crackles and sings.

  When he pulls away, I’m suddenly way more dizzy than I was before, and the room seems to float around me.

  “Great meeting you, Caleb,” Tag tells me and runs his hand back through his hair like he’s completely unaware that he’s leaving me with the sexiest parting image of the night. “See you at noon.”

  “Tomorrow,” is my super-smooth parting greeting. Not thanks again, or can’t wait, or have a good night. But before I can make my mouth come up with better words, he’s gone, and the whole room seems a little darker.

  Suddenly I’m not interested in staying for one more moment. I need to be alone so I can squeal and dance around and enjoy the high that’s vibrating through me. I’m not going to get a wink of sleep, but suddenly, I don’t mind.

  Not one bit.

  4

  Tag

  “Not that one. Not that one. Not that one…”

  Scowling, I shove the hangers to the side one at a time like they’ve mortally offended me. I have a couple of plain black and white shirts for tastings and business meetings. But I don’t want my look to say business partner. I want to be hot yet enigmatic first date.

  My row of plaid shirts stretches on, making it more likely I roll with weirdo lumberjack who lives in the woods.

  I’ve gotten spoiled by living in Burlington, where nobody cares what you wear as long as you’re legal. They’re even relaxed about that, probably banking on short summers keeping the nudists indoors.

  I’ve never been a clothes horse. I’m good to go in a T-shirt and jeans. I used to rely on our band’s manager to approve or veto outfits for photo shoots and interviews. But goddamn, I want to make a good impression on this guy.

  Caleb is an adorable, shy little nerd and I’m already falling for him hook, line, and sinker. No point in denying it. If I weren’t, I could have just made excuses and left last night. But I let him keep me for a drink and a chat and even agreed to go have lunch today.

  But I’ve been avoiding the whole dating thing for years. Relationships of all kinds, if I’m really honest. Now I have no clue what to wear, say, or do.

  We got some of the awkward first-date questions out of the way last night, but those are important conversational fallbacks. What if we just sit in silence?

  Worse still, what if I tell him too much? I want him to get to know the real me, not Google my Wikipedia page the second I get up for the bathroom.

  No, I can’t slip up. I won’t. I haven’t so far, and I intend to keep up that track record.

  “This one,” I mutter at last, grabbing a dark blue shirt that I’d like to think brings out my eyes or some shit. I’ve gotten compliments on it, so it must work for me.

  I’ve already showered, carefully trimmed my beard close to my jawline, and styled my hair. Also, I’ve brushed my teeth three times. Not because I’m a peppermint fetishist or clean-teeth freak, but purely accidentally. I’ve spent all morning daydreaming about Caleb’s starry eyes and golden curls and I keep forgetting what I’m doing.

  Lunchtime snuck up on me awfully fast after spending twice as long to measure specific gravity as it usually takes, thanks to my mental images of a smiling Caleb.

  I’ve really gotta get my ass in gear or risk standing him up.

  “Okay. Good. Wallet-keys-phone,” I mumble and slap my pockets to make sure it’s all in there. “Get going, Tag. That’s all you need. That and a winning smile.” I flash the mirror one more grin, trying to will my usual confidence to come back, wherever it’s hiding.

  When you’ve walked away from everything despite the warnings, you stop giving a shit about what other people think. But I do give a shit what Caleb thinks. I’m not sure what to make of this new development.

  Queenie tries to persuade me to smuggle her in, but I scratch her head and promise that she’ll meet him on the next date.

  Whoa. Next date? Slow down there, cowboy.

  I’m so caught up in thought that I hardly notice the drive to The Purple Cellar. My farmhouse is only a ten-minute drive away. Lunchtime on a Monday is about as busy as it gets, which means waiting patiently for two or three other cars to find parking before it’s my turn.

  After easing the truck into a spot, I jump out and lock up, then head straight for the front door in case Caleb is here early.

  Is that him already? The curls identify him a mile off. And I thought I was early!

  “Sorry,” I greet him. “Am I late?”

  Caleb lights up like a Christmas tree. He beams at me and then flings his arm around me, kissing my cheek. “No. I’m just even earlier.”

  He lets go and tells me how his boss is great and doesn’t mind him going to lunch early, but I’m hardly listening.

  My whole body is tingling with something indescribable. But good. Unfamiliar. Caleb is a magnet, and every inch of me has just pointed to him. And I do mean every inch.

  Keep it in your pants, I warn myself, but it’s a flimsy warning at best. Holy crap. I haven’t felt a man’s touch in months, and certainly not the romantic kind. I’d forgotten how fast and hard the wave of feeling swamps the brain.

  I like him. I really want him to like me, too.

  My whole body is still buzzing from that one warm brush of lips on my cheek. It wasn’t like he French-kissed me and dipped me to the sidewalk or anything. But try telling my dick that.

  Suddenly I realize there’s silence and he’s waiting for me to say something. Shit. I scratch the back of my neck. “I’ll camp out here like it’s the Apple Store next time.”

  Caleb laughs, a soft sound that sets my heart alight. “Shall we? Since we’re both early?”

  “Hope that’s not a prediction of things to come,” my idiot mouth says before my brain catches up. Then I catch my breath, my eyes flying wide open.

  But Caleb isn’t offended or judgmental. He just laughs as he turns bright red, nearly smacking himself in the face with the door. He leaps back straight against my chest.

  “Whoa,” I laugh, my arm going around his waist as one foot goes back to brace us both. And for a brief, perfect second it’s like we’re dancing together, his back nestled perfectly against my che
st.

  Fuck. I did not need to find out that he fits perfectly against me as a little spoon.

  “S-Sorry!” Caleb’s voice squeaks at the very end of the word. He pulls away from me and strides through the door. Damn it, my whole heart starts glowing like a firefly as I watch him trying to pretend he’s not flustered.

  But that does raise a few questions, and not just in my pants.

  Once we’re seated at the table, I run my fingers along the edges of the linen menu. “So… hi.”

  “Hi,” Caleb says breathlessly, clutching the menu in front of his chest again like he’s trying to stop me perving on him. Smart move. Left to my own devices, I might stare at the ripple of his shirt over his chest for hours.

  “I’m glad we were brave yesterday,” I tell him, sliding my foot forward until my toe nudges his. “Can we try it again today?”

  I really, honest to God, do mean we. A concert in front of thousands would make me less nervous than Caleb’s eyes.

  “Yes,” Caleb whispers, a smile rounding out those dimples. “It’s a deal.” He sets down the menu and nervously touches all his cutlery. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the waiter arrives with a glass jar of water and a bread basket.

  I send him away with our thanks, then grin. “What were you about to say?”

  “I-I don’t remember.” Caleb stares at the bread basket like a starving man. “I forgot how good their garlic butter is. But it’s garlic.”

  “If we’re both eating it, who’ll notice?”

  “My whole office. I’ll be garlic burping all day. Wait. Should I say that on a first date?”

  I tip my head back and laugh, startled by his honesty. I love that he isn’t pretending to be some perfect, airbrushed model.

  “Is this a first date?” Caleb follows up and tilts his head. “Are we counting last night?”

  I bite back my grin at what that sounds like. Caleb doesn’t even notice the innuendo, and I’m not going to give him the wrong impression about what I’m after. Instead, I clear my throat. “I think it’s the second date, so you’re safe.”

  “I don’t know how dating works at all,” Caleb admits. It’s not self-deprecating, though, just a statement of fact.

  “That makes two of us.” I reach over the table for a high-five, and before I can second-guess that decision, Caleb grins and smacks his palm delicately against mine before flapping his wrist out.

  “Oof, mistake. Crow pose nearly murdered my wrist this morning. No high-fives. Strictly fist bumps. Or hand-holding. That works too.”

  I grin at him. “Noted.”

  I love the way he doesn’t try to be all stiff and manly and reserved. He’s unapologetic about who he is. He isn’t trying to act straight, or tone down his accent. He walks with a swish and talks with a lisp.

  Despite his stage fright, on some level Caleb doesn’t care what people think of him, and that’s incredibly attractive.

  After we order and the waiter leaves, I brace myself for the dreaded silence. Caleb probably doesn’t want to talk about poetry all day and be reminded of the hard road he faces if he wants his dream career.

  What do we talk about when my past and his future are off the table?

  For a moment, guilt tries to slip into my brain and nibble away at my good mood.

  No way.

  If this is going somewhere, I can’t keep it secret for our whole life together, but… there’s a time and a place, and right now is neither.

  Burlington is big enough to be virtually unknown, but small enough that my presence would become gossip. The kind people whisper about all over town—or even the country.

  Caleb isn’t the type who would deliberately alert the tabloids for a payoff. But he’s absolutely the type to get scared off by dating a guy whose face used to be in them.

  I’ve worked my ass off for years to build my new, anonymous, simple life. Worse than being scared off by my fame would be if Caleb were drawn to me because of it.

  I want him to like me for me, not who I was. Better to keep my old life under wraps and see where this date leads. I’ll show Caleb who I am now. The past can wait.

  Thankfully, the silence is over. Caleb is filling the uncertain void of the space between us with more of his adorable, super-distracting, flustered conversation.

  “So I guess I should ask what you’re looking for—or start by telling you? I’ll start. Is that okay?”

  I grin. “Perfect,” I tell him, curious about his answer. Frankly, whatever he wants… he can get.

  Not only is Caleb a hot nerd, but he’s talented, sincere, and unapologetic about who he is. He just needs a nudge to see that he deserves to be confident in his talent.

  Caleb draws a breath and lets it out. “Cool,” he murmurs with a determined nod. “So I want to find a boyfriend, not just… a hookup. But all the guys I’ve met only seemed to want to hook up, so I’ve never really dated anyone. Or been on a date. This is the first one. If it wasn’t obvious from my incredibly smooth pickup lines last night.”

  I can’t hide my surprise. I set down my water glass and sit up straight, staring at him. “This is your first date?” I repeat.

  No way. Suddenly, my favorite poem of his makes more sense, but also less. He’s a catch. So maybe he’s been locked in a tower doing the accounts for a witch on the edge of town. It’s the only explanation.

  Caleb wags his finger. “Second, remember?”

  “My bad.” I wink at him. “So, last night was your first date?”

  Caleb sighs and bites his lower lip, a cloud of worry appearing on his face. “That sounds so childish, you know? I hate telling people that.”

  I shake my head. “You look around my age. Twenty…”

  Caleb playfully folds his arms and grins at me, challenging me to finish. Oh, crap. I’ve opened a Pandora’s box now.

  I hesitate and narrow my eyes. “Tw…thr…f…” my mouth moves in exaggerated strange shapes.

  “Six,” Caleb finally breaks down and finishes for me, giggling. “Twenty-six.”

  Phew. That’s about what I’d guessed. “I’m twenty-nine.”

  Caleb nods. “Cool,” he concludes, then picks up his water glass. “And what about you?” he asks and takes a long drink.

  “Well,” I murmur, staring at the table so I’m not hypnotized by the bobbing movements of his Adam’s apple. “I’d like more than one-night stands. Compatibility in bed is important to me, don’t get me wrong. But… I’m starting to think about the rest of my life now, you know?”

  Caleb nods, his eyes lighting up. “Exactly. I’m not not interested in sex. I just… want romance, too.”

  In his soft words, I hear the same longing that I feel on lonely evenings by the fire, just stroking Queenie and staring into the distance.

  “Me, too,” I whisper. I might be out of the game, but even I can tell an invitation when I hear one. His hand is just lying there, right next to the bread basket, asking to be taken.

  So I do it. I reach over the table and rest my palm over the soft back of his hand. I try to figure out how to tell him that I want to find out what makes him tick, and listen to his fears, and make him smile.

  If that’s romance, then yeah, I want it.

  But then the waiter arrives. Damn it, universe.

  We both giggle like middle-schoolers caught holding hands in the lunch room, and I let go of him so I can move my glass out of the way and make space for the plate.

  But that thread between us, the spark that fires through the air whenever we look at each other… it’s still there, whether or not we’re touching.

  That’s a good start. A really good start.

  As we unfold our napkins, Caleb asks how my day is going and what I have to do with the mead tonight. I’m relieved for the chance to talk about something I know, but I try to keep my answers short so I don’t bore him. Not a lot of people have heard of mead, so I’m used to explaining the process.

  Caleb seems fascinated, though, and t
hen he starts to talk about his day, and the conversation grows even easier. All I have to do is listen and make sounds like I know what he’s saying.

  Our precious lunch hour flies by all too quickly. By the time we’ve finished eating, it feels like we’ve known each other for years. I love hearing the methodical way his brain works.

  “So I’ve told my coworkers I’ll design a new macro today to fix all of that, because honestly, who needs a spreadsheet to tell them how to fix their spreadsheet?” Caleb clicks his tongue.

  “Uh huh.” I smile goofily at him. “I just want you to know I understood about twenty percent of that, if we’re being generous.”

  Caleb laughs. “It’s okay. I don’t know anything about bees or booze. Well, making booze. I know how to drink it, as long as it’s sweet.”

  There’s my chance.

  “I have a tasting room in my meadery, you know. Would you like to try it?” I scratch my neck nervously. “If you’d rather stick to mojitos, I won’t be offended. I might have to go get some ingredients, though…”

  Caleb grins. “No, I’d love to see more of what you’re passionate about.”

  “I only have one condition,” I tell him with a playful smile so he doesn’t get worried. “I share my mead, you share your poems.”

  He laughs. “Okay, it’s a deal. Where do you live?”

  “Um…” I hesitate. “Out in the woods. It’s about a ten-minute drive away. I can pick you up. Full disclosure: the meadery is in my back yard. If you’re more comfortable, we could figure out a nice day for a picnic…”

  Caleb snorts. “I like my fingers and toes attached. Besides, aren’t you supposed to go home together on the third date?”

  Relief makes my heart soar, but I laugh anyway. “Those rules are bullshit. People should do what they want, when they want.”

  “And I want to see your meadery.”

  For some reason, my brain decides the best answer to that is, “And my dog wants to meet you.”

  But Caleb hardly misses a beat. “You have a dog? Dude. If you’d told me that, we could be at your place right now. Where are my doggy scratches?”