I chuckled. "Alright. I'll let you."
"That's very good of you. Hey, what about the cell phone?"
"Oh, yeah . . . ."
"Do you need to allow another, say, two minutes for that?" Now there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Undoubtedly."
"So we can talk until, what, eight minutes after nine?" Okay. It was more than just a hint.
"That'll work."
"You are so silly, Cassie," he accused.
"So are you," I countered.
"When it comes to you, yes."
And on we went, until precisely eight minutes after nine.
"You'll call me with your cell number?"
"As soon as I can."
"Thank you. Love you."
"Love you, too. 'Bye."
"'Bye."
Oh, dear. Withdrawal pains already?
"Gina!" I called after I speedily dressed and brushed my hair. I carried my shoes and socks with me as I headed toward the kitchen.
She stopped loading the dishwasher and looked at me. "Good morning, sleepyhead. I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten your appointment."
"No. Just didn't want to get up before I had to." I sat down on a chair to put on my shoes and socks.
"Aren't you going to eat some breakfast?"
"No, thank you. I'm not really hungry."
"Okay. You about ready to go?" she asked, eyeing the state of my halfway-put-on footwear.
"Yup. Say, Gina. I've been thinking you and Mark are right about my carrying a cell phone. Is there still one around?"
Now she really looked at me askance. "Yes." She turned and got it out of the miscellaneous drawer under the empty wall mount for the cordless phone. (Oops! I forgot to put it back.) "Here you go, Hon’. It's already activated." Now it was my turn to look at her. Were they that sure I would concede one day? She caught the look. "It didn't really cost much extra, and we wanted it ready just in case."
"Thank you," I said. Trying to make it sound like an afterthought, "Say, do you have the number handy? I'm sure Sam will want it."
"Yup. Wouldn't do much good if we didn't have the number so we could call you, you know."
"Oh, yeah. Right."
She wrote it on a sticky note and handed it to me. "Just hold down the 'End' button to turn it on or off, and you're good to go. I don't know how much power is left. It's been a while since I charged it. The box―with the charger and instructions and all―is in the drawer, but we have to go now or we'll be late."
"Okay. Thanks, Gina."
"You're welcome. Mark, we're leaving!" she called as we went out the side door.
"Can't wait to see the new hair!" he called back from somewhere in the house. "Have fun!"
"We will!" she responded.
When we got to the shop―thankfully the small one I had remembered Gina talking about―I realized that I hadn't used the bathroom since the night before. When Norma greeted us and apologized that it would be a few minutes, it was a good thing―for more than one reason. "Gina, is there a restroom here?"
"Sure. Go straight back. It's on the right."
"Thanks," I said as I made a beeline for the bathroom. First, I took care of my business. But only because it had become quite pressing. Then I called Will's number, already memorized. I would have to figure out how to put it in my phone later.
"Hello?"
"Hi, it's me."
He chuckled. "I can tell."
"So, did my cell phone number come through?"
"Yup. All set."
“Great.” How I wished we could just keep talking. But, "I have to go now."
"Call me when you're ready."
"How about before that?"
"Even better." He had a way of making me feel important to him with the simplest words.
We said good-bye, and I went back to face Norma and the world of hair design.
It turned out to be pretty easy overall. Gina was right when she said that Norma was good at putting the right style with the right person. And it wasn't a drastic change, as promised. First, she washed my hair―which actually felt good. Then she trimmed a few inches off the back. So, instead of being almost to my waist, it was an inch or two longer than shoulder length. Lastly, she layered it all over, careful to make sure the bangs were short enough that they wouldn’t get in my eyes (my request).
Then came the perm. Norma assured me that it was the largest rod she would be comfortable using when she didn't know how my hair would take the perm, and that it wouldn't be much more than a body wave. (Whatever that was.) I just looked at Gina―my trepidation apparent, no doubt. She smiled and said, "Sounds good. Doesn't it, Cassie?"
If she said so. I managed to get out an unconvincing, "Yes." Norma then proceeded to put the rods in my hair. It took a while. She commented that I had more hair than most people, and it was very healthy. She also assured me that I would love this perm. All I would have to do in the morning would be wash it, comb through it―with a very wide tooth comb that we could purchase from her―and go.
"By the way," offered Norma as she applied the perm solution, "this is a newer product that we really like. It's easy on the hair, and has a mild, almost spicy herbal smell. Much more pleasant than the old perms." Smell? I hadn't considered that. Oh, well. Too late now.
I tried to be patient while the perm solution "cooked," and the neutralizer neutralized. After each, my hair was rinsed more thoroughly than it had ever been rinsed before. It was a relief when she took the rods out. She went over the cut again just to make sure she had been thorough, especially with my thick hair. I declined a blow dry and style (I was more than ready to GO!), so she combed it and had me check it out in the mirror one last time.
I hadn't paid much attention before when she had asked me to comment on the cut because I knew it would look different after the perm. But I did this time. It was remarkable! I actually liked the way I looked!
"Well, what do you think?" Gina queried.
"I think I like it," I responded.
She grinned. "You probably won't be sure for a day or two." She studied my reflection in the mirror. "You know, I think you look even more like yourself with this hairstyle. Do you know what I mean, Norma?"
"Yes. This is perfect for you, Cassie. It shows off your hair without your hair taking over. It brings out your eyes, and the shape of your face. Just right!"
"Thank you, Norma," was all I said. I wasn't quite certain about entirely trusting Norma's opinion yet. I did trust Gina's, and she liked it. But it was Will's approval that I really wanted.
"Are we finished?" I asked.
"Yup," answered Gina. "Just let me pay Norma and we'll be off. Oh, Norma, what about that comb she needs?"
It only took a minute for me to pick out a couple of different combs to try, then Gina paid for my hair makeover, and we were finally on our way home.
"Gina?" I started.
"Yes?"
"I know we usually have a family movie and pizza on Saturday night, but I've been invited to the Stuart's for the day. You don't mind, do you?" This was entirely new for me, but I didn't think there would be a problem. Mark and Gina typically had to almost push me out the door to get me out of the house, and regularly reminded me that it would be good for me to socialize more.
"No, I don't mind," she said, somewhat hesitantly. It was new for her, too, and I sensed she was thinking it through. But it would be okay. "Do you know when you'll be home?"
"Not exactly. Is there a time you want me home?"
"Why don't we say eleven o'clock. If something changes, call us, okay? You'll keep your cell phone with you, right?"
"Yes. Okay. I'll be home by eleven. Thanks, Gina," I said, warmly.
"You're welcome. I'm glad you're getting out some. But don't go overboard. Especially with Will. Take it slow, okay?"
"Okay." For her sake, it was probably good that she didn't realize it was already too late for that.
Mark declared my new hair to be "grea
t," then settled back in for a few hours with the remote and some sports channels. (His habitual self-reward for completing his Saturday work around the house, which he had accomplished while we were gone.) Gina had some lesson plans and music to prepare for school. And I―well, I almost sprinted to my room, calling Will's number on the way.
"All done," I greeted him.
"Do you like it?"
"I think so."
"Good. Will I like it?"
"I hope so."
"Me, too. How long 'til you'll be ready?"
"Twenty minutes."
"Wow! You're a lot faster than Melinda."
"Let's just say I'm motivated."
"Okay, let's just say that. See you in twenty, Love."
Sigh. "Still seems like too long."
"I know. So go get ready. 'Bye."
"I love you. 'Bye."
It was the fastest shower I had ever taken, though partly because I didn't wash my hair. Couldn't, in fact, because of the perm. Norma had been very clear with her instructions. A bit more time with the mascara might have been helpful, but I was not about to keep Will waiting. Then I glanced at the clock and discovered that I was actually ahead of schedule. Yes!
While gathering my clothes, I decided against wearing a watch. I wanted to forget about watches and clocks for the rest of the day, and focus on enjoying my time with Will. I hurried to put on my new peach colored sweater (Gina said it brought out the highlights in my hair, and color in my cheeks), a pair of jeans, shoes and socks. Noticing the cordless phone on my pillow, I grabbed it to put back on my way out. Then I grabbed my cell phone and coat, and dashed out of the house, calling good-bye to Mark and Gina.
As I closed the front door, I reminded myself that I was ready early and would have to wait. But when I looked toward the street, Will's car was already parked in front of the house. He had the front door open, and was leaning against the back door with his arms crossed and a wide grin on his face.
It was hard to keep from running to him. But Mark or Gina or both could be watching, and I really didn't want them worrying about things moving too fast with Will. Although they really were moving fast. But how could I put the brakes on now? And why would I?
Will took my hand and helped me into the car and leaned toward me, almost whispering, "What have you told Mark and Gina?" So he was thinking along the same lines I was.
"Just that I'm invited to spend the day at your house." I fastened my seatbelt and waited while he closed my door, got in on his side, and started the car. "I've never really dated and they're pretty cautious about you. Could we take it kind of slow with them?"
Will didn't answer right away. He drove around the corner and down the street a couple of blocks, then pulled over to the curb. He put the car in park, turned the ignition off, and reached to unfasten my seatbelt. "So you're saying," moving toward me and sliding his right arm behind me, "it would be better for now," the fingers of his other hand made their way deep into my hair, "if they don't see us doing this?" He took his time, carefully aligning his mouth with mine until they almost touched. Then he paused, as if savoring the anticipation. I let him.
His lips finally engaged mine. His one arm pulled me closer as his other hand released my hair and traveled slowly across my shoulder, down my arm, to my waist. Then suddenly, though not roughly, both of his arms wrapped around me. My right arm found its way up over his shoulder, my hand feeling its way into his hair.
Although being in the car made it rather awkward and uncomfortable, I didn't want him to stop. But he did. Eventually. And too soon.
He helped me settle back in the seat, and reached across me to retrieve and refasten the seatbelt. Then he turned my head by the chin to offer one last caress. I released the sigh which had been building in me since he began. He waited for my eyes to open, then asked, "Did I get it right?"
Was that a double-entendre, or what? It required some effort to clear my mind enough to formulate a coherent response. "Oh, I think so."
He smiled beatifically at me for a moment, then said, "By the way―I love your hair." He put on his seatbelt and started the engine. "Where would you like to eat?"
Oh. Yeah. I hadn't the foggiest idea. "Would you please decide?"
"Alright."
With that out of the way, I realized there was something else kind of weighing on my mind. Remembering what he had told me about his lack of experience with dating, I asked, "Are you sure you haven't done that before?"
"Done what?"
He must be kidding. "What you were just . . . uh . . . doing to . . . with . . . me?"
"Ah, that." He kept his eyes on the road, but his expression gave him away. He was going to play this to the hilt. "Why do you ask?"
How did I put this? "You do it so well. As if you . . . had practiced."
He grinned. "Why, thank you."
I wasn't going to wait any longer. "Have you?" I asked again, somewhat imperiously.
"Only in my dreams."
"Oh." Was I sure whether or not I wanted to go on with this? Yes, I was. I had to know. I cleared my throat. "And, with whom, may I ask, did you do this in your dreams?"
He glanced over at me and grinned. "You may."
I waited. Nothing. "Well?"
"What?"
"Who?"
He feigned surprise. "I agreed that you could ask. I didn't agree to answer."
Why wouldn't he just tell me? He was generally so open. Why not now? It was . . . disturbing. We stopped at a light. I felt him watching me, and looked up to confirm that he was. "This is upsetting you," he observed.
"Yes." I wasn't yet understanding within myself exactly why, but it definitely was.
"Let me answer that question later. Please?"
What would make any difference between now and later? Well, it wasn't like I could force it out of him anyway. "If you say so," I responded unhappily.
We drove in silence, though I was sure he was still watching me as much as driving would allow. But I didn't look at him again. I didn't look at anything but down. Was this some kind of game he was playing? Maybe I was just a game to him. It didn't really feel like it, but I didn't know what to think. This was unfamiliar territory for me, and I didn't have my bearings yet. Wasn't quite sure how to find them, actually.
We must have arrived, because Will stopped the car and turned off the engine. "Cassie," he offered, turning toward me, "you will understand later." He reached for my face, lifting it to look in his eyes. "There's no one in my life―or heart―but you. Never has been. Don't you know me well enough to let me have a little time?" His eyes were wistful, imploring me to trust him, just this much.
I thought back to my life a few days ago, before Will. The contrast between the emptiness of before and the fullness of now was stark. How could I not trust him? He had done nothing but bring more true, complete happiness into my life than I had ever allowed myself to hope for. And every day brought more and more of the same delightful awareness of him to my life. Certainly he must have a good reason for asking, and I had none for refusing.
I took his hand from my face and held it in both of mine. "Yes, I do. And I will." He was sitting close enough that I could turn and lean my forehead against his shoulder. "I think I was being jealous," I admitted.
He planted a kiss on the top of my head. "No need. None at all. You'll see." Then he said, pointedly, "It will probably help if you eat something." And with that, we went into the little Chinese restaurant where he had brought us.
We had to wait a few minutes to get a booth instead of a table. That was okay. The food was good, but my favorite part of the meal was again sitting next to Will, as close as humanly possible. And holding hands. Whether we were waiting to be seated or served or were actually eating, it didn't matter. We were, in fact, becoming reasonably proficient at eating one-handed. With most foods, that is.
Totally unnecessary? Yes. But it was harmless. We did agree, however, that it might pose a problem one day: What if we happened upon a resta
urant that didn't have any booths?
Absurd? Of course. But being in love calls for some allowances to be made, doesn't it?
.Chapter Nine
Will took the key out of the ignition and turned to me.
"Nervous?"
"Yeah. Some," I admitted.
"Don't worry," he said, giving my hand a squeeze. "It's just Dad."
Yeah―Dad the psychiatrist, who's going to see right through me and know I'm hopeless, and nowhere near good enough for his son. "Okay."
He led me through the kitchen, dining room and living room, past the stairs and down a short hallway to a closed door. "This is Dad's study. He said he'd wait here for us."
Will knocked, then opened the door a few inches. "We're here."
"Come on in," invited Dr. Stuart as he got up from behind the desk and walked up to me. He wasn't as tall as Will, and had darker hair (like Melinda). But his son had definitely inherited his build as well as the general shape of his face. "Hello, Cassie."
"Hello, Dr. Stuart," I said as I offered him my right hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you."
He took my hand in both of his and shook it warmly. "Thank you. It's so good to see you." Not "meet" me. Again. The same as Will and Melinda and Mrs. Stuart. Oh, well. Must be a family thing. "Make yourself comfortable," he continued, gesturing toward a couple of large overstuffed chairs and a pillowy sofa.
"Thank you," I replied. Will took my coat, putting it and his on one of the chairs. Then he led me to the sofa, sitting in the corner and guiding me to sit next to him with his arm around me. I glanced at his face, then his father's. Both of them seemed to be quite at ease with Will's display of warmth toward me. I was surprised that Dr. Stuart did not appear to be even a little doubtful, shall we say, about me and his son. And I couldn't sense anything to the contrary from him, either.
"Will believes that I may be able to help you with some kind of challenge you are facing. Would you like to tell me about it?"
I hadn't expected this kind of approach at all. It didn't feel demanding or intrusive or anything. Maybe this would work. "I don't know how to start." I looked pleadingly at Will.
"Would you like me to tell Dad about what happened at the game?"
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