by Melody Grace
Thankfully, they were approaching Provincetown now, the streets dotted with cute stores and restaurants. Cal made another turn, and then pulled over. Eliza caught sight of the sign through the window. Beachwood.
Her heart sank.
It was the fanciest restaurant for miles. Hell, it was one of the fanciest places in the state. Even now, a valet was rushing to open her door for her. “Welcome to Beachwood.”
“Thanks.” Eliza gulped. She really should have taken Paige’s advice. Oh, why did she have to be stubborn about her outfit, and think she was proving some kind of point? “Cal?” she leaned in, as they approached the main door. “I, um, don’t think I’m dressed for this. I thought we’d be going somewhere more casual.”
Cal seemed to take in her outfit for the first time. He paused. “You look beautiful.”
Eliza rolled her eyes. “Liar.”
He grinned. “It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. They won’t turn us away.”
It must have been nice to have that kind of confidence, but as they stepped inside, Eliza could see Cal was right. The hostess greeted him by name and asked after his uncle; the maître d’ whisked them to the best table in the house, and every few steps, it seemed like another diner was bobbing up to shake his hand and catch up on old times.
Eliza had never felt so out of place in her life. She snuck a glance around the room and despaired. The women were all in stylish outfits, designer dresses and tasteful jewelry. Meanwhile, she was wearing fraying denim and sneakers. Sneakers! She could just feel their eyes on her, sizing her up, and even though she didn’t want their approval, somehow, their sidelong glances hurt all the same. By the time they settled at their table—candlelit, naturally, with a vase of delicate roses—she felt about two feet tall.
“Can I show you a wine list?” the sommelier asked politely, and she practically grabbed it out of his hands.
“Yes. Please.”
She was definitely going to need a drink.
9
This was a terrible idea.
Cal sat across the table from Eliza, avoiding her gaze, and wondered where it had all gone so wrong. He’d thought it would be simple: the flowers, the lavish restaurant, the best wine on the menu with the candlelight glowing.
The recipe for a romantic night. Everything a perfect date should be.
But now they were sitting there like two perfect strangers, and for the life of him, he couldn’t think of something to say. His jokes all fell flat. His charming lines landed with a thud. And now Eliza was scanning the menu with a grim look on her face, as if she’d rather be settling in at the dentist than enjoying a Michelin-starred meal.
“Do you see anything you like?” he ventured.
Eliza’s gaze snapped up. “It all looks fine.”
“Good.”
Cal cleared his throat. What had happened? The other night, walking home from the party, the conversation had flowed so easily, but now Eliza’s guard was back up, screaming keep out! in five-foot neon letters.
“Are you ready to order?” The server appeared at his elbow. Cal let out a breath of relief.
“Yes, please. Eliza?”
“I don’t know . . .” She hesitated.
“The scallops are good here,” Cal suggested. “And the filet. Not that I’m telling you what to order,” he added, wary.
“Fine.”
There it was again. Fine. He didn’t want fine! Cal felt like yelling. He wanted to impress her, seduce her, sweep her off her feet and make her beg for more.
“The scallops, then,” he said to the waiter with a sigh. “And the steak.”
The waiter nodded and whisked their menus away.
Silence.
Eliza gulped her wine. She looked tense, and completely out of place among all the chic cocktail dresses the other women were wearing. Cal had meant what he’d said—she looked beautiful, no matter how casual her clothing—but he could tell she wasn’t happy about it. He should have mentioned where they were going ahead of time, or taken her someone more down-to-earth. What had he been thinking?
That you wanted to impress her with last-minute reservations at the best place in town.
Strike two. Or was that three? He had a feeling it wasn’t a good idea to count.
“So, how are things at the restaurant?” Cal asked.
“It’s a job.” Eliza shrugged. “Not the one I loved, but we probably shouldn’t talk about that.” She gave him a pointed look, and he remembered why, exactly, she had a vendetta against him in the first place.
Right.
“Good point.” Cal tried to smile. “OK, so what’s off limits?” he asked, hoping to lighten the mood. “No talk about the newspaper. Or car maintenance.”
“Or family,” Eliza added. “And sports.”
“You’re not a Red Sox fan?”
“Nope.”
“Then I guess that leaves us with politics and religion,” he joked.
There was a pause.
“Or not,” Cal said, relieved when their appetizers were delivered. They ate silently while he wracked his brain for a way to shift the mood. He hadn’t bombed like this in . . . well, he’d never bombed like this. Women loved him! Or, at the very least, they didn’t act like being alone with him was a cruel and unusual punishment.
“Things good with Declan at the restaurant?” he blurted.
“You already asked that.” Eliza regarded him with a frown.
Cal coughed. “Right.”
She picked at her food.
“Do you like it?” he asked. “Because we could order something else—”
“No, it’s fine.” Eliza popped a scallop in her mouth and swallowed. “Tangy.”
“Good.”
The seconds seemed to tick past, infinitely slow. Their plates were cleared and replaced with entrées, and they managed some small talk about a movie they’d both seen, but it was all start and stop and awkward pauses, none of the whip-smart conversation he’d been anticipating. Cal longed to hit some kind of reset button and start fresh, make her laugh in that brash, exuberant way she had before, instead of saying the wrong thing, over and over again.
“Cal, babe? It is you!” They were suddenly interrupted by an exclamation, and Cal looked up to find a tall blonde woman bearing down on them, tottering on impossibly high heels.
“Sukie, hi.” Cal got to his feet and politely greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
“How are you?” Sukie demanded, straightening his collar. “We missed you in Cabo, Kiki said you were stuck at work, poor baby. You know what they say, all work and no play . . .” She gave a flirtatious smile.
Cal stepped back, uncomfortable. “This is Eliza,” he said, nodding to her. “Sukie and I knew each other in school.”
“Understatement!” Sukie laughed. “The boys would sneak on the grounds every weekend. Quelle scandal. It’s been too long,” she said, turning her back to Eliza. “But I’ll see you at the gala, of course.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Cal agreed. “I am the host, after all.”
Sukie laughed. “Oh, you. Well, I better get back to Frederick. You know how jelly he gets.” She air-kissed him and wafted away.
“Friend of yours?” Eliza arched an eyebrow as Cal took his seat again.
“Her parents are friends with my uncle,” he explained. “So we cross paths a lot. Sorry.”
“About what?”
Cal paused. “You know, she can be . . . friendly.”
“I didn’t notice.” Eliza sat perfectly straight, regarding him over her wineglass with a cool, thoughtful gaze. “Or am I supposed to be jelly?”
Cal stifled another sigh. “Did you want dessert?” he asked, noticing the waiter loitering nearby.
“No, thanks.” Eliza’s expression turned rueful. “I don’t think we should prolong the agony, do you?”
“What? I’m having a great time,” Cal lied.
She laughed. “There you go with your perfect manners. I could toss my wi
ne in your face, and you’d thank me for a delightful evening.”
Cal chuckled. “That’s probably pushing it. But politeness is underestimated. It doesn’t cost anything to be nice.”
“Says the man with a million-dollar trust fund.” Eliza stopped. “Sorry, that wasn’t fair.” She shook her head. “See, the sooner we get out of here, the less chance of saying something I regret.”
Cal couldn’t argue with that. He paid the check and escorted Eliza back out to the car. “Thank you for dinner,” she said when they were settled in their seats. “I would have offered to go Dutch, but something tells me I would have been eating ramen for a month.”
“No problem,” Cal said, starting the engine. “It was my pleasure.”
Eliza made another sound, like a stifled laugh. Cal chuckled out loud. “OK, so maybe not,” he said. “But we gave it a shot, didn’t we?”
“A terrible, awkward, excruciatingly bad shot.”
“Hey!” Cal protested, but when he looked over, Eliza was giving him a look.
“Come on,” she said. “That was the most awkward date in the history of dating. We could barely think of two things to say!”
“That’s because it was all off limits,” Cal argued.
“So you wanted to talk about your takeover at the newspaper, or the things I wrote about your aunt?”
Cal paused. “Good point.”
“Face it, this was just a bad idea from the start.” Eliza sounded remarkably cheerful. “We tried, we failed. No harm, no foul.”
“I thought you didn’t like sports.”
“No, I don’t like the Red Sox,” Eliza corrected him. “Which you’d know if we’d managed to string some basic conversation together.”
“We seem to be doing OK now,” Cal said, smiling.
“That’s because the end’s in sight,” Eliza replied, relaxing back in her seat. “My favorite part of a date is always right before I leave, because I know I’ll be home soon in my sweatpants watching Netflix.”
Cal laughed. “That says a lot about the guys you’ve been dating.”
“I know.” Eliza sighed. “That’s why I said yes to dinner tonight. I figured maybe, since we have this spark . . . But, I was right all along. We don’t click.”
It felt like they were clicking just fine now, but Cal was more interested in the other thing she’d just said.
“We have a spark?” He looked over, triumphant.
Eliza flushed, then gave a careless shrug. “You know we do. You’re the one who asked me out, remember?”
“Vividly. I haven’t been rejected like that in years.”
“Aww, poor baby. I’m sure Sukie would soothe your wounded pride, if you’d only ask.”
“Jelly?” he teased, and Eliza groaned aloud.
“Never say that word again!”
“Deal,” he agreed, and they laughed. Then an uneasy expression flickered across Eliza’s face. “Are you OK?” he asked.
“Uh huh,” she said, frowning. “Just, not feeling great . . . Are we far from home?”
“A few miles,” Cal replied.
“OK.” Eliza swallowed. He slid the windows down a little.
“There’s some water there in the center armrest, if you need.”
“Thanks.” She unscrewed the cap and took a sip. “I don’t usually get carsick, but . . .”
“It’s not far,” he reassured her. “You’ll be in your sweatpants in no time.”
Eliza nodded, but he noticed she was gripping the water bottle hard enough to turn her knuckles white. A couple more miles sped past, and then her voice piped up, tremulous. “Cal? I really don’t feel good.”
He looked over. Her face had gone pale, and she looked queasy, one hand over her stomach. “My place is right up here,” he said, wrenching the wheel just in time to make the turn.
Eliza just made a whimpering noise.
He drove fast and pulled up outside the Pink Palace with a screech. Eliza must have been in a bad way, because she didn’t seem to notice the house, she just scrambled out of the car and hurried up the front path beside him. He unlocked and flipped on the lights.
“The bathroom’s just down there,” he said, pointing. “Do you need anything—”
She was already bolting for it, and closing the door with a slam. He heard a retching sound and winced.
Just when he thought the date was getting better. They really should win a prize.
He went to the kitchen and found some seltzer water, and then went to tap gently on the door. “Eliza? I’ll leave some water out here. And there should be a fresh toothbrush in the drawer, if you need.”
“Mneugh.”
Her reply was halfway between a groan and a gurgle. Poor thing.
Then Cal’s stomach rumbled.
He paused. It rumbled again, and then he felt a nauseous swell, lurching in the back of his throat.
Uh-oh. Just when he thought the night couldn’t get any worse.
He turned and ran for the master bathroom.
* * *
Eliza wanted to die. Or maybe she was already dead. She couldn’t tell. She’d been lying on the bathroom floor for hours, lifting her head only long enough to vomit into the toilet and pray for deliverance. Her skin was clammy, her mouth felt like a used gym sock, and she was so tired she could cry. But of course, she wasn’t about to sleep anytime soon, not with the constant vomiting and all.
“Go on a date,” she muttered aloud. “Give him a chance. What harm could it do?”
She rolled over and groaned. The tile floor was cool against her cheek, at least. From her vantage point, she could see it was actually a cute room, with blue walls and little fluffy clouds painted on the ceiling—which she’d been staring at all night, wishing she could float away.
There were worse places to spend the rest of her life.
She hadn’t heard a peep from Cal for hours. Thank God his perfect manners included steering clear of her humiliation. Maybe that was a chapter in the Preppy Handbook: A real gentleman never intrudes on a bout of food poisoning.
Eliza cringed. Oh, what must he think of her now? First, she ruined the date with her bad clothes and spiky comments and awkwardness, and now she was camped out at his place, holding onto the toilet for dear life.
“Eliza?” There was a knock on the door. “Are you still alive in there?”
“No.” Eliza closed her eyes. “The door’s open. You can come laugh if you want.”
“No laughing here.” The door opened, and Eliza braced herself for Cal’s look of handsome, smooth pity.
She opened her eyes.
“Oh. You too?”
“Me too.” Cal slumped to the floor by the sink.
“You look terrible.” Eliza couldn’t believe it. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his normally tanned skin had a clammy, pallid tone. He was wearing sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt that was stained with God knows what on the hem.
“You’ve been better, too.” He pushed a bottle of water over to her. “Here. Drink.”
“Can’t move.” Eliza very carefully shook her head. “But thanks.”
“For what? Giving you food poisoning?” Cal tipped his head back against the wall and groaned. “It was the scallops, I bet.”
“Don’t!” Eliza felt her stomach lurch again. She sat up, grabbing the toilet rim. A breath. “False alarm,” she sighed, and she slumped back down.
Cal gave a hollow laugh. “So much for wining and dining and sweeping you off your feet.”
“That was the plan? Well, technically, you did get me on my back.” Eliza shifted her weight and winced. After hours on the hard tile floor, her neck was killing her—but not enough to make her risk doing something drastic, like sitting upright. “Can I just move a mattress in here? I don’t think I’m ever getting up again.”
Cal paused, then slowly lurched to his feet. “Don’t move.”
“Ha,” Eliza gave a hollow snort. “There’s no risk of that.”
She
lay there, listening to his slow footsteps outside. It felt like the worst of the nausea had passed, at least for now. Now she just felt like a hollowed-out husk of a person. She didn’t even want to imagine what she looked like, but if Cal was any indication, it wasn’t pretty.
Those damn sparks had a lot to answer for.
The door swung open again. Cal dropped a couple of pillows down beside her, and threw a duvet down, too. “If you can’t make it to the bedroom, the bedroom comes to you.”
“You’re a genius,” Eliza said gratefully. She tugged one under her head and sighed. “That’s better.”
Cal sank back to the floor, his legs overlapping hers in the small space as he got comfortable. “I’ve never vomited so much in my life. There was the time we got caught in choppy waters during a buddy’s bachelor party in Monaco, but this is worse.”
“I once got the stomach flu, on a road trip to California,” Eliza offered. “I spent two days in a motel dying quietly. But that seems like a vacation right now.”
Cal chuckled, then stopped. “Oww, that hurts.”
Eliza smiled. Now that they weren’t sitting across the table in a fancy restaurant, trying to be polite, they were actually getting along. Go figure. She lay there a while, her eyes shut, trying to find the words. “Why is it so much easier like this?” she finally asked. “You and me, I mean.”
Cal sighed. “I don’t know.”
She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch, back at the restaurant. I didn’t mean to be. I just . . .” She trailed off. “Being in a place like that, it gets my hackles up. And those people . . .”
“I’m one of those people,” Cal said, without any judgment in his eyes.
“I know! That’s the problem.” Eliza stared at the ceiling. “When I was younger, my dad had a teaching gig at this fancy prep school. We could have never afforded the tuition, but between his staff discount, and scholarships, I got to go. And it was . . . awful. Nobody let me forget for a second that I didn’t belong there. And no matter how hard I worked, how much I tried to prove myself, it didn’t make a difference. I was still just this outsider. So I figured if I couldn’t join them, I’d beat them instead. They hated that,” she remembered. “I took all their prizes, and the valedictorian spot, but . . . it was a battle. Every day, I was going to war. Same thing in college, with all those trust-fund kids getting all the good internships because daddy made a call. And now . . .” She sighed. “I know, I should be grown up, but it’s like I can’t see khakis without going into defense mode.”