by Tina Martin
I clear my throat, pulling in a much-needed breath, then breathe out so heavily, I manage to put out the flames of the three votives on our table.
He has a look of amusement on his face like he wants to laugh at me, but he holds it in.
“I was saying that I’m—wait—what were we talking about?”
“You said being timid was embarrassing.”
“Yes. It is. I’ve never been a social person. I just find it more…uh…much easier to stay to myself. My friend Priscilla had to beg me to come with her to Baconville that day I saw you there. She’s the only reason I came. I had planned on staying in my pajamas all day, watching movies and overindulging in chicken wings and shrimp-fried rice for dinner.”
“That sounds boring.”
“Of course, it would to you. I can tell right away that you’re one of those assertive, outgoing types. A go-getter. Nothing about you comes across as shy.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
“Here you are, dear,” Seth says, lowering a plate in front of me – a T-bone steak, a small dish of shrimp scampi and a loaded baked potato. The food looks delicious, but now I have to be self-conscious about eating in front of a man.
Seth sets an identical food plate in front of Trevor, places a bottle of A-1 sauce on the table and says, “Enjoy.”
“Thank you, Seth.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Dig in, Elsie. That steak ain’t going to eat itself.”
I glance up and Trevor’s already cutting his up. I still can’t believe I’m here although for some inexplicable reason, I’m more comfortable than I ever been with a man. I’m having dinner with the man of my—
“Eat, Elsie.”
His voice interrupts my internal food debate and yet again, I find myself looking up at him. He has a steak knife in one hand and a fork in the other. I watch him dip a chunk of steak into a puddle of A-1 sauce and commences eating. Trevor is eating the heck out of his steak in a #noshame kind of way and I’m still debating.
I take a deep breath.
“Fine,” I mumble. I grab my fork, grip the knife and cut a piece of this tender steak. I try it and, ahh...mazing! It’s everything steak is supposed to be.
“Good?” he asks, taking a sip of wine afterward.
I nod to avoid talking with food in my mouth.
“You should try it with A-1 sauce.”
“No, thanks. It’s good by itself. Plus, I don’t like A-1 sauce.”
“Oh, so you’ve tried it before?” he probes.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then how do you know you don’t like it?”
“Because it smells funny.”
He eyes me up as he polishes off his wine. After he places the glass back on the table, he takes the bottle of A-1 and pours a generous amount right on top of my steak.
My mouth falls open. Eyes double in size. This self-assured buster just ruined my freakin’ steak!
“Now, cut a piece and eat it.”
“Nope, I’m good,” I say defiantly and begin eating the shrimp instead.
“If you can bring yourself to sit down and have dinner with me, surely you can try steak with A-1.”
“Honestly, I don’t even know how I’m doing this, but whatever. I see your point.” I slice a piece of A-1 drenched steak, brace myself then put it in my mouth. The flavors converge upon me all at once. O-M-G! It’s delicious.
“What do you think?”
“It’s good,” I garble.
“I knew you’d like it.”
I go in for another piece. I can’t believe I’ve been going without this stuff. “Tell me a little about who Elsie Evans is?’’
“There’s nothing to tell, really...”
“Where are you from?”
“Boston.”
“I don’t hear much of an accent.”
“I know,” I say holding a hand in front of my mouth. I’ve been living in Charlotte for the last ten years. Moved here when I turned eighteen to go to UNC where I met my best friend.”
“Do your parents still live in Boston?”
‘‘Yes,” I say, thinking about them now. They’re still pissed at me, I’m sure, but that’s a bag I’m not opening, especially with someone I hardly know. I drink water to quench the wave of heat I feel whenever I have a moment to realize the realness of this situation. I glance up at Trevor as I’m lowering my glass and ask, “So, do you come here a lot?”
“I do. What gave it away? The fact that the staff knows me, or that Seth knows what my usual is?” He grins.
“I told you I’m not good at small talk. Now, you’re picking on me.”
“Sorry. That was just too good to resist.” He looks at me for a moment as if trying to figure out an approach then says, “Okay. Ask me where I’m from since I just asked you the same question. That’s how small talk works, so ask me.”
“Okay. Where are you from?”
“Boone, North Carolina.”
“Oh, the mountains.”
“Yep…nestled right there in the Blue Ridge. I was born and raised there. Went to Appalachian State University.”
“Cool. How long have you lived in Charlotte?”
“See, you’re getting the hang of this back-and-forth thing.”
I smile, then look away from the gorgeous one he flashes.
“I’ve been here for ten years.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling like I’m on a tightrope, halfway across the canyon when fear sets in. I want to run the opposite direction. Retreat. I don’t want to make him think I’m normal. I’m anything but.
We finish our meals. I manage to wiggle my way out of dessert and more small talk that I’m not ready for. In fact, after he told me where he was from, our conversation pretty much fell flat. I can tell he’s not a guy who’s into shy girls. He’s more into women like Priscilla, which still has me baffled as to why he chose to ask me out and send me I’m-interested waves at Baconville. Seems he’s even grown tired of trying to carry the conversation now. Several times during the awkward silence, I glanced up at him and each time, he was staring back at me. Silently staring. And each time, I looked away.
What a shame. I finally get this close to the man I created in my mind – the man who’s tormented my dreams (in a good way), and I don’t have the people skills to talk to him. Thanks, mom and dad for keeping me sheltered my entire life…
I take a sip of water. I can’t very well blame my parents for my shyness. I’m twenty-eight years old, I’ve been through college and I’ve been in the workforce for four years, At what point do I start living if I can’t bring myself to hold a decent, hour-long conversation with a man?
Seth brings the check in a black billfold. I reach for it but before I can grab a hold of it, Trevor swoops in like a bird snatching a fish right up out of the water.
“You should never pay when you’re with a man. Remember that.”
“Right,” I say, and now I’m one-hundred percent sure I’ve officially blown this dinner date. If he thought I was interesting before, I’m certain he thinks I’m weird now.
He takes out his wallet, leaves a one-hundred dollar bill for the check, then says, “Ready?”
“Yeah,” I say. I stand up, put on my ugly hat and slide my gloves onto my hands. Then Trevor escorts me to the door, and outside.
It’s dark out now. Well, there are streetlights, but in January, it gets dark around 5:30 p.m. Right now, it fifteen minutes after seven, and I wish I would’ve gone home.
“Where’d you park?”
“Right off of Trade and Poplar Street.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“No, that’s okay. I can manage.”
“I’m sure you can, but I’ll walk with you. My father didn’t do much to shape me into the man I am, but he did do gentlemanlike things for my mother from time-to-time. Besides, I wouldn’t feel right letting you walk down these dark Charlotte streets alone. If 2017 is anything like 2016 was, then we all need to be str
apped.”
I chuckle, watching him slide his hands into his pockets. “Where’d you park?” I ask him.
“At home. I live down here in one of the towers.”
“Oh. What floor?”
“Fifteen.’’
“Do you like it?”
“It’s okay, but I’m moving at the end of the month…decided to buy a house.”
“Oh. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
I’m standing next to my car now.
“Is this you?” he asks, looking at my magnetic blue Hyundai Sonata.
“Yep. This is me.” I hit the unlock button. I want to dive right in, but I know this would be rude. So, I take another breath and say, ‘‘Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome, Elsie.”
“And thanks for walking me to my car,” I tell him, taking off my backpack, tossing it on the backseat.
“Not a problem. May I?” he asks, reaching for the door handle. He opens the door. I can’t decipher if he’s being a gentleman or if he’s trying to send me on my way a little faster. If I had to guess, I would say it’s the latter.
“Goodnight,” he says when I’m safely inside of the car.
“Goodnight,” I tell him, then he closes the door. Immediately, I crank up the car and pull off. I didn’t even give the thing time to warm up. I just gassed it out of there. Finally, I’m in my own space. I can breathe...normally. I’m free from the burden of what Trevor thinks of me. I’m certain I’ll never see him again. There will be no more surprise run-ins with McDreamy.
Chapter 6
Trevor
He was still thinking about Elsie on the elevator ride up to the fifteenth floor of his high-rise apartment. A smile came to his face when he relived how nervous she was. There was a personality inside of her, dying to come out. Only thing was, she was perfectly content with being stuck in her own little corner.
He unlocked the door to his apartment and looked at all of the boxes. He sighed and fell on the couch, his body covering the full length of it.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
A minute into his slumber, his phone’s vibration had him opening his eyes. He glanced at it and saw his mother’s name and number on the display.
“Hello, mother,” he answered.
‘‘Hey, there son. You were on my mind, so I figured I’d give you a call. How are you doing?”
‘‘I’m doing well. What about you? Dad treating you okay?”
‘‘Oh, you know your father,” she said. Yeah, he knew his father well, hence the question. ‘‘How are you, mother?’’
“I’m okay. I just finished up dinner and now I’m about to get some reading in. How are you and Rachel doing? I’m still hoping you’d consider bringing her here for a visit.”
Trevor sighed. He remembered how happy his mother was when he told her about the engagement. She’d never even met Rachel, but was glad to accept her into the family. ‘‘I’m not sure when I’ll be able to make it. Between work and moving, I’m stretched pretty thin right now.”
“I know, son, but it really would be nice to see you, especially since you couldn’t make it last month. Is there any way you can make room to see your mama?’’
He hated to hear his mother plead for him to visit. He hated to hear her beg for anything. He normally didn’t like going to visit his parents because he didn’t get along with his father all that well. Actually, not well at all, considering the way Dexter Myerson treated his mother. It had been a constant battle growing up dealing with him and his tyrannical ways.
He recalled several times trying to convince his mother to leave him. She was the most tender-hearted person he’d ever met. She was mild, sweet – the perfect mother. She was the type of mother he could talk to about anything – well anything besides his broken engagement. In his mind, he could visualize the disappointment on her face if he told her the marriage wasn’t a go and he hated to disappoint her. His father? He didn’t much care about disappointing him. Leave it up to him, and Dexter wouldn’t be anywhere near his mother. She deserved a man who wouldn’t take her kindness for weakness. One who saw the value in her. His father sure didn’t.
“I’ll see what I can do, mother,” he told her. “In fact, I’ll try to get there before the month is out.”
“Oh, Trevor, you don’t know how happy that makes me. I’ll be ready to cook a big meal for you and Rachel. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“She can’t wait to meet you,” he said, feeling awful about lying.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay, ma. Love you.”
“Love you too, son.”
He placed the phone on the coffee table, sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Uh…I’m screwed,” he uttered before standing up, heading to the kitchen and taking a beer from the refrigerator. He popped the cap off the bottle, took a long swig, then ran through his mind which weekend he could get away to see his mother. He’d just have to give her the news of his break-up in person. It would probably be better that way.
He shook his head, thinking about his mother. No matter how strong he was, no matter how successful he’d become – his mother would always be special to him. It’s because of her that he was the man that he was. He couldn’t give his father credit for anything except keeping a roof over his head and food in his mouth. But when it came to all the emotional support, the love, the compassion, the nurturing, Lana Myerson was his strength.
All throughout his college years, she supported him. When he told her about the idea of starting a business, she was his number one cheerleader. Being such, there was no reason why he should’ve let anything get in the way of seeing her. And his mother shouldn’t have to beg her only son to come visit her when Boone, North Carolina was just an hour and a half drive away. He really needed to get his priorities straight. And another thing he really needed to do was put this whole Rachel business behind him. But how could he do that when his mother still thought he and Rachel were an item? How could he do it when he didn’t understand why Rachel left him? It didn’t matter that the break-up was a year and a month ago. It still haunted him because he thought he was doing everything right. He’d even conformed and proposed to her, only to be left with unanswered questions and a broken heart in the end.
He finished his beer and tossed the bottle in the recycling receptacle. He wondered how long it would be before Elsie told Priscilla about their date. And he was anxious about how Priscilla would react to the news. He wasn’t supposed to actually take Elsie out, but he couldn’t resist. Elsie was as sweet as she could be and she reminded him a lot of someone he cared for dearly – his mother.
Chapter 7
Elsie
When I get home, I’m still nervous, reliving the events of the evening. I take a shower to calm myself (it doesn’t help) then slide into pajamas. I sit on the bed and hold my head. I just had dinner with the man of my dreams – was so anxious, nervous and ready to leave and now that I’ve had time to process it, I realize I blew it.
I blew it!
Big time!
I need to vent, so I call Priscilla. I said I would keep her out of my men problems, but I don’t have anyone else to talk to. Besides, she understands my flaky ways and I’ve never had this kind of carefree and open relationship with my mother so, Priscilla it is.
I call her, then hesitate, hang up and I’m about to call her back when she calls me.
“Hello.”
“Playing on the phone again, Elsie?”
“No. I was trying to call you, but—”
“Then why’d you hang up, buttercup?”
“Because I—something must’ve happened to the line. Is this a good time to talk? I don’t want to disturb you and Billie if you’re busy.”
“You’re fine. We’ve already had dinner and were just hanging out on the couch.”
“Hey, Elsie, Elsie,” Billie says into the phone, almost sounding like someone saying, here, kitty, kitty, while looking for their lost cat. Why he
says my name twice every time he speaks is beyond me and highly annoying.
“Billie says hi,” Priscilla says, like I didn’t hear him.
“Hi,” I force myself to say, partly because I’m not in a greeting type of mood and because Billie is annoying as crap. But then, so is Priscilla, probably why ebony and ivory get along so well.
“So, what’s up?” Priscilla asks.
“Oh, Priscilla...you wouldn’t believe the day I had.”
“What happened today?” Priscilla asks. “That boujee chick got more flowers?”
“Boujee…what does that mean?” I hear Billie ask her.
I chuckle a little as she explains to him what boujee means, then when she’s back focused on me, I say, “No, this ain’t about Ms. Boujee. She always gets flowers. I’m talking about me. Something happened to me.”
“What is it?” she asks.
I can hear that she’s alert and I know she’s paying rapt attention to me.
“Do you remember the guy from Baconville this past weekend?”
“The super cute guy. Yeah. What about him?”
“I saw him again today. He was walking near my building and he actually recognized me.”
“Seriously?” she belts out.
I’m sure her reaction is one of shock. There’s nothing about me that stands out to a guy. Nothing.
“Yes. He actually recognized me. Isn’t that crazy?”
“I told you—he was so into you, Elsie. I told you!”
“But doesn’t that seem a bit peculiar to you? I see the guy for the first time this weekend and I run into him again on my street.”
“Who cares about whether it’s odd? This is the man of your dreams we’re talking about here. So, what happened after he recognized you?”
“He introduced himself. Of course, I’m a ball of nerves, but I somehow manage to say something.”
“Then what? You ran, didn’t you?”
“Thought about it,” I’ll admit. “But I didn’t. He asked me out to dinner.”
“Wait…like a date?”