by Kim Holden
He laughs. “You haven’t seen me drive this thing, believe me, you won’t hurt it. I had her up to 150 miles an hour on the drive up from Texas.”
“That’s not what I meant; I don’t want to wreck it,” I say nervously.
He sighs deeply. “Have you ever wrecked a car, Veronica Smith?”
“No,” I say quietly.
“Exactly. You won’t today either,” he says reassuringly.
I look at the steering wheel and can feel the nervousness ebbing as I start the engine. “Buckle up then,” I command.
“Said like one compromised against her better judgment. Godspeed.”
“I’m doing this under duress. Just so you know.”
He’s stone faced. “Of course you are.”
I can’t hide the excitement any longer, but I add emphatically, “Duress.”
He nods and a faint smile bleeds through. “Duress. Now drive.”
At Dimitri’s urging, instead of driving straight home I drive toward the mountains. I weave up and down the winding highway for almost two hours. I can’t wipe the silly smile off my face. The car is amazing. I feel so free. I don’t think about anything but the speed, which far exceeds the posted limits, and the beautiful scenery—both outside and inside the car.
My smile is still spread from ear to ear as I pull his car up in front of my house. I kill the engine and sigh as I hand the keys to Dimitri, who’s beaming in the passenger seat.
He’s bright-eyed and staring.
I giggle. “What?”
“Duress seems to suite you. And I was right.”
“Right about what?”
“You looked very sexy driving this car.” The smile lights up his eyes.
I blush and look away, but he continues to stare. “Ronnie, will you do me a favor?”
I nod.
“Will you go out with me tonight? We can go to a movie, or just hang out, whatever you want. Though I do insist on buying you dinner, you haven’t eaten all day.”
I nod again.
“Under duress this time?”
I shake my head.
“That’s a relief. I’m not quite maniacal enough to bend a strong girl to my will to satisfy my every whim. Well, I’d love to stay and watch you work on your car. I could do with that sort of entertainment. You working on Jezebel would be very hot.” He sighs. “Perhaps next time, it looks like I have a date to plan. I’ll be back at 6:30 to pick you up. Will that give you enough time?” He looks as happy as I feel.
I’m still speechless, so I offer another nod. It’s embarrassing how lame I can be sometimes.
We both get out of the car and he hands me the oil, which I completely forgot about. He takes my free hand and kisses it. “Thank you for an unbelievable afternoon. I’ll be back soon.”
I can’t speak. My hand is tingling. I turn and walk slowly up the driveway. I know any moment I am going to wake up and the dream will be over. Someone pinch me already.
Reality sets back in when I walk in the door.
“Where have you been?” My mom’s voice isn’t mad, but there’s an edge to it.
“Sorry, Mom. Dimitri drove me to the store and then kind of insisted on me driving home.” I say sheepishly, waiting for the full wrath to come.
“It takes two hours to drive home? You could have called.” She hesitates. “Listen, I really like Dimitri—”
“That was obvious,” I interrupt, smiling at her.
“But … that doesn’t mean that all the rules get thrown out the window. All I’m asking for is a phone call to let us know that your plans changed.” She’s softening; I can see it in her eyes.
“I’m really sorry, mom. I know I should have called. I lost all track of time. It won’t happen again.” It doesn’t take much for my parents to coax a pathetic apology out of me. I hate apologies, but I hate disappointing them more, it makes me feel awful. Sometimes I wish they would just punish me like other parents.
“Good.” Her eyes are beginning to twinkle now. “So, he actually let you drive his car? What was it like? Where did you go?” A childish grin spreads across her face.
“It was amazing. I ended up driving up into the mountains; you wouldn’t believe how it handles.”
My mom leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re safe, honey. So, are you going to work on your car now?” My mom refuses to call her Jezebel.
“Yeah, I better get out there and get it done right away.” I can feel my cheeks warming. “I sort of have a date tonight that I need to get ready for.” I look at the floor. I’m sure my face is bright red now.
There’s a sly smile on my mom’s face. She’s staring at me and the silence is killing me. I’m embarrassed as it is and it feels like she’s holding a spotlight on me.
I try to read her face. “You like him, right Mom?”
Her expression gives her away. The smile on her face doesn’t falter as she nods. “Yes. I like Dimitri very much, Ronnie.” The words are soft and entirely genuine.
I smile too. “So do I.” I hug her and head out to the garage.
After I finish up I spend the next hour showering, scrubbing, moisturizing, and otherwise trying to beautify myself. I decide to leave me hair down and curl it. My thick, straight hair falls to the middle of my back, so working with the curling iron takes a while. I usually only do this for special occasions, and this definitely qualifies. Picking out an outfit is difficult because I have no idea where we’re going. I choose my floral skirt because it matches my emerald green blouse. The modestly low-cut neckline is trimmed with delicate beading and the color makes my hazel eyes appear greener than their normal golden brown. It’s my favorite piece of clothing and I always feel pretty when I wear it. Just as I put on my earrings I hear the doorbell ring. I freeze. My heart races. I slip on my sandals, grab my small purse, and take the stairs two at a time. I pause in the kitchen where I can hear my mom and Dimitri in the midst of comfortable conversation in the front room. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. My heart rate begins to settle. I walk slowly through the kitchen and turn the corner to the front room.
There he is.
Life is sometimes … a racing heart.
Chapter 4
Fairy tales are even better when they’re real
He’s spectacular. How does he seem to become more attractive every time I see him? This could get dangerous; he’s on the verge of becoming completely irresistible. Forget actors or models. They have nothing on Dimitri.
His clothes, just like his casual school clothes, are not anything your average teenager would wear, but they’re completely appropriate on him. His black tweed pants and pale blue vintage shirt look amazing against his tanned skin.
The smile sparkles in his eyes before it reaches his mouth and when it does it’s slight but filled with awe, and I know it’s only for me. “Hi Ronnie,” he says with a wink. “You look beautiful.” That’s another odd thing I’ve noticed about Dimitri, he says whatever is on his mind, regardless of who hears it. Speaking from the heart never embarrasses him.
He’s standing with one hand behind his back, which he extends to reveal a small bouquet of pink lilies.
I gasp as I reach for them. “Dimitri, I love them. Lilies are my favorite, especially pink ones.”
He smiles that strange, knowing smile and nods once. “I know.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says softly.
My mom reaches out to take the flowers. “Why don’t I take those and put them in some water so you two can get going?”
“That’s probably a good idea,” I say as I surrender them.
My mom takes the lilies to the kitchen and races back in with her camera in hand. “I want to take a picture before you go.”
“Mom, what are you doing? This isn’t prom. We’re just going out to dinner.”
She herds us over to stand in front of the piano and points the camera at us. “Humor me, Ronnie. We don’t take enough pictures.
” She looks from behind the camera at me. “This is an important event. Trust me.”
Chills run down my spine. My mom gets these uncanny, almost otherworldly senses. I wouldn’t say she’s psychic—nothing that corny—but she is extremely perceptive. She pays attention to subtleties that escape most people. She doesn’t miss anything. It freaked me out when I was younger, but the older I get the more I’ve learned to respect and appreciate her perspective. Her life is ruled by a few simple rules: 1. There are no coincidences; everything happens for a reason. 2. What comes around goes around. You can call it karma or the Golden Rule (do unto others as you would have them do unto you), but it all basically boils down to the same concept. This one, she’s assures me, is very important because it applies to this life, as well as the next. Whatever that may be.
Dimitri doesn’t seem to mind at all and puts his arm around my waist as my mom clicks off a few pictures.
After she’s satisfied, I walk over and kiss her. “Okay, time to go. Love you, Mom.” We rush toward the door.
“Love you, too, Ronnie. Bye Dimitri. Have fun,” she calls as we walk down the path to his car.
“Good bye, Jo. I’ll take good care of her.” Dimitri calls back over his shoulder.
“I know you will,” she says as Dimitri opens the passenger door for me.
I blow her a kiss and climb in.
I allow Dimitri to drive for ten minutes before I break the silence. “Where are we going?”
He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “To dinner.”
“I know that. But where are we going?”
“To dinner.” He’s smiling. “Be patient. Take a breath, Ronnie. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”
His words, like a mirror held up before me, make me realize how tense and nervous I am. While he, on the other hand, is completely at ease … as usual.
I look out the passenger window and watch the scenery fly by. We’re on the highway, and he’s driving very fast. The road is familiar though—I’ve driven it many times. I know where it leads.
“Are we going to Boulder?”
His answer is a grin.
“I’ve always loved Boulder. Look at that view. The Flatirons are unbelievable, especially at this time of day.”
“I hope you’re hungry, because we’re here,” he says, as we pull up in front of a small Spanish-style building on a residential street. The exterior is white stucco and the roof is covered in terra cotta tiles.
We walk hand in hand down the sidewalk. Just inside the front gate a narrow, stone path winds around an ornate fountain surrounded by a variety of flowers in full bloom. Twinkle lights wrap every tree and bush lining the path. It’s enchanting.
Dimitri opens the door and I enter, still in awe. The inside is equally as charming. It’s elegant, but not pretentious.
“Do I look okay?” I ask him quietly, suddenly feeling underdressed.
He squeezes my hand and whispers in my ear, “You’re unbelievably perfect.”
My cheeks warm and an electric current runs from my head to my toes as I look at him. He’s wearing the most inviting smile.
Then, another voice seems to come out of nowhere, “Ah, Dimitri, so good to see you.”
Dimitri holds my gaze a few seconds longer than necessary and then focuses his attention on the man standing before us. “Pedro, it’s good to see you as well. Sorry, we’re a little early.”
“No trouble at all. Your table is ready. Follow me, señor, señorita.” The man leads us to a small room in the back of the restaurant where there’s a small table set for two. The room is bathed in the glow of hundreds of candles. “Is this what you had in mind?” the man asks Dimitri.
Dimitri nods and flashes an approving smile. “It’s brilliant, well done. Gracias.”
The man nods. “De nada, anytime my friend,” he says as he pulls the chair out for me.
I take my seat, not quite comprehending where I am or what has just transpired. I’m quiet as I look around the room. It’s like a fairy tale. I look across the table to find him admiring me as I admire the surroundings.
“This place is amazing,” I finally say, breathlessly.
He nods, “It’s my favorite restaurant. I hope you like Mexican food.”
“I love it. It’s my favorite.” I’m still trying to take in every detail: the candles, the fire in the fireplace behind Dimitri, the pink lilies that are not only on our table, but that fill vases all along the length of the mantle over the fireplace. I pull my eyes away from them and look at him. “You did this for me?” I ask quietly.
He winks and takes my hand. “I can only take credit for the idea. The credit for the execution goes to Pedro. He’s something. This is even better than I envisioned. Though I can’t imagine the candles meet the local fire code requirements,” he laughs.
My eyes begin to tear up.
“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.
My voice cracks. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Then why do you look like you’re going to cry?”
“Most guys take girls to the movies, or to Applebee’s for a first date,” I say as a tear rolls down my cheek.
At this he raises an eyebrow and reaches across the table to wipe the tear away. “Well, in that case, pack up, Ronnie. We will leave this unsatisfactory, tear-inducing hell-hole for something much more upscale. There’s an IHOP just down the street.”
He smiles and I laugh.
“No, you don’t understand. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to girls like me. This is the sort of thing that happens in movies. How did I get so lucky?”
He squeezes my hand with both of his and his smile grows gentle, but there’s something in his eyes—it almost looks like pain. He pauses, then says, “I am the lucky one. You have no idea how happy I am right now sitting here with you. It’s the dream I’ve dreamt over and over again, and it’s finally come true.”
I hang on every word he’s just said and commit them to memory. No one’s ever spoken to me with such emotion and passion.
Dinner is fantastic. I order my favorite—chicken enchiladas—and they’re the best I’ve ever eaten. Pedro offers us dessert and even though I’m stuffed I can’t turn down flan. It’s homemade and it’s creamy and delicious. After Dimitri pays the bill and we fight over the mints, we talk. The conversation comes easy. It’s not rushed. It’s comfortable. Before I know it an hour and a half has passed.
“As much as I don’t want to leave, Sunny will never forgive me if we don’t get home soon,” he says, his voice strained with a touch of reluctance.
“Do we have to?” I plead, my disappointment evident. “It’s only nine-thirty. Don’t tell me you have an early curfew? Wait, I know, you turn into a pumpkin at midnight, don’t you? Dammit, I knew this was too good to be true,” I say, an exaggerated frown on my face.
He smiles. “Wonderful guess, but sadly way off the mark. Sebastian and I don’t have a curfew.”
“Then what’s the rush?” I’m whining now.
“My mom really wants to meet you.” His smile is almost child-like.
I’m taken aback. “She wants to meet me?”
“Yes, it is tradition, when you are dating someone, to meet their parents.”
I butt in, “I’m not a fan of tradition.”
He glides along as if I haven’t spoken. “I met yours this morning and you get to meet mine tonight.” He’s watching my face closely, trying to read my expression.
I shake my head. “You are so …” I’m searching for the right word, but all I can come up with is “weird.”
“Weird was not exactly what I was going for. That sentence could’ve ended so many different ways: intelligent, sexy, charismatic, even charming, but weird … really Ronnie, is that the best you can do?” His tone is playful.
“I didn’t mean it that way, and believe me you are all of those other things and more, but seventeen year old guys don’t act like you do. They don’t plan unforgettable first dates like this one. They do
n’t make a girl feel like the most special person in the universe. They don’t sweep her off your feet in less than a week. And they definitely don’t want to introduce me to their mothers.”
He nods his head. “I’ve swept you off your feet, eh? That’s good to know.” He smiles and it quickly turns devilish. “Well, maybe all of those minor details will disappear when I actually turn seventeen. It looks like we only have a few more months to enjoy this, if that’s the case.”
“You’re sixteen?” It rushes out a little louder than I might’ve liked.
He winks. “Yes, but only until November.”
“But, you’re a senior.” I’m still shocked.
“Sunny thought Sebastian and I should start school early. We were a bit … advanced for our age. What’s the big deal?”
What’s the big deal? Other than the fact that he acts more mature and confident than any adult I’ve ever met, and now I find out he’s even younger than I thought. I don’t know how to respond. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just sort of shocked. You seem so … old.”
He’s having fun with this. “I’m old? You’re the cradle robber. Thirteen months is a significant age difference, Ronnie. I’m not the cougar here. I would never fault you for it though, there’s something incredibly sexy about the idea—”
“How do you know how old I am?” I interject. “I never told you my birthday.”
“I have my ways.” He pushes his chair back and stands up. “We can finish this discussion in the car. We’d better get going.”
I stand to face him and he takes my hands. The candlelight dances off his dark eyes as he looks longingly at me. This is it, I think, the moment I’ve been waiting for. We don’t speak, but our eyes have this strange way of carrying on a conversation of their own. The things his eyes are saying are not discreet; they’re purely seductive. My heart is hammering against my rib cage. He leans down and I close my eyes. My lips part in anticipation. He brushes the hair from the side of my neck and I feel his warm breath on my skin moving up toward my ear.
“May I kiss you?” he whispers.
Goose bumps instantly cover every inch of my tingling skin. My eyes still closed, I nod slightly once. His lips press gently against my earlobe and skim down my neck to my shoulder. I shiver with pleasure. He exhales softly. I don’t hear it … I feel it.