Needing Her

by Allie Everhart

  He smiles. “I suppose it could be considered romantic, couldn’t it? To me, it’s just basic manners.”

  So he’s just being polite. I knew this wasn’t a date. I should focus on why we’re here.

  “I’m sure your time is limited so we should get started. Tell me about Kensington Chemical.”

  “Rachel.” He waits until I look at him. “You don’t really want to hear about a chemical company, do you?”

  “Yes. I mean, I don’t have specific questions, but it’s your family’s business and I’m sure you’re very proud of it and like talking about it.”

  “I don’t like talking about it. I spend so much of my life there that I need a break from it. So unless you really want to hear about it, I’d prefer to talk about something else.”

  “I would like to hear about it. I’ve never met anyone who owns a business of that scale. But maybe you could tell me about it some other time. Not that you plan to meet with me again, but—”

  “I would be happy to meet again. That will give me time to prepare something interesting to say about the company, because at this moment, I can’t think of anything.”

  He’s doing that thing again where he’s joking, but it’s subtle. He’s been smiling since he got here but it’s a partial smile, not a full one. It’s somewhat mysterious, keeping me guessing as to whether he’s being serious or kidding around.

  The waiter brings our drinks. I see the foam on my cappuccino and realize it’s going to be all over of my face when I drink it. I didn’t even think about that.

  Pearce sips his espresso elegantly, like he’s had lessons in it. Then he sets his cup down. “I should mention that your earlier statement about my time being limited is true. But tonight I’ve taken the evening off and it would be my pleasure to spend it with you. Unless you have somewhere you need to be.”

  He wants to spend his evening with me? Drinking coffee? So I guess this is a date.

  “Perhaps I should explain,” he says when I don’t answer. “I felt rather odd meeting you here just for coffee, given that it’s nearly the dinner hour. If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to take you to dinner after we’re done here.”

  “Dinner. Yes, that would be nice.” I sound nervous. Why am I so nervous? I glance down at my dress. “Is what I’m wearing okay? Because I could go home and change.”

  His smile gets slightly wider. “What you’re wearing is perfect. You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I feel my face blushing. I wasn’t expecting the compliment. I barely have any makeup on and I didn’t do much with my hair. I wore it down and left it in its naturally wavy state instead of blow-drying it straight.

  I sip my cappuccino and feel the foam on my nose.

  Before I can get my napkin, Pearce reaches over with his and blots the foam away. “Cappuccinos can be messy.”

  “I should’ve ordered something else.” I blot my lips with my napkin. “This is embarrassing.”

  “There’s no reason to be embarrassed.” He sips his espresso, then says, “So tell me about yourself. Where are you from?”

  “A small town in Indiana.”

  “I’ve never been to Indiana. What’s it like?”

  “The area where I grew up is mostly agricultural land. My parents are farmers.” I glance down, my face heating up. I shouldn’t be embarrassed about where I’m from or the fact that my parents are farmers, but I am, because I’ve found that sometimes the people here make fun of me for it.

  “You’re blushing,” Pearce says. “Can I ask why? It’s not the cappuccino this time.”

  I look up at him. “It’s just that the people out here, at least the ones at my college, tend to judge me for growing up on a farm.”

  “Judge you how?”

  “They just assume things. They act like I’m not as smart as them or not as sophisticated.”

  “Rachel, I’m not judging you,” he says in a serious tone. “And I never would. People who do so are either misinformed or just plain ignorant. I’m sure none of them have even been on a farm, so making any kind of judgment regarding such matters simply highlights their ignorance.”

  I smile. “I’ve never heard it put that way. I might have to write that down and use it on one of my classmates.”

  “So did you like growing up on a farm?”

  “Maybe we could talk about that some other time.”

  “You don’t like talking about it?”

  “It’s not that. I’d just rather not talk about it tonight.”

  Truthfully, talking about home reminds of my overprotective mother and Adam and the pregnancy, and I don’t want to think about those things. Not while I’m here with Pearce. I just met him and it’s too soon to bring up such personal topics.

  “Tell me about you,” I say. “Are you from Connecticut?”

  “Yes. I grew up in a rather small town along the shoreline. My parents still live there. It’s about a half hour from here.”

  “And where do you live now?”

  “I have a loft in Weston.”

  I’ve driven through Weston. It’s a very wealthy area. Even an apartment would be expensive there.

  I run a spoon through my cup, then tamp down the foam a little so I can drink my cappuccino without making a mess of my face. “Tell me about your parents. Do you see them much?”

  “I see my father every day.”

  “That’s right. He’s your boss. Is that weird for you, or do you like it?”

  He clears his throat. “I’d rather not talk about my parents.”

  “Maybe some other time?” I smile.

  “Yes.” He nods. “When you tell me about growing up on a farm, I’ll tell you about my parents.”

  “It’s a deal.” I extend my hand, just jokingly, but instead of shaking it, he takes my hand in his and doesn’t let go. Instead he rests our joined hands on the table like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But it’s got my heart beating like crazy. And yet he seems perfectly calm. He’s probably been out with so many women that this is no big deal. He probably does this all the time. Holding hands with a woman he just met. He did it with complete confidence so he’s clearly done it many times before.

  Our hands remain joined on the table as we continue to talk. I tell him about my classes at Hirshfield and he talks about his years at Yale and before I know it, it’s eight and we realize we should probably head to dinner.

  We find a place a block down from the coffee shop. It’s just a casual restaurant so I wasn’t sure if he’d want to go there, but he did. I’m sure he’s used to eating at much fancier restaurants, but he didn’t act like this place was beneath him.

  After we order, he says, “Are you nervous around me, Rachel?”

  I hesitate. “Yes. A little.”

  “Is it the suit? I should’ve changed into something more casual. Suits can be intimidating. Too corporate.”

  “No, it’s not the suit. I like the suit.”

  “Then what is it that makes you nervous around me?”

  “Just the fact that you’re well-known and used to being around important people and beautiful women.”

  That was brutally honest. Why was I so honest with him? I must be feeling more comfortable around him if I was that honest.

  “And you’re not important? Or beautiful?”

  “I’m not saying that. It’s just a different kind of—”

  “Rachel.” He reaches over for my hand, which is resting on the table. “You are extremely beautiful, which is why I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you the past two hours. And as for your importance, everyone is important. While it’s true that money can buy importance, it’s fake and can be taken away as quickly as it’s given. I’ve only just met you and yet I already consider you to be one of the most important people I know.”

  “Really? Why?”

  He pauses to think, his hand rubbing his jawline. “You seem to be able to bring something out in me. A different side I honestly almost forgot was there.
The less serious side. The side that isn’t consumed with work. I haven’t even thought about work the past two hours.”

  I smile. “This is your less serious side?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “You still seem pretty serious.”

  “I’m usually far more serious. I rarely crack a smile.”

  “Then I guess I am seeing your other side because you’ve smiled a lot tonight.”

  “So what else makes you nervous around me?”

  “The fact that you’re so put together. The way you speak. Your clothes. Your impeccable manners.”

  He laughs. “The manners were instilled in me from a young age. It’s merely habit now. And I knew the suit was a bad choice. I should’ve changed.” He rubs his jawline again. “But I didn’t shave so you can take some points off for that. I was going to before I left to meet with you but I forgot. My mother would die if she’d known I’d taken a woman to dinner without shaving first.”

  “I think you look good. You didn’t need to shave.”

  “That’s nice of you to say but I should’ve shaved.”

  The waitress arrives with our salads.

  As we’re eating, I say, “You’re not really going on that tour on Friday, are you?”

  “Why wouldn’t I go?” He was about to take a bite of his salad but stops, his fork held over his plate.

  “Because it’s at this really tiny museum with not much of a collection. I only work there because it lets me practice giving tours and it’s close to campus. I’m sure you’ve been to the greatest museums in the world so it’ll be a waste of time for you to see this one.”

  “It’s not a waste of time. I’m going because you’ll be there. And I’m looking forward to this tour. How long is it?”

  I don’t answer. I’m still stuck on what he just said. I’m going because you’ll be there. I guess I assumed that was the reason he was going, but I can’t believe he just came right out and admitted it. That was bold. And very sexy. I admire his confidence. I’m far too shy to admit when I like someone. Instead I drop hints that guys never seem to get.

  “Rachel?”

  “Yes. Sorry. The tours usually last a half hour.”

  “If the museum doesn’t have much of a collection, how do you fill a half hour?”

  “I go off script and add my own hand-selected collection of historical facts I find interesting, tailoring them to the audience of course.”

  He sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “And what types of audiences do you get?”

  “All kinds. A lot of elementary school kids. They’re my favorite. I love children. They ask the funniest questions. And then there’s the high school kids, who are probably my least favorite because they don’t want to be there so they don’t pay attention. Sometimes we have people from a group home who have Down syndrome. Some of them don’t understand what I’m saying so I try to make the tour more visual for them. I use pictures, maps, drawings, and photos instead of just talking. And then the other main group is the seniors from the nursing homes. They’re always super nice and smile a lot, even when I mess up.”

  Pearce is staring at me, not saying anything.

  “Did I totally bore you just now?”

  He smiles. “Not at all. I found it fascinating. So you just took it upon yourself to devise all these different tours? Catering them to each group?”

  “Yes, because sometimes history can be boring. My goal is to make it less boring. And in order to do that, I need to consider what different people find interesting. For example, little kids like hearing about stuff that’s gross or outrageous. Or they like hearing about what it was like being a kid a hundred years ago.”

  “You should’ve gone into business. Identifying your customers. Assessing their needs. Tailoring your product to meet those needs. Some of my fellow Harvard MBA grads can’t even figure out how to do that. And yet you seem to be doing it flawlessly.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I like what I do. And really, my goal is just to get people interested in history and wanting to learn more about it. Because as cliché as it sounds, history does repeat itself. Yet we continue to make the same mistakes over and over again. We don’t learn from the past. And maybe the reason for that is because nobody wants to go back and look at those mistakes and figure out how we can avoid repeating them in the future.” I pick up my water glass. “That’s an idealist’s view, I know. On a more realistic level, my goal is just to make people more interested in history.”

  He’s still staring at me as I take a sip of my water. He’s barely touched his salad. “You’re very smart.”

  “Thank you.” I look down and adjust my napkin in my lap.

  I feel his hand on my arm. “Is something wrong?”

  My eyes meet up with his again. “No. I’m just not used to getting so many compliments. You’ve given me a lot of them tonight.”

  “They’re not really compliments. I’m simply stating the facts. You’re beautiful. Intelligent. Hard-working. You’re quite an amazing woman.”

  I smile. “Now you’re making me blush. Let’s change the subject.”

  We talk all through dinner and dessert. We’re at the restaurant until ten, but the time went so fast I wasn’t ready to leave. I finally relaxed around Pearce and found myself talking about all kinds of things, from childhood stories to current events. I never ran out of things to say and neither did he. The conversation just flowed. It was easy and natural and I didn’t want it to end.

  But at ten we leave and he walks me back to my car.

  “I had a really great time tonight,” I say as we stand by the car. “Thank you for dinner.”

  “Certainly. Thank you for agreeing to go with me. Forgive me for not giving you more notice.”

  “I’m glad you suggested it. It gave us more time to talk.” I smile. “But you still didn’t tell me about your company.”

  He nods. “Some other time.”

  “So I’ll see you on Friday? At four?”

  “Yes. I’ve already cleared my schedule.”

  “Which tour would you like?”

  “What would you recommend?”

  “The senior citizen tour is probably the one you’d find most interesting.” I laugh when I see his face. “Not that you’re old. I didn’t mean it that way. Maybe I should create a new tour. The businessman tour. Then you could tell all your friends and I’d have a whole new set of customers.”

  “I don’t want you having to do all that work. The senior tour will be fine.”

  “No. I’m going to make a new one just for you. I’m trying to get you to like history, remember?”

  “Very well, then. I look forward to it.” He pauses. “And I look forward to seeing you again.”

  I feel my heart race when he says it. We’re standing close, our bodies almost touching but not quite. He’s kept a small distance between us, probably so I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. I’ve learned tonight that Pearce is very much a gentleman. And I like that. These days, it’s rare to meet a guy with such good manners.

  We’ve been staring at each other the whole time we’ve been standing here. It’s like we can’t look away. Like we don’t want to leave. I think he’s waiting for me to, but I can’t. Not yet.

  With his eyes still on mine, he steps closer and slips his arm around my waist, his hand lightly gripping it. His other hand lifts to the side of my face. Then he leans down and presses his lips to mine. His lips are soft and warm, his touch gentle, and I relax into his arm that’s now wrapped tighter around me. He pauses a moment, his breath over my lips. I wait for him to continue, but then I feel his hold on me loosen as he slowly backs away.

  Our eyes meet and I can tell he feels it. That wasn’t just any kiss. That was different. There was an intimacy there that I don’t normally feel with a first kiss. Usually I don’t feel much of anything with a first kiss because I don’t know the person that well. And although I don’t know Pearce that well, I still felt something w
ith that kiss. Something I’ve never felt with anyone else. It’s hard to explain in words. It’s more of a feeling.

  And even though he only used his lips and not his tongue, his kiss ignited a heat inside me. A desire to do more. There is serious chemistry between us. I felt it when we met at Yale that day, and then again tonight, the moment he arrived at the coffee shop. It’s like there’s this energy emanating off us. An attraction that’s so strong that if we weren’t standing in the street right now, we might end up doing things we shouldn’t be doing on a first date.

  “Can I escort you home?” he asks.

  It takes me a moment to wake up from the aftereffects of his kiss. “Um, no. I have my car.”

  Obviously my mind is still not intact. We’re standing right next to my car.

  He smiles a little. “What I meant is, could I follow you to your place and walk you to your door?”

  “Oh. No. That’s not necessary.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, but thank you for offering.”

  He opens my car door, but before I get in, I ask, “After the museum on Friday, are you busy?”

  His lips move up into a slightly bigger smile. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered if maybe you’d like to have dinner afterward. But if you had plans, don’t worry about it.”

  He lifts my chin up and looks me in the eye. “I will clear whatever plans I had. Because I would love to have dinner with you again.”

  “Great! Then I’ll see you on Friday.” I try to sound casual, but inside my heart’s beating so fast I feel out of breath.

  His hand is still cupping my chin, lifting my face up to his. Our gazes meet and he slowly leans down and gives me another kiss. It’s a soft, gentle kiss but it sets off more sparks inside me.

  He backs away. “Goodnight, Rachel.”

  I can barely breathe, still recovering from that kiss.

  “Goodnight.” I say it quickly, then get in my car. He watches as I drive off.

  That was the best date I’ve ever been on. Pearce was kind. Generous. A good listener. A gentleman. An excellent kisser. I could go on and on.

  It’s only our first date and I’m already falling hard for this guy. What am I doing? This wasn’t supposed to be a date. I wasn’t supposed to like him this much. I was hoping we’d meet and I wouldn’t like him and I’d finally get him out of my head. But now I’ll be thinking about him even more.