by Dee Lagasse
I might be getting ahead of myself, because God knows there’s still plenty of time for things to go wrong, but this very well might go down in history as the best first date, ever.
Chapter Eight
PAX
As we take our seats, I make a mental note to thank Tucker for the tip tomorrow at work. The screening hasn’t started, but Cole’s excitement already makes this whole night worth it.
When booking the tickets, I had no idea this was a live screening from the production at New York’s Majestic Theatre. I guess I just assumed it was a pre-recorded show like they air on television. Hell, I had no idea live screenings of Broadway shows were even a thing. But with only about ten minutes left before showtime, the entire theater is full.
The mixed collection of people scattered in the seats around us also surprises me. There are children, as young as five or six with their parents, couples - both young and old - and the women’s group we’re sitting next to have seemingly become fast friends with my date.
When a black-haired woman in a bright pink pantsuit asks her “who the handsome fella on her left is,” Cole seems to hesitate before she introduces me.
Leaning in, she whispers, “I have no idea who they are, but apparently they know my mom. I’m sorry if this gets back to yours.”
“Don’t be,” I whisper back before taking a sip of my wine. “I wouldn’t have asked you out in the first place if I was worried about people knowing I was with you, Cole.”
She seems to be taking in my response when the lights dim, and the curtains are drawn. The large, flat screen sitting center stage lights up almost instantly. After scanning around the settling crowd in New York, the camera pans up to a gorgeous, massive chandelier hanging in the theatre.
Gasping so quietly that if I hadn’t been sitting right next to her, I wouldn’t have heard it, Cole’s eyes grow wide with anticipation. Making sure her wine was in her other hand before reaching, I slowly slide my hand into hers, giving it a small, gentle squeeze. Hoping I’m not overstepping first date boundaries by holding her hand again, I start to second guess my decision when she responds by reciprocating the squeeze.
It’s crazy how this date is more intimate than any other I’ve been on, even having been in a relationship for almost a decade. We haven’t shared so much as a peck between us, and the closeness I already feel with Cole is unlike anything I have ever felt before. With anyone. Trying not to think about it too much or get too ahead of myself, I face forward and focus ahead as the show starts.
Like so much about this night, it surprises me when I find myself completely fascinated by the production playing on the screen in front of us. By the time the fifteen-minute intermission comes around, I am fully invested in the show. I don’t know if it’s the talent of the performers, the songs, the vivid costumes and set, or the fact that every time I steal a glance at Cole she is all-consumed by the show. I’m certain she isn’t aware of anything or anyone around her. Not even me.
When the lights come back on, I ask Cole if she wants a refill on her now empty wine glass and she starts to stand up to “buy the next round.” Rolling my eyes, I gently pull her glass from her hand and wave her off.
“Unless you want to stretch your legs, or you need to use the ladies’ room, you just sit right there, pretty girl. This is my date, remember?” I remind her before double checking. “Sauvignon Blanc, right?”
Scanning the lobby, I find the beverage stand with the shortest line and make my way over. While waiting, I pull out my phone, only with the intent to check the time, and find texts from my mom and both of my sisters.
Apparently good news travels fast.
Mom: Call me after work tomorrow. We have a lot to catch up on.
Reagan: A date? Since when don’t you tell me these things, little brother?
Kennedy: I just creeped her social media. She’s cute and has her own business? Get it.
Kennedy’s text makes me laugh out loud, gaining me a few curious looks from the people around me. Before I have a chance to respond to any of their texts, my turn to order comes up and I shove my phone back into my pocket. I’ll deal with the hen house and their clucking later.
With our wines in hand, I walk back into the theater, and as if on instinct, my eyes immediately search for and find Cole. Not just for our seats, but for her. Just her.
With her head tipped back, she’s standing with the group of women, I’d say in their late fifties or early sixties, laughing at something one of them said.
Taking her seat and the wine I am holding out to her, she flashes a smile that I immediately recognize as forced and fake. “Ms. Barbara over here, went to school with both of our moms, Paxton. Isn’t that just wonderful?”
“Well, I just wish we had longer so that you could fill me on in some of the crazy childhood stories she swears she doesn’t have.” I chuckle, following Cole’s lead by sitting down, lowering my voice before leaning into her. “Speaking of moms, I checked my phone for the time and found a text from my mom and both of my sisters. Good news travels fast amongst middle-aged women.”
“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, sighing. “I didn’t mean for this to become a big thing.”
“It really doesn’t bother me,” I reassure her, before continuing, hoping a change of subject would help her relax. “So, what would you say about finding somewhere to get dessert, or well, anything really, when the show is done? To be honest, I’m not ready for this night to end.”
“Oooooh. Yes. You had me at dessert.” She smiles, this time genuinely, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear my heart just skipped a beat.
As the lights dim, the commotion of the screen lasts for only a minute and Act Two begins. The entire company is dancing around in masquerade masks, singing about well, the masquerade, and I genuinely jump when The Phantom makes his entrance. Looking over to Cole, I see her mouthing the lyrics to the song as they sing it on the screen. As if she realizes I’m watching her, she looks over to me and mouths, “Thank you” before she, this time, makes the initiative and takes my hand into hers.
Best first date, ever.
Chapter Nine
COLE
“So, I have to admit,” Pax starts before taking a bite of lemon blueberry cheesecake. “I kind of knew what I was getting into tonight. My older sister was obsessed with the movie when it came out.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask. “It’s kind of hard to hate on Gerard Butler as The Phantom. What did you think of the Broadway production?”
“Honestly?” he says, looking me dead in the eyes while I nod after taking a sip of my cappuccino. “I liked it. A lot more than I thought, but The Phantom’s a dick.”
“What?!” Loud laughter escapes me as I reach my fork halfway across the table for the crème brûlée. “Oh man. I’m going to need you to explain this one.”
We got lucky and found a restaurant open right down the road from the theater. Since it’s well past the dinner rush, there was no wait to be seated, and the server who greeted us seemed relieved when we said that we would just sit at the bar.
After ten minutes of staring at the dessert menu, Pax and I couldn’t decide what we wanted. So, we got the three things we agreed on – lemon blueberry cheesecake, crème brûlée, and an order of bananas foster.
I don’t have to be at the office until ten tomorrow morning, so staying out late isn’t a big deal for me, but I know Pax needs to be at work early in the morning. The giant clock hanging on the wall of the restaurant lets us know it’s a little bit after ten. I can’t help but hate that every passing minute means it’s a minute closer to this date ending.
“Alright, so, Christine, right? She and Raoul obviously have a thing from the very beginning. Well, first The Phantom, wait, do they ever say his name?” he asks before taking a spoonful of blueberries and cheesecake.
“I don’t think so,” I start. “Not in the Broadway show or the movie at least. But it does in the book. It’s Erik.”
“Huh. I nev
er knew it was a book,” he says, reaching for another bite of the cheesecake.
“Yeah,” I tell him, picking up the plate and placing it closer to him before using my fork to get my own bite of cheesecake. “By Gaston Leroux. It was originally published in French as Le Fantôme de l'Opéra. There’s also a 1925 silent film adaptation, too. But that’s not what we need to be discussing right now. I really need you to tell me your theory on why The Phantom is a dick.”
“Okay,” he begins before placing his fork now full of caramel colored bananas in his mouth. “So, Erik, the Phantom douche, gets mad because Christine and Raoul clearly dig each other. The whole show is based on him being jealous and not getting the girl. He’s like an angry ex-boyfriend that is mad his girl moved on, but Christine was never even his girl. He tricks her into thinking that he’s her dead dad’s ghost and fucks with the entire opera house under the pseudo-Opera Ghost persona. Instead of a dramatic overture, homeboy really needs some therapy.”
“Well, way to take the romance right out of it,” I laugh, second-guessing taking a sip of my cappuccino. “I never thought of it that way.”
“What? No way.” He shakes his head. “The real romance is Christine and my boy, the viscount. I mean, yeah, The Phantom gets his big dramatic moments, but that song Christine and Raoul sing on the rooftop?”
“’All I Ask of You?’” I suggest, knowing damn well exactly which song he’s talking about.
“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He raises his fork as if in a moment of epiphany. “He literally sings that all he wants to do is protect her. And then, he does everything he can to keep her safe and when the psychotic Phantom kidnaps her, puts his own life on the line to save her. That’s love.”
“Well, I will definitely never view Phantom the same ever again,” I chuckle, trying to snatch the bill when the bartender drops it. My shoulders slump in defeat when I see that Pax is already holding his card out for her to take.
As he signs the check, he shakes his head. “I’m starting to lose faith in your dedication to the pinky swear.”
Against my better judgment, I find myself pulling my phone out of my clutch, taking a deep breath before asking, “Would it be super cheesy if I asked the bartender to take a picture of us? Even if you don’t want a second date, tonight was amazing.”
“Oh, I definitely want a second date,” he assures me, putting the pen down on the checkbook. “And even if it is cheesy, I’m all about it.”
Taking that as my go-ahead, I ask the bartender to take the picture. Once we’re standing, I realize I didn’t think this all the way through. Figuring out how we’re supposed to pose for this photo is super awkward. Do we prom pose? Do I turn? Does he turn?
While I’m busy stressing, Pax slowly pulls me into him by my waist. Allowing my body to turn toward him, I find myself looking up and placing my hand on his chest. The shutter sound of the camera goes off in front of us and the bartender smiles and shrugs, and says, “Say cheese!”
We both turn our attention to her, and the phone once again makes the shutter sound letting us know the photo has been taken. Handing me my phone back, she waves to us as she makes her way back around the bar.
The first photo on my camera roll is the second photo the bartender took. Pax is flashing his signature bright smile. We don’t look like we’re on our first date. Our similar, almost coordinating outfits could have been planned. It’s a good picture.
Swiping left, the next photo is the candid. And it’s absolutely my favorite of the two. Pax looks like he has tunnel vision. The adoration in his eyes as he looks down at me, the way my hand possessively sits on his chest as I lean back just enough to see him…Everything about it seems natural. Easy.
“Make sure you send me those.” He points to my phone before holding the restaurant door open for me.
As soon as the cool night air hits me, I shudder. The temperature has dropped at least fifteen degrees since we got here. Sixty degrees and forty-five degrees feel like two different seasons. That’s New England for you though. It can go from seventy and sunny to thirty and snowy in the matter of a day.
“Here, put this on,” Pax offers, pulling his jacket off.
It’s so cold that I can now see his breath with every word he says. There’s no way I can take his jacket from him.
“I don’t want you to be cold,” I argue. As much as I would love to be snuggled in his jacket right now, I don’t expect him to just hand it over.
“I’ll be fine,” he says, brushing it off. “You’re cold. I have a jacket.”
Sighing, I take the black jacket from him. It slides right over my blazer, falling to my mid-thigh. And, it smells like Pax.
“Want a ride?” he asks once the jacket is on me and we’ve started to walk down the sidewalk toward where his car is parked.
“I mean, since you drove us here, that would be nice,” I force out a fake laugh.
Did he think I was just going to Uber it home? Is that why he offered his jacket?
“I meant back to my car,” he shakes his head, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Like, a piggyback ride?”
Shaking my head at his silliness, I roll my eyes and wave him off. When he stays in place and looks at me expectantly, I realize he’s serious.
Just keep racking up those adorable points, Pax. If I’m keeping track, you’re at about 376,459,932,379,506 tonight alone.
“Sure, Pax. I’d love a ride.”
Bending his knees slightly, he pats his shoulder as if to say, “come on.” Going behind him, I wrap my arms around his neck before he slowly starts to stand up straight. Jumping up as he stands, I wrap my legs around his waist. Looping his arms around my thighs, he asks if I’m “good” and makes his way down the street as I squeal laughing.
Stopping right outside the passenger door, he lets go of the hold he has on my legs. When I am standing on the concrete below, Pax turns back toward me as if to make sure I’m okay and then back to his car. Unlocking his car, he opens the door for me, holding on to the top of the frame as I slide into the bucket-style seat.
Once I’m all the way in, he closes the door and walks around the front of the car. Taking the few seconds I have, I soak it all in. It’s been four years since I went out on a real date. To be technical, it’s been four years since my high school through college boyfriend and I realized we just grew to be different people from the kids we were before he went across the country to California for school.
Everyone told us we were crazy. And maybe we were, but no one can ever say that Jeremiah and I didn’t rock the shit out of being in a long-distance relationship. We Facetimed and texted like it was nobody’s business. I can honestly say that I don’t doubt Jeremiah was as faithful as I was. Which, by the way, was completely.
We spent every waking second of each Spring Break together, when he came back to the east coast for Christmas, we divided our time between both of our families. After graduation, he came back to New Hampshire, because that was always the plan. We were ready to do the whole, settle down and be a real everyday couple thing.
Even at only twenty-three, it only took two months of living together to realize we were not as compatible as we thought we were. The only reason we lasted for as long as we did was because we weren’t together all the time. I think most of our relationship was the hype of getting to see each other after months of not.
Jeremiah took over the lease for the apartment and I moved in with Ellis a few buildings over shortly after. There is no post-relationship grudge, no hatred between us. In fact, last June, I even went to his wedding with Travis, Ellis’s twin brother, as my plus one.
Travis.
I’m going to need to find some time to talk to him before Sunday, or before he sees Tucker or Ellis and they tell him I went on a date.
Six months after Jeremiah and I broke up, the girls convinced me to sign up for one of those online dating apps. At the time, Ellis was using it too. She had been so excited when I agreed to it. After swi
ping left about a hundred and seventy-five times, I came across Travis Lindsey’s profile and jokingly swiped right. I was in the middle of sending him a sarcastic message through the app when he texted me. I ended up at his apartment that night, and we decided that we could absolutely do the “friends with benefits” thing.
For the last four years, we’ve been sneaking around our friends and families, meeting up at his house after parties, weddings, and occasionally random Saturday nights after we’ve had a few too many drinks at Capparelli & Co. If you saw us together just hanging out with our friends, something we do a lot, you would have no idea that we have a secret sex pact.
From the very beginning of our little arrangement, we promised each other that we would always be upfront with each other. If one of us was to start dating someone, we would be honest with the other one and then, it would be done. No questions asked.
Maybe I should invite him out to coffee? Or would a text suffice? I don’t really know how one properly tells her booty call that she won’t be needing him anymore.
All I know is sitting in this car with Pax, it’s time to end the benefits portion of our friendship.
Chapter Ten
PAX
Be a gentleman, Pax.
Be a gentleman.
Be. A. Fucking. Gentleman.
Maybe if I just keep repeating it, I’ll trick myself into believing that’s what I want to do. As we walk up the steps leading up to our apartments, I know I’d like to invite her into my apartment, but I also want a second date. I really want a second date. You don’t get a second date with a girl like Cole by trying to push yourself on her...even if you really want to take her back to your bed right now.
I want to do this right. I will say goodnight and let her go into her apartment. But you better believe I’ll be texting her in the morning to see when I can take her out again. None of this Millennial- new age make-them-wait bullshit.