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“Thank you,” I say, taking a menu from her.
“Does that happen often?” Zelda asks when the hostess has scampered back to her post to text all of her friends.
“Not as much as you think it would,” I tell her honestly. “It’s just a small show on a cable channel.”
“It’s still something,” she says from behind her menu.
“So you’ve seen it?” I ask. “I wasn’t sure you had last night.”
“Merritt showed me today,” she says. “After the girls made fun of me for not knowing who you are.”
“And the other two are your daughters?”
“Of course,” she replies and seems to settle into her more comfortable topic. “They’re my whole world.”
“And the tot is your granddaughter?”
“Yes,” she smiles brightly.
“She’s adorable.”
“She really is. She’s also a bit precocious like her mother was.”
“As children should be.”
“Yes,” she says, eyeing me with more interest than she’d previously shown. “I agree.”
“So, what’s good here?”
“Everything.”
“Brilliant. I’m starving.”
All through dinner we keep conversation light. Where I grew up, my family, her family, where I’ve traveled for Courting Wild! and things I can’t miss in Alaska before I go home. Before I know it, we've been here for quite some time. I pay the check and sign a few autographs for the staff taking a few pictures with them. Zelda is quiet and happy while I do.
I excuse myself and escort Zelda out of the restaurant and to the car. I hold the door while she climbs in and I think how lucky I am to have wandered through her lavender field because tonight has been a great night.
She’s quiet but mostly calm as I drive back to her home. I wonder if she’s worried that I’ll expect more than to walk her to the door. I would never push a woman farther than she wanted to go. Not only am I too old for that shit, I’m a fucking gentleman.
Mile by mile of road we cover, I feel the tension slowly creep back into the air surrounding us. What the wine, good food, and conversation had done to put her at ease is quickly slipping away and I hate it. I hate that she’s nervous. I hate that a woman of her age and life experience has had encounters to make her so fearful, to put this tension in her bones.
She’s practically ready to leap from the vehicle and run into the night as I pull up the drive to her house. I lay my hand gently over hers and lean in but not too close. I’m careful as I keep my voice gentle when I say, “It’s okay. I will never hurt you. I’m just going to walk you to your door.”
“Why?” she asks, and the surprise is evident in her voice.
“Why am I walking you to the door or why won’t I push you when you’re clearly becoming uncomfortable?”
“Umm… both?”
“Quick two things: I am too old to push a woman for more than she’s ready for and I’m a gentleman. Second, I’m walking you to your door to make sure you’re safe.”
“Okay,” she says. “But there’s nothing out there.”
“This is Alaska. There could be bears.”
“Bradley would never hurt me.”
“You have a bear named Bradley?” I ask, stupefied.
