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"You know what? I think you might be more of a hopeless romantic than I am," she decided.
She had no idea.
While she didn't date much personally, Dea was a sucker for rom-coms, for huge, dramatic love stories, for long-running romantic TV shows.
She liked the idea of love even as she rejected it in her own life.
"You might be right," I agreed, resting the side of my head on the top of hers, letting myself enjoy the moment, reassuring myself that, eventually, I would get this more than once in a blue moon, more than once a year during a holiday movie binge.
"So, are you ready to get all fancied up tomorrow?" she asked a couple hours later as I shrugged on my jacket.
We'd made an agreement that when we went to see the Nutcracker ballet, that we would dress for it. Sure, people went to shows in jeans and sneakers these days. But we decided to go ahead and make an event of it. I would wear a suit. She'd put on a dress and heels. There were so few reasons to get dressed up these days, that we decided to take advantage of a small one.
"I picked up my suit from the dry cleaner's today."
"I actually picked up a garter belt and stockings today," she agreed, blithely unaware of the powerful images those words put into my head. "I practically forgot stockings even existed. But it is going to be so cold, and the idea of wearing a dress with nothing under it just sounded miserable. You guys don't know how easy you have it," she added, shaking her head.
"Don't worry, I'll carry your ridiculous roll-up flats like always," I assured her, knowing she was not a woman who could strap on heels before leaving the apartment, and wear them all through the night. After having her hobbling for hours and nearly in tears over blisters on a New Year's night, she'd discovered the purse shoes. The only problem was her going-out-purse was too small for anything other than cards, money, and little essentials. So I had become her flat-shoe-carrier.
"You're a lifesaver," she told me as I moved out into the hall. "I will meet you at—"
"No," I cut her off. "I will pick you up here," I told her, having already set it up. "Trust me," I added when she went to object.
"Alright," she agreed, brows furrowing, trying to figure out what I was up to.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I told her, heading out.
"Text me when you're home," she called down the hall, making a warm sensation move across my chest.
The chances of something happening to me from her apartment to my own were slim to none, but she always demanded I text her. It was a sweet thing that never got old.
"Always," I agreed.I found myself nervous the next day as I got out of the shower, went through my general grooming routine, then getting into my suit. I even took time to add some cufflinks and a nice watch, wanting to look my best.
This was the most date-like of all of our dates, thanks to what I had planned behind her back.
I wanted it to be perfect.
"Which one?" I asked, walking out of my room toward Clarence, holding up the cologne bottles.
"Whichever one you've worn around her in the past and had her telling you that you smell good," he said, rolling his eyes like I should have thought of that already. "You need a pocket square," he added, brushing past me and into my room, rummaging through my top dresser drawer until he found one that worked, then set to folding it expertly.
"It's not too much?"
"For the fancy date you have prepared? No. She is dressing up, right? Like fancy-fancy? You'll only make her uncomfortable if you take her to that restaurant and she is wearing a casual dress."
"She said it was silk," I told him, shrugging. "Her mom bought it for her last birthday and I remember her telling me it was too fancy to wear anywhere she usually goes."
"Alright," Clarence agreed. "Should be fine then."
"Do you think the flowers are too much?" I asked, walking over toward them on the kitchen counter.
"The flowers are perfect. It doesn't matter how casual dating has gotten these days, women always like flowers. Calm down," he demanded, sensing my nerves. "It's the perfect night."
"But is it too presumptuous?"
"You're in the home stretch here, Crosby," he reminded me. "If you don't start making yourself a little more obvious now, you are going to fail, and be pissed at yourself for screwing up this golden opportunity. Take the risks while you can."
He was right.
And it wasn't like Dea and I hadn't done date-like things in the past. She'd never given it a second thought.
"You're right," I agreed as he moved over toward the window, looking down.
