My cheeks pink. “Thank you. So do you.”
I give silent praise to Kayla, Lucy, and Willow, my own personal glam squad for the evening. Their efforts made me look good, but they made mefeeleven better. Confident, flirty, a little sexy—though that may have also been a result of the glass of wine I pregamed with. Willow worked her magic on my makeup, and Kayla fussed over my hair with a curling iron while they peppered me with questions.
Once they were finished, I shimmied into my outfit—a loan from Willow. The emerald green dress fits me like a glove, dipping in a soft V below my collarbone. It’s the perfect balanceof structure and flow with its long, drapey sleeves, hip-hugging body, and a slit in the center that adds a little edge to its midcalf length.
“This place is nice.” Oliver glances around the restaurant, lit only by the votives on the tables and the ornate chandeliers that hang from the high ceilings. A crystal bud vase with a single red carnation sits at the center of the pristine white tablecloth, and goblets of water were waiting for us on the table, along with two leather-framed menus. It occurs to me how long it’s been since I’ve been somewhere to eat that didn’t coat their menu in thick, cloudy plastic.
A server approaches with a pen poised over his notepad. “Good evening. I’m Parker, and I’ll be taking care of y’all this evening. Can I get you started with something to drink while you…” He trails off, focusing on me. “Dr. Haggerty! It’s so good to see you.”
“Oh, hi.” I study him a moment, running through my mental files, trying to place him and the pet he belongs to. He’s short, a little more salt than pepper in his hair, especially at the temples.
“You probably don’t remember me.” His deep drawl drips off his tongue like the honey I get at the farmers market. “But you helped me with my cat, Itty, after he had his lil nads snipped off.”
Oliver nearly chokes on the sip of water he’s taking as my eyes widen with recognition.
“Oh my goodness, yes. Parker Rhodes,” I say with a chuckle. “How’s Itty doing? And your grandpa?”
“You know Itty. He’s a firecracker.” He waves his hand as though he’s swatting a fly. “And well, Grandpa is too. If a hip replacement can’t keep him down, I don’t reckon much ever will.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say as Parker shifts his attention to Oliver.
“A heart of gold, this one.” Parker gestures his thumb toward me. “’Bout four years ago, my grandpa Chuck fell and broke his hip at the church sock hop where he lives back home in Mississippi.” Except when he says it, it sounds more likeMissippi. “The man is ninety-one years old andstillthinks he’s got the moves of Elvis Presley.Anyway, this all went down the day of Itty’s surgery, and I was distraught because I wanted to be there for Grandpa’s procedure. Not to be morbid, but you just never know when somebody gets to be that age. So, Dr. Haggerty here offered to keep Itty at her house for an entire week while I was in Biloxi. Told me to focus on my family, and she’d take care of everything else. Didn’t charge me a cent, neither.”
“Is that right?” Oliver beams, and a rush of heat sweeps up my neck, knowing where this story is heading.
Please don’t say it. Please, please don’t say it.
Parker nods. “And Itty ain’t no regular cat. He’s high-maintenance. Thinks he’s from New York City or somethin’. He has a very specific evening routine, and Dr. Haggerty followed it to the letter. Itty can’t fall asleep without being rocked like a baby, and he wants you to sing him ‘Purple Rain.’ You know, the ole Prince song? And he don’t want that radio-edited version, neither. It’s gotta be the long one. If it’s anything less than eight minutes and forty seconds, he’ll spend the night yowling in your ear.”
Oliver presses his lips together, stifling a laugh, while I pray for the floor to open up and swallow me.
I clear my throat. “I’m just so glad that Itty and Grandpa Chuck are doing well.”
“Goodness gracious. Listen to me, rambling on,” Parker says, “when I should be taking your drink order. What can I get y’all?”
“How would you feel about sharing a bottle of wine?” Oliver asks.
“I’d love that. Merlot okay?”
“Perfect,” he says, turning to Parker. “Can we get a bottle of your best merlot?”
“Absolutely. Are we celebrating anything special this evening?”
“Oh, nothing—” I start to say, but Oliver speaks up, his gaze lingering on mine.
“Actually, this is our first date. Well, our first official date.”
My heart leaps like a dog making a break for it, off the exam table.
“Oooh,” Parker purrs. “Love that for you. Wonderful. Well, y’all take a gander at those menus, and I’ll be back with your wine.”
“I’m sorry,” Oliver says. “Is it okay that I said that?”
“Yeah.” I fiddle with the hem of my dress, a bundle of nervous energy. “It is.”
“I’m glad.” He bites his lip, hesitating a moment. “So. ‘Purple Rain,’ huh?”
I bury my head in my hands. “Oh my God.”
