Whitney wanted to kill her. “This is not prom, Carina.”
“It could’ve been. Matthew, did you go to your prom?”
“No, but?—”
“See. It’s like his prom. Come on, it’s not every day people get dressed so beautifully to go somewhere. Indulge me. I’m a ragged, married woman with a two-year-old. I don’t get these moments often.”
“You are far from raggedy,” Whitney said. “And we’ve got somewhere to be.”
Carina stomped her foot and spoke. “Right! So if you’d pose already, we can take this one picture and be done. Quit making a big deal out of it.” She urged them over with a brush of her hand. “Go.”
Like baby ducks getting pushed into the pond for the first time, they tentatively walked over to where she was pointing and stood side-by-side.
“Ah. Could you put your arm around her, and y’all act like you like each other and are excited about tonight? Jeesh.”
They both started laughing, and from that point, the mood lightened.
Carina had her way with the pictures, and Matthew’s sweet tug around Whitney’s waist let her know he really didn’t mind one bit.
“We’re done here.” Carina turned and walked out the door with a final wave. “Have a great time!”
The door clicked closed behind her. Carina could be like a hurricane sometimes. The quiet hung in the room for a little longer than was comfortable. They stood there staring at one another. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and a moment later they were both laughing.
“Should we get this party started?” he said.
“Oh yeah. Absolutely. Let me put those flowers in some water. I won’t take a sec.” She took the flowers to the kitchen. “This was unexpected. And they match my dress. Thank you so much.” She wrestled the tissue paper from them and dropped them in a vase of water. “They smell like walking in a meadow after a rainstorm.”
“I like that,” he said, with a slight smile and hesitation. “I’m sorry. You just look so elegant. I can’t take my eyes off you. It’s… it’s rather inspiring.”
The comment caught her off guard. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
“Me too. Shall we?” He hooked his arm, and they walked out of her condo, down the elevator, and to the front door. She got a nod of appreciation from the doorman. For a moment, she felt like she just relived thatPretty Womanmoment when they were leaving for the opera.
He held the door for her and then crossed in front of her. She followed along, realizing she really didn’t even know what he drove, but he had mentioned something about a truck at one point. There was a silver GMC parked up the block, but he stopped short of that. Instead, he grabbed the door handle of a vintage red and white corvette.
She’d only ever seen them in the magazines William used to save his allowance for growing up. “Is this a ’54?” she asked.
He looked impressed that she even had a guess. “It’s a 1958. Good guess, though.”
“My brother is crazy about cars,” she shared.
He held the door, taking care to drape her dress inside before closing it.
“My dress clashes against all this red.”
“No way. It’s perfect. This car never looked so good.” He twisted the key in the ignition, and the car rumbled to life.
“It even sounds fast.”
“We’re in no hurry.” He pulled away from the curb, and they were on the interstate, heading east toward Williamsburg.
He was a skillful driver, content in his lane. It was kind of fun to see people looking twice at the sporty car. He looked so at ease behind the wheel, like this car was built for him.
“Is this your car?” she asked over the noise of the engine. “I thought you mentioned a truck.”
He nodded as he shifted into high gear. “I have to have a truck for the murals. It requires a lot of equipment and special scaffolding, but yes, this is my car.”
“It’s nice.”
