G: Is that what this is… a date?
I pause before I answer. Should I come right out and say it is or should I ask her what she wants it to be? I’ve never been one to tread lightly when it comes to any subject, so why would this be any different?
Me: Hell yeah, it’s a date.
Anxiety bubbles in my stomach while I wait for her to reply. Fortunately, she doesn’t take long.
G: Good. See you at six.
I grin and pump my fist.
Me: Can’t wait.
Now I need to come up with an idea for something fun to do—something different than your typical date. I’m temptedto type “date ideas” into Google, but I feel like that would be cheating. She deserves for me to put in the extra effort of coming up with something on my own.
My house smells like pizza, sawdust, and pine. It’s a weird combination, but it’s too late to do anything about it. I probably shouldn’t have lit all four of the pine-scented candles at the same time. But this is the first time I’ve used them, so how could I know how strong they’d be? My mom buys me and each of my brothers a candle for one of our Christmas gifts every year. I don’t know about anyone else, but until tonight, mine have been gathering dust on a shelf in a closet. And with the activity I chose for our date, it seemed appropriate to put them to use if I wanted my house to feel festive despite not having a tree.
I’ve spread a vinyl cloth with red and green snowflakes across the table and added a handful of pre-cut wood I purchased earlier. They’re all different sizes, and sanded to a smooth finish. I have paint, brushes, sponges, and stencils lined up like I’m about to host an art class instead of a date. It’s a good thing the craft store employee was such a big help, or I wouldn’t have known what to buy. I choose a Christmas playlist on my phone and set the speaker on the counter. Everything is ready to go.
When Ginger knocks on the side door, I smile and shout, “Come on in.”
She steps inside, cheeks pink from the cold. “Wow.” She looks at the table. “What’s all this?”
“There’s pizza from The Sand Bar to start with and then I figured we’d continue our holiday spirit building by painting some Christmas decorations.”
Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I even bought stencils.”
Her eyebrows lift. “You keep surprising me.”
“Is that good?” I have a past full of dumb decisions that I’m sure surprised a lot of people in a negative way.
“Yeah, it’s great.” She steps closer to the table, examining everything. “This is kind of amazing.”
“I like to exceed expectations,” I say, winking.
“So far, you have.” She removes her coat and hangs it on the back of a chair.
“Help yourself to some pizza.” I hand her a plate.
“Don’t mind if I do, thanks.” She opens the box and takes a slice of pepperoni and bacon. “You got my favorite.”
“Yep, a heartburn pie.” It’s also my favorite.
She laughs. “Pretty much, but the enjoyment of eating it outweighs the pain I’ll have afterward.”
“What do you want to drink?”
“Water, please.”
I grab two bottles from the fridge and slap some pizza on my own plate before joining her at the table. I choose the seat across from hers so I can see her face.
“You’ve done a great job renovating the kitchen,” she tells me, pushing a pepperoni between her lips.
I smile with pride as I take in the soapstone countertops and hardwood floors. “Thanks. I did most of the work myself with the help of my dad and Gramps. I thought about opening this wall so the kitchen wouldn’t be separate from the living room, but that would’ve involved moving electrical and plumbing, and bringing in a structural engineer, which wasn’t in the budget at the time.”
“Open floor plans are great, but you won’t find many of those in these older beach cottages. You know mine is set up similarly.”
