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While eating dinner, we chatted about music, movies, and books. I periodically checked my phone to see if Kyra or Max had sent me a text. It was the first time I had left Kyra completely in charge. “Worried about the kids?” Ray asked.
“Always,” I admitted.
He nodded.
“Mind if I send them a text?” I didn’t want to be rude. I had no clue what the protocol was for dating single parents.
“Of course not. I’d question your character if you didn’t.” Ray smiled.
“Thanks,” I said. I sent a group text to Kyra and Max asking if everything was okay.
They posted the same reply: “We r ok.”
I sent a quick text back. “Send me proof. Photo?”
Less than a minute later, Kyra sent a selfie of the two of them together. She was smirking while Max was grinning ear to ear.
“Okay, love u,” I texted.
They both replied, “Love u2.”
I relaxed my shoulders.
The announcer returned to the stage and said, “Ladies and gentleman, Jammin’ Jazz Room is proud
to announce our special guest tonight is Cedrick Winfield.”
Ray’s eyes widened, and he stood up. “No way!” He cheered enthusiastically along with the audience.
I had never heard of him but stood and clapped, too.
The lights dimmed, and a trumpet began to play. The audience quieted. A man slowly walked on stage blowing the horn. It was pure and kissed the soul. As he continued, I recognized the song as one my father used to play for my mother: “All the Things You Are” by Ella Fitzgerald. We were still standing when Ray glanced my way with a twinkle in his eye. He extended his right hand to me. I sighed softly and accepted it. He led me to the dance floor near the stage, spun me slowly, and embraced me as we slowly swayed to the music.
Mmm. I wanted to savor this moment. I closed my eyes, mesmerized being held by this man. I wanted to remember his scent: pine, soap, and just… Ray. His strong arms held me tightly but gently. My head rested on his shoulder. I felt so secure with him.
That was the beginning of us dancing, and dancing, and dancing.
During the reluctant truck ride home, Ray turned on the stereo, and Van Morrison’s “Someone Like You” played over the speakers. Ray began to sing the lyrics and reached for my hand. My heart melted.
Thirty minutes later Ray pulled into my driveway. We both just sat there. Neither of us wanted the date to end. He was still holding my hand, and then he began rubbing my thumb with his. He heaved a heavy sigh. “Well, Cass…”
“Well, Ray.” I leaned back in my seat and admitted, “I don’t want this night to end.”
“Tell me about it,” Ray agreed. He leaned over to me, and we kissed.
The center console was in the way. We both groaned. I wanted so much more than a kiss. He gently held my chin but continued to explore my mouth with his tongue. Finally he pulled away.
He unhooked his seat belt. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your door.”
I unhooked my seat belt, too, then reached for my purse. I opened the passenger door and looked at the ground. It felt like such a long way down. I hopped out of the midnight-blue Dodge Ram, huffing, “Geez, Louise!”
Ray rushed over to my side of the truck. “Are you okay?” he asked with genuine concern.
“I’m not used to jumping out of a car,” I joked.
“Oh.” Ray reached for my hand and led me to the front door.
We stood on the front porch. Ray held my hands and said, “So, this is where I say good night. Thank you, Cass, for a very memorable evening. I look forward to our next date. It’s your turn to take me out. You pick the day and place.” He smiled.
