He hadn’t thought to bring anything. Usually, when he asked, his grandmother said just to bring himself. He should have realized that he could bring something anyway. If they were driving, he’d stop and get flowers.
“What’s the frown for?” Drinda asked as she slipped into a navy wool jacket with thin white trim close to the edges and on the collar. It looked like something his grandmother would wear. At least untilshe buttoned it up and it nipped in at the waist, accentuating her lovely figure.
“I didn’t bring anything. I should have.”
“This can be from both of us.” She handed him a pale blue and pink box tied with a pink and white polka dot ribbon. Coffee Loft colors. She wrapped a red scarf around her neck and tugged on a matching hat and mitts. “I’m all set.”
The night was quiet and dark. Large fluffy flakes drifted lazily down from the sky and landed on their shoulders and hats. An air of peace and contentment surrounded them. And he wished he could savor this moment forever. He shoved the thought away. He was turning all girlie.
They walked the first three blocks without saying much. Despite his contentment, the silence began to scratch at his nerves. He was used to the gang at the station who chatted or played games when not on calls. Unless they were sleeping after a tough call the station was always noisy. The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but he still felt like heneeded to speak.
“Did you come up with any ideas for dessert?” he asked.
“Really? You’re going to drag that up? I want something new, maybe innovative; you want traditional. We’re bound to argue. Tonight is supposed to be a nice night with friends.” Her frown was like a shot to the chest. Hard and painful.
“I can’t help it. I’m a get-things-done kind of guy. Plans need to be made. I thought we could discuss it while we walk.”
“Fine.”
He knew that finenevermeant fine, but he kept silent.
“I’m thinking tiramisu. Or a salted caramel torte served with Irish Cream coffee topped with shaved chocolate.”
“Again, with the tiramisu. Too fancy.”Why was she so set on fancy?
“Fancy is good. Elegant is better. This is the perfect chance to showcase my dessert and coffee skills. I need this to be impressive. Ordinary won’t cut it.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop.
He turned to look at her.
“Ford, this event is supposed to be romantic and sweet. Men are bringing their ladies here to show how much they care, how much they love them. We can help make this a romantic night to remember.” She dropped his arm and started walking.
“We turn left at the corner,” he said as he considered her statement. As much as he hated to admit it, she was probably right. He liked variety, why wouldn’t other people. This was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Valentine dinner and dance. Maybe it should be special. Couldn’t it be special without being all fancy and froufrou?
“Look at the fairy lights!” Drinda gasped as they rounded the corner onto his grandmother’s cul-de-sac. Grammie’s house was dead center in the back curve of the small street. As always, it was lit with hundreds of white fairy lights. Drinda clapped her mittened hands together. “They’re beautiful. So romantic.”
Ford grinned. He’d loved those lights as a kid. Drinda’s joy refueled the happiness in simple things he’d lost as he grew older. Grammie L.’s two-story house was flanked by bushes laden withsnow-covered white lights. Her deck featured two white-lit trees and her sidewalk was flanked with candle-style outdoor lights on either side from curb to deck. All the lights were white until, in unison, they faded to almost dark and brightened to a pale pink. That was new. Grammie had upgraded her lights. He was miffed that she hadn’t asked for help.
“Oh. They’re pink now.” She stopped and stared at the lights, a breathtaking smile on her face. Her eyes lit with irresistible joy. The lights remained pink for a full minute before taking about fifteen seconds to change back to white. The transitions were slow and subtle.
“I love this so much,” Drinda declared. “This is going into my notes.”
“Your notes?” he asked.
“I have notes of all the things I want when I finally own my own home. Decorating ideas. Outdoor and indoor features. You know, hot tub outside. Lights on timers. Lots of brightly colored paintings by local artists. That type of stuff.”
“You have a list?” The idea of making notes on what he wanted in the future intrigued him. Though ifhe had a comfy bed and chair, he didn’t think he needed much else.
“Yeah, my dream home bucket list. I also have a bucket list of places to go and people to meet. Things to see. Even things I want to try. Like rock climbing.”
“Admirable.” What else could he say? He was used to getting an idea and setting out to make it happen. As a bachelor, there was nobody to say he couldn’t do something. As a landlord and fire fighter, he had plenty of income to do whatever he wanted. Perhaps she didn’t have the luxury to just pack up and try something. He was blessed and he knew it, though sometimes it slipped his mind.
Was there anything he’d like to do that should be on a list? Aside from finding someone to spend his life with, he couldn’t immediately think of anything. Would being in a committed relationship change how he planned things? Probably. He’d burn that bridge when he crossed it.
“Do you have a bucket list?” she asked, wrapping her armsaround herself.
Funny that her question mirrored his thoughts … as if they were mentally in sync. “I don’t. I pretty much do as I want.”
She nodded approval. A breeze ruffled her hair, and an enormous shiver shook her entire body.
