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The doorbell rings, and I practically lunge for the door. I swing it open to find Carl standing in a dark gray suit. His crisp button-down and perfectly combed hair give the impression that he’s spent probably more time getting ready than I have.
“Hey, Carl, you look nice!”
His head tilts down with a shy grin.
“Thanks. You look amazing. As always.”
“Thanks,” I say through a lighthearted laugh.
He escorts me to the passenger side of the car, opening the door for me like a gentleman. I don’t normally care for the whole gentleman-white-knight thing, but I appreciate the effort.
He steps around to the front, which allows me a moment to check my phone. No responses from Ethan. We start to back out of the driveway, and he puts on his soft rock playlist, which he knows is one of my favorites. I bob to the music, which turns into a karaoke session. I’m about halfway through the lyrics to “Dancing in the Dark,” when he turns the volume down and leans over slightly.
“I hate to break that up, but would you like Italian or Indian?”
I turn to find his brown eyes glinting with humor.
“I have options? I thought the point of a date was to impress me?”
“This is me impressing you. I provided you with a choice. We have reservations at Lucianos or Turmeric.” My mouth starts to form the word Turmeric, but a sudden pang of guilt hits me. The last time I had their amazing tikka was with Ethan. My mind drifts to him for a bit too long before I respond. “Italian.” A solid alternative, untainted by the handsome jackass.
“All right.” He laughs and turns the music up for me.
We pull up to the restaurant, the red cursive sign acting as a beacon to my stomach, signaling it to rumble. I realize too late that I haven’t eaten today and step out of the car much too enthusiastically.
Once we’re seated, I tear off a piece of a breadstick and dip it in the balsamic vinegar and herbed oil mixture laid out before me. The sweet and tart flavor-packed bite overwhelm my senses for a brief but glorious moment. After spending a few minutes chatting over our cocktails, the waitress comes back to take our order. I hit the inevitable wall of indecision but after much contemplation, I decide on chicken parmesan.
As we wait for the food, we discuss the normal things, mostly centered around work and new client collections. I smell the food before it arrives. I take a bite of chicken, marinara, and cheesy goodness. I probably should have ordered something light, but a food coma doesn’t sound terrible.
“Speaking of work, how is the new collection with Lennox going?”
“I’ll let you know if I still have a job by the end of the month. The way it’s looking…it’s a 50/50 shot.”
“Yeah…see, I dug into the guy sniping your auctions. Interesting background.”
My mouth runs dry. I immediately reach for something to help wash the food down.
“Really?” I say, trying to seem like I’m not chomping at the bit for more information. I doubt he knows more about Ethan than Litza does, but multiple resources can’t hurt. “What did you find out?”
“One of the guys at my club went to school with him at University of Maryland. Apparently, the man was basically a ghost. He didn’t party or hang out with anyone really. He only mingled with classmates to play pool. Great rugby player though…and he was top of the class across the board.”
Really, a serial killer with high intelligence, violent sports…doesn’t like the red cup buffoonery only co-ed parties can provide; I’m shocked.
“Hmm. Did you happen to hear why he’s suddenly taken an interest in art?”
“Just that he’s worked with a few of the museums in town. He does something with shipping, but I haven’t been able to find much out about it.” He shrugs, and my mind works through so many questions.
I reach for the wine and drain it. As I place the glass on the table, I look over to Carl whose eyebrows are raised. He’s clearly amused by my reaction.
“Sorry. It just pisses me off. What did I ever do to him? I’m so nice.”
One of his brows lifts. I plaster the most innocent smile I can muster.
“I know. But it’s all I got on him so far. I’m sorry.” His hand brushes mine on the table.
I don’t know why it makes me uncomfortable, but it does. I smile and remove my hand, doing the best I can to disguise the movement. A wolfish look flashes in his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it came. He goes back to focusing on the plate in front of him leaving me feeling a somewhat cautious about continuing the conversation.
The awkward silence eases as dessert is brought out. We debate the advantages of espresso in cream, and the camaraderie between us seems to revive the ease of the conversation.
