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As she left, Duncan said, “Oh, I think it will be more than fine.”
Closing the door softly behind her, Donna leaned back against it and wondered how she’d survive their date, when even the negotiations had turned her knees to jelly. So much for keeping her distance.
Chapter 15
Duncan didn’t even bother saying hello when his brother answered the phone. “What do I wear on a date? Has it changed? Do I wear a suit? Jeans? What are the rules now?”
“And to think I missed your phone calls,” Hamish said. “Isn’t there a lassie you can ask about this crap?”
“My first instinct was to ask Fiona, but that didn’t seem right.”
There was a silence for a beat. “And it would scare the crap out of you if she answered.”
“Aye, that an’ all.”
There was a sigh. “Where’s this date then?”
Duncan was grateful his brother didn’t say anything about him getting his head out of his arse long enough to ask Donna out. The process had been agonising enough without dissecting it. Thank the Lord they were men. If he’d had a sister, he would have been talking about feelings by now, and he’d rather have all of his teeth pulled—without anaesthetic.
“The Italian place in town,” he said as he looked at his ties. Did men still wear them for anything other than a funeral or a job interview? “It’s a nice restaurant, but it isn’t expensive.”
“Jeans and a nice shirt,” Hamish said decisively. “And have a shower.”
“I’ve had a shower. I can do the rest.” He tossed the tie he’d been holding back into his closet. “Thanks.” He hung up.
A second later his phone rang. He answered by growling his name.
“How are you, Hamish?” his brother said, his tone sarcastic. “How are the kids? What time is it over there? Is it the middle of the night? Did I disturb you doing anything? Well, now, funny you should ask, Duncan. It’s five in the morning here, and I was sound asleep. You selfish bastard.” The line went dead.
Duncan burst out laughing as he pulled a fresh pair of jeans from the shelf. Turning to toss them onto his bed, he caught sight of the drawing he’d done of Fiona during their honeymoon. It was a simple pencil sketch of her with her face turned up to the sun. His humour disappeared, and he sank down to sit on the edge of the bed. He leaned forwards, elbows on knees, and put his head in his hands.
“What am I doing?” he asked the silence.
He wasn’t ready to spend an evening with another woman. No matter that she knew him inside and out and kissed like an angel with fire in her blood. He remembered Fiona’s kisses. Her lips had been thinner than Donna’s and her touch more confident. Fiona had thought nothing of climbing into his lap and demanding they make love. He’d had to wrestle for control with his wife during their lovemaking. It was a challenge he’d more than enjoyed. Donna would never tell him what she wanted. She would wait for him to initiate anything between them. If he was ever able to take that step. Right now, he was struggling to get dressed for a meal in a restaurant.
He glanced at the clock and forced himself to his feet. The question he’d asked his brother rang in his head: How do you let go? How did you move on when you’d had everything you’d ever wanted? And how did you stop loving someone just because they weren’t there to touch?
He reached into his closet and tugged one of his blue tartan shirts off the hanger before stilling. Hamish wouldn’t consider it a nice shirt. He tossed it aside and reached for the white long-sleeved T-shirt hanging beside his many tartan shirts. He’d never worn it, but Donna had kept it ironed and fresh, ready to wear. The least he could do was show her the effort had been worth it.
After tugging on his shirt and jeans, he reached for a pair of brown dress shoes and then grabbed the navy blazer he’d worn years earlier for a gallery opening. His jaw was smooth, his hair—well, his hair was as good as it got, and he was dressed in something that wasn’t covered in paint. He was good to go.
As h
e reached for the door handle, a gleam of light caught his attention, and he stared at the wedding ring on his left hand. It was like a shot to the heart. He leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. As he draped his arms over his knees, his eyes were still on that ring, and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
***
Donna smoothed down the skirt of her mint green sundress as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror on her wardrobe door. Behind her, on the bed, was a pile of clothes. She’d spent the past two hours trying on everything she owned, which wasn’t much, so she’d tried them all twice. She slipped on a pair of white sandals and grabbed the yellow knitted handbag she’d bought at the summer fair.
You look lovely, Ron Weasley’s mother said from beside her.
“That would mean a whole lot more if you were real,” Donna muttered.
I remember Ginny being this nervous when she first went out with Harry and look how well that turned out.
Donna didn’t want to break Molly Weasley’s imaginary heart by telling her Harry should have ended up with Hermione.
You’ll have a lovely time, Molly said.
