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Paige’s birthday loomed, falling on Thursday, but Thursday was a long day of classes, with her final class ending at six thirty, and she didn’t want to do anything that night. Elizabeth suggested the two of them go out on Saturday; she’d make plans, and she assured Paige they’d do something fun.
Paige’s daughters called, the night before her birthday and then again on Thursday morning, wishing her a happy birthday, and apologizing for not making it home to celebrate. Each time Paige reassured the daughter fretting that they would celebrate later, probably over the holidays, and she wasn’t to worry because Paige was glad for a quiet birthday this year.
“But it’s your fiftieth,” Ashley protested, having called early, waking Paige up. “That’s huge.”
Still in bed, Paige yawned and then turned over on her side. “Does it help that I don’t feel fifty?”
“You’re beautiful. And the best mom in the whole world. Which is why we should be doing something.”
“And we will.” Paige suppressed another yawn. She hadn’t slept well last night, waking up repeatedly to check the time. She didn’t even know why, but she’d gone to bed antsy and her sleep had been restless, too. “What’s your weekend like?”
“Just working. Hoping to take a dance class Saturday morning. I’m on the wait list.”
“Hope you get in.”
“Me too. It’s all about being in the right place at the right time.”
Since birth, Ashley had had a fear of missing out.
“You said you’re going to do something with Elizabeth?” Ashley asked.
“Saturday. She’s bought tickets for the Cabrillo Playhouse in San Clemente, and we’re grabbing a bite of dinner beforehand.”
“What are you going to see?”
“I don’t remember. It’s a play, not a musical.”
“I like musicals better.”
Paige smiled and flipped the covers back, ready for coffee. “Me too.”
The phone calls continued to come, from Nichole in Chicago, Michelle in Seattle, and her brother, Rob, and her mom in Paso Robles. Elizabeth sent a birthday text, and then once on campus, Paige was showered with gifts all day: flowers from Elizabeth, more flowers from the department chair (which meant from his executive assistant, Andi). There were balloons from Nichole, including massive 5 and 0 balloons, screaming her age. There was even a small cake from her colleagues, and a handful of staff gathered in her open doorway to sing her a painfully off-key but very cheery “Happy Birthday.” All in all, Paige felt celebrated and appreciated. It was just the kind of birthday she was most comfortable with—nothing fancy, nothing fussy.
After her last class wrapped up, she returned to her office and tried to figure out which flowers and balloons to take home tonight; she decided she’d just leave everything but the remaining slice of cake and get help tomorrow taking everything to her car.
Cake safely tucked behind the driver’s seat, Paige was exiting the garage when her phone rang. Her Bluetooth identified Jack King as the caller. Just hearing his voice announced in her car made her insides flip-flop. The fluttery sensation exasperated her. She took a quick breath and answered the call. “Hi, Jack.”
“Are you still on campus, or are you already on your way home?” he asked.
“Just leaving school now.”
“Feel like getting dinner? I wasn’t sure if you had plans for tonight or not.”
Bittersweet emotion filled her. No, she didn’t have plans. But did she want dinner with him?
Yes.
“Dinner sounds great,” she answered quickly, before she could change her mind. “Do you have a place in mind?”
He named an Italian restaurant not very far from the campus, but one with a great menu and great reviews. It was a bit upscale but featured a lot of fresh fish and seafood on its menu, along with the usual pasta dishes. “They might be hard to get into,” she said. “It can be quite a wait if you don’t have a reservation.”
“I have a reservation.”
More fluttery, fizzy sensations in her middle. She gulped in a breath, flattered, nervous, excited. “What time?”
“Seven fifteen.”
She glanced at her car dash. Twenty minutes from now. That was actually perfect. “I’ll see you there.”
Paige got to the restaurant with ten minutes to spare. She didn’t see Jack’s car, Gertie, and so she drew out her small makeup bag from her purse and freshened her lipstick and added a dab of pink color to the top of her cheeks. She took her hair out of the ponytail and fluffed it, trying to make it look fuller, before popping a mint into her mouth and stepping out of her car. As she closed the car door, she wondered, was this a date?
Were they meeting as colleagues and friends, or . . . ?
Again, that flutter. The butterflies were loose tonight. She wasn’t sure what she thought would happen, or worse, what she wanted to happen. Swallowing hard, Paige headed into the restaurant.
* * *
Jack spotted Paige the moment she entered the restaurant. She was wearing the same fitted, wheat-colored skirt and matching jacket she’d worn today to teach in, with a wide leather belt cinched around her waist. Her hair was loose now, falling in long blond waves over her shoulders and down her back. He’d liked the feminine suit on her earlier, but now with her hair down, she looked downright sexy.
She saw him as he left the table and lifted a hand to acknowledge him, meeting him halfway across the restaurant. “It’s crowded in here,” she said, standing close enough that he could feel her warmth, smell the light fragrance she wore.
“That’s why I sat down. Way too many people,” he said. “You look beautiful,” he added, leaning down to kiss her cheek. Her skin was warm, soft, and again he caught a whiff of something sweet and fresh, reminding him of lemon blossoms and sunshine.
“Thank you,” she said, a hint of color staining her cheeks.
At the table, he drew her chair out for her. She murmured thanks as she sat down. “I didn’t see Gertie outside,” she said, reaching for her napkin.
Jack took a seat opposite her. Their table was against a window, giving them a view of artfully lit olive trees outside. “The lot was full when I arrived. I parked down the street.”
“Ah, good. I worried that she was in the shop.”
“Not Gertie. She’s too reliable for that.” Jack paused. “Thank you for being concerned about her. Not everyone is fond of her.”
“Why ever not?”
