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CHAPTER THREE
As she greetedTed at the door of her apartment an hour later, Meg couldn’t help making comparisons. Ted was good-looking enough, but here in her doorway she found herself not liking his dirty-blond hair and hazel eyes as much as she had last week when he’d asked her out. Suddenly her preference was mahogany-brown hair and dark-chocolate eyes.
“Hello, Ted,” she said, grabbing her purse and coat off the chair beside the door.
He appeared startled that she made no effort to invite him in, but gentlemanly held out his arm. “Hi, Meg.” He cast a glance at her long skirt and heavy sweater. “You look...warm.”
“Cold evening,” she replied, forcing a note of cheer into her voice. She really wasn’t looking forward to this date, not one bit. She’d rather have gone on sipping coffee and eventually having dinner with Joe. She wondered where he’d gone tonight, if he had a date, too. If there was a steady woman in his life. Get real. A guy who looks like that probably has ten steady women in his life.
Her neighbor, Mrs. Monahan, stepped out of her apartment door just as they passed it. She stared at Ted, then gave Meg a knowing smile. “Have a nice evening.”
“Tell my mother I said hello,” Meg muttered under her breath. Meg knew the woman would be back inside on the phone to her mother ten seconds after they exited the building. Meg has a date. Pass it on.
Her mother would probably have been happier living in the days of multi-party lines. Ten families on one phone line would allow for quicker dissemination of information about her poor unmarried daughter’s love life. The circuits would probably catch fire as word spread.
When they got into Ted’s low-slung, two-seater sports car, Meg found herself tugging at the turtle-neck of her sweater. They were close together, very close. The front seats nearly touched, as did their legs—which made it rather difficult to shift hers out of the way when Ted casually dropped his hand onto her thigh. “This’ll be fun,” he said, giving her a squeeze through the heavy cotton of her skirt.
She shifted like a contortionist. Leaning the top of her body closer to him, by necessity, she tried to swivel her hips and shift her knees closer to the passenger side door, out of groping range. Bad move. He seemed to take it as a sign that she wanted to get closer. She’d jumped right into the hot seat and had no one but herself to blame when he dropped his arm across her shoulders. “Cozy.”
Icky.
She knew that thought wasn’t nice. And it probably wasn’t fair. But she couldn’t help comparing the man she was with tonight with the one she’d been with this afternoon.
“We’ll go to a great place on Taylor, okay?”
“Perfect.” Taylor Avenue was loaded with good restaurants. More important, it was close. She’d be out of this car and able to maintain some needed distance within minutes.
It was just her lousy luck that he parked outside Santori’s. “Uh, here?”
“Sure. You said the other day you loved pizza, and this place has the greatest pizza in Chicago.”
“There are a lot of pizza places in Chicago.” Understatement. “How can you be sure this one has the greatest?”
“Trust me.”
Giving him a weak smile, she let him help her out of the car and lead her inside. As it had been the last time she was here, the restaurant was brightly lit and loud. Not dark, romantic and cozy as were many of the Italian places on this block, Santori’s had found its niche by making its patrons feel as if they’d walked right into the kitchen of a big Italian family. Everybody knew everybody. People socialized across the aisles and in the waiting area. A glass window separated the dining room from a dark-haired man flipping pizza crusts into the air, to the delight of clapping children.
The owner, Rosa Santori, greeted many people by name. “Ah, you come back finally, eh?” she said when she saw Meg. Then she glanced at the man at her side and wrinkled her nose. Given everything Meg had learned from Joe about his mother earlier, she held her breath waiting for the woman’s comment. “You I have seen here before, too.” Her eyes narrowed. “You must really like’a the pizza.”
Ted gave her a forced-looking smile as they walked to their table. “I guess they pay close attention to their customers.”
As they dodged tray-laden waiters and hearty diners, Meg couldn’t help glancing all around the room. She studied the faces of the people seated in the booths and aisle tables, looking for one in particular. No Joe. Thank goodness.
The first sign that there was going to be trouble occurred right after Meg sat in the small booth. Instead of sitting across from her, Ted slid in next to her, until his leg scrunched up against hers. She moved away. Considering the wood-paneled wall to her right, however, she couldn’t go far. In the end, it didn’t matter, anyway, since he followed her.
Please tell me I’m not on a date with a weasel.
“Don’t you think it would be easier to talk if we sit across from each other?” She stuck out her elbow to discourage him from coming any closer.
“I was thinking of you. I didn’t want you to be cold,” he replied. “The door keeps opening and it’s so windy out.”
Sure. He was thinking of her, trying to be polite. She believed that about as much as she believed she’d ever be able to wear a strapless dress without a bra.
Then he proceeded to order—for them both. Telling herself he was merely being a gentleman, Meg decided not to mention that she’d really wanted to try out Santori’s lasagna. Or that she hated mushrooms. She could always pick them off.
“Thank you,” she said to their waitress when the woman placed a glass of warm, rich Chianti in front of her.
“To really getting to know one another,” Ted said, lifting his glass. Then he leaned closer. “Sexy little secrets and all.”
