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She seemed taken back by how intently I stared into her eyes. “Thank you,” she smiled.
I cleared my throat and remembered to keep my hands to myself. Moves like that were dangerous with this woman. “Ready to go?” I thumbed towards my truck.
We drove to the far edge of town to a spot called Vincent’s, an Italian restaurant and one of the only places around that could pass as some kind of fine dining.
I held the door for her as we stepped onto the black and white tiled floor of the entryway. A bubbly blond hostess greeted us from behind her mahogany podium, then led us to a booth in the back of the dimly lit dining area with two menus and silverware rolls. I slid into the deep red cushioned booth across from Melody and tried not to stare at how beautiful she looked in the candlelight.
Melody leaned over her menu to tell me, “Since this is an apology dinner and I’m buying, I have to insist that we only get the very best tonight.”
“I can’t actually letyoupay,” I laughed.
Her face melted into a pout. “Why not? That was our deal.”
I stammered for a moment. “I was raised to be a proper gentleman, and that means I always pick up the check.”
“Oh, nonsense,” she waved dismissively. “Being a proper gentleman means not offending your date,” she paused for a moment, then corrected herself. “Not thatthisis a date. I meant to say, dinner companion. And I would be deeply offended if you didn’t let me pay.”
The waitress rolled her eyes and interjected, “How about I just start you two off with salad and breadsticks?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you,” Melody smiled, snapping her menu shut. “And a bottle of your best Sauvignon Blanc, please. I plan on ordering the salmon, and those would pair nicely.”
“Just beer for me,” I told the waitress, but was quickly chastised by a look from Melody.
“I tried catfish on a stick for you. Why don’t you let me take the reins this time?” she teased.
“I was just going to order the lasagna,” I shrugged.
Her lips rounded into a perfect ‘o’ and her eyes sparked as she looked over the menu again. “Then let's share the lasagna frittata as an appetizer. You’re going to love it.”
I had never given much thought to food and wine pairings, and I had certainly never seen a woman with so many damn opinions about her food. But I figured why not go with the flow? Maybe I’d learn a thing or two.
A few minutes later, our table was filled with a basket of fresh, hot garlic breadsticks, two zesty salads, and the frittata-whatever Melody had ordered. It looked like a ribbon of fried bread as I cut into the corner of it with my fork. I closed my eyes and grunted as the taste of Italian sausage and fried cheese exploded in my mouth.
“I’m glad I let you order for us,” I admitted. “How do you know so much about food anyway?”
“New York is full of amazing food,” she replied, swirling her wine around in her glass. “Not that I get to indulge in much of it these days unless it can be delivered. My diet consisted mostly of bagels from the bakery and Chinese takeout from around the corner. Work keeps me pretty busy.” Her eyes darted to the side with a sigh. “At least it used to, before all of this stuff with my ex and then losing my mom took over my life.”
“I get it. When you lose someone, life gets busier than ever. But maybe that’s a good thing. It keeps you from losing yourself in all the grief. Staying busy is good.”
“It’s kind of hard to do that around here,” she frowned. “You’ve got the bulk of everything with the house handled, which I’m thankful for. I’m nearly finished sorting through all of mom’s things, and the Internet around here makes it almost impossible to get any work done. I’m running out of distractions.”
“You can’t find anything to do in Silver Point?” I asked with a whistle. “You’re looking in all the wrong places. You’ve got that big beautiful lake right there on your property and a decent little boat tied up on it. That’s a good place to start. You can go drifting out there with a cooler of beer and a fishing pole and just lose yourself for hours.”
“Fishing?” she laughed. “I’ve never been. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
Just as she said it, the waitress delivered two plates of steaming grilled salmon with a side of broccoli. I found myself closing my eyes again as I took in the scent of herbs, lemon zest, and parmesan.
“You won’t find many salmon in that lake, but there’s plenty of catfish, bass, and trout. A Saturday out on the lake, followed by a fire to grill them all up. Mmm-mm,” I shook my head. “You can’t beat that.”
“Well then, maybe you can teach me some time,” she suggested with a soft smile.
I paused, thinking it wasn’t such a good idea to keep committing to spending more time with this woman. But everyone should know how to fish, I thought.
“Maybe so,” I replied.
“Then again, I guess I won’t really be in town long enough for that,” she added.
“Right. Oh, yeah,” I sat up, clearing my throat. I had to tell her she’d be there longer than she thought. It was just as good a time as any. But as I tried to work up the nerve, I was distracted by how beautiful she looked in the candlelight.
