“Yes, I am. And I real y don’t care what you, or Josh, or any of your other buddies think about it.”
“Buddies?” Ryan repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Who says buddies, anymore?”
“Shut up,” I seethed. “Let’s go, Beth. Visiting hours are over.”
“Oh, come on, Nigh. Don’t leave mad,” Ryan chuckled, raising his hand toward me.
“I told you that you could only cal me that once. The time limit on that has been exceeded.” “Nina, I’m sorry. Don’t leave. It’s none of my business who you date. I’m sure it’s pretty obvious why I have a problem with it.” He looked down at his hands with a frown.
I stared at him for a moment. It was hard to hold onto my anger when he was lying in a hospital bed. “I hope they clear up whatever it is that has you acting like this before they release you.”
“Oh, I’m not that bad. You’re coming back tomorrow, right?”
“I wil ,” I said, ruffling my fingers in his hair.
He swatted my hand away. “But I don’t want to hear about your date, al right?”
“I’m sure we can find other things to talk about.”
“We’d better go, Nigh. We have lots to do,” Beth said in a sing-song voice.
I stuck my tongue out at Ryan before fol owing Beth to the car.
In search of the perfect outfit, Beth and I blew up my closet. Clothes were everywhere. Something too dark, too tight, too loose, too short, or not short enough covered every surface. I final y settled on a winter white three-quarter length sleeved sweater dress with my favorite fancy brown belt— it boasted a pearl in the center of the cross buckle—and brown strappy heels. Beth assured me over and over that my curve-hugging dress was the perfect balance of sexy and elegant. I stared into our long mirror and worried my dress was too short; I was al legs.
I passed the time taking a long shower, being extra careful about shaving my legs, plucking my eyebrows, and painting my toenails.
After al of the indulging, I’d stil managed to be ready twenty minutes before Jared was due to arrive. My heels clicked against the elevator floor as I stepped in, and I couldn’t help but fuss with my hair and dress while I waited for the doors to open to the first floor. Walking down the hal , I checked my watch; I stil had fifteen minutes before he would arrive. Just as I peeked out, the door popped open. Jared stood in front of me in a solid black dress shirt and charcoal-grey slacks. His hair had the slightest bit of gel in it, easing the subtle messy waves into each other.
I sucked in a tiny gasp, throwing my hand up to my chest.
“I’m sorry, did I startle you?”
“Yes! I wasn’t expecting you, yet,” I said, breathless.
Jared handed me a smal but beautiful bouquet of pink and white tulips—my favorite—and smiled sheepishly, “I couldn’t wait until six-thirty.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from uttering the embarrassing truth, but I couldn’t stop myself. “I couldn’t either,” I blurted out.
A triumphant smile broke across his face, and then he helped me with my coat. He gently pul ed me against his chest and whispered into my ear.
“You are stunning.”
My ears burned. I wil ed the blush in my cheeks away, glad to be stepping out into the brisk air.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he pul ed away from the curb.
“You’l see,” he said, an excited grin spreading across his face. “I’m glad you agreed to come. After the other night, I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”
“Wel , after you ambushed me at the Ratty in front of everyone, I hardly had a choice.”
“Coercion was the plan al along,” he said, chuckling. He reached over and lightly traced my fingers.
“So this place we’re going to…should I expect more strange cuisine or are you playing it safe this evening?” I casual y turned up my palm to intertwine our fingers. Normal y I wasn’t so forward, but the rules had changed. We both knew that nothing about our time together was ever ordinary.
“It’s a surprise.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t like surprises.”
“Yes you do.”
“I know,” I huffed. It was maddening that he knew me so wel . “Am I going to learn anything about you tonight?”
“That’s the plan.”
Jared pul ed onto a narrow street and parked beside the curb in front of a darkened building. I wasn’t sure what restaurant it was, but it didn’t look open. He took my hand and led me down an al ey, guiding me around the water-fil ed potholes.
“Your cut has healed nicely,” I noticed, “I can barely see it.”
Jared simply nodded, leading me further into the darkness.
His hand left mine only to reach into his pocket for his keys. He unlocked the door, and then stretched his arm toward the inside to signal me to walk in.
“We’re going up the stairs,” he said.
My heels clanged against the iron steps as I slowly climbed to a smal landing. At the top, Jared edged past me to use his keys once more. He stepped ahead of me this time, holding the door open.
I walked into a spacious bi-level apartment decorated in grays and blues. It was dimly lit and the blinds were drawn, setting off the glow of the numerous candles lit around the room. Chinese panels and manuscripts from different parts of the world hung on the grey cinderblock wal s, il uminated by track lighting. He didn’t have enough furniture to fil the space—or maybe it was simply clutter free—everything was in its place. The entire room was immaculate. The air was saturated with different spices and flavors, and the smal round table displayed empty wine glasses and white plates.
“This is your apartment?” I asked, looking up the wooden stairs leading to the loft.
Jared stood behind me, sliding my coat from my arms. “Is that okay? I thought it would be the best place to talk,” he asked, a bit anxious.
“No, it’s great. It’s amazing...you’re cooking?” I asked, preoccupied with my surroundings.
“Something like that. Try not to get too excited.” He tucked my hair behind my ears. “Have a seat, it’s almost ready.”
He took the flowers from my hands and whisked them to the kitchen, fil ing a vase with water. He reappeared, vase and flowers in hand, placing them in the middle of the table.
Jared brought a serving dish to the table and forked out a slice of meat.
“Pot Roast?” I asked.
“Wel , there are other things—,” he gestured back to the kitchen.
“No, no, it’s just that…pot roast is my favorite. My father had a close friend that always invited us to dinner when I was little, and his wife made this amazing pot roast. It’s been a long time since I’ve had it, but it smel ed a lot like this.”
Jared made a strange face as if he didn’t know how to react to my little anecdote, and then returned to the kitchen. He brought out a bowl of steamed vegetables, a plate of dinner rol s, and a baked potato…al of them favorites of mine.
“You thought of everything,” I said, bewildered at the food sitting on the table.
“There’s an Angel Food cake in the oven,” he said, sitting across from me.
“I love angel foo—,” I cut myself off when I realized how redundant it would be to say the words. “You knew that, didn’t you?”