Where Love Finds You (The Unspoken Series) (7 page)

“I’ll have four bottles of wine and a cup of ice please,” I said. “The biggest cup you have.”

Arms crossed, Chelsea looked at the waiter and smiled. “Do you have distilled water?”

“Um . . . I’m afraid not. Just iced tap water with lemon or lime.”

“No, thank you. I’d rather not have anything to drink then.”

James looked at me, back to her, then at the floor. “I’m sorry ma’am. Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I’m not thirsty.”

He looked back to me. “And you want four bottles of wine and a large cup of ice, right sir?”

“That would be correct.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back with that and I’ll take your order for food then.”

Chelsea looked away, anywhere but toward me, arms still crossed as tight as a guitar string about to pop.

“I like to drink.” Took all I had not to laugh.

She stood up, without a single word. Arms red. Smile gone. And she left. 

James brought the wine to me, I poured a glass, listened to the music for about a half-hour, and took the other three bottles home for later.

Sarah and I enjoyed our time at the beach, but she couldn’t wait to get home when I told her Dee planned to set me up on a blind date the following weekend. Who knows where Dee found this guy, but she assumed I would like him, and smiled at me as soon as I walked into
Chances
after my mini-vacation.

“That look is not encouraging.” I walked behind the counter and looked at the envelope in Dee’s hand. “What’s that?”

“Oh, some guy dropped off his friend’s work. They’re just samples. He wants to sell some on the walls.” 

“We have so many of those. I don’t want to say no to another person.”

“Eh, we’ll see.” She opened the seal on the envelope. “So, are you ready for your big date?”

“Oh, I’m thrilled. Couldn’t be more thrilled if I tried.”

“Thought so.” She sifted through the images in her hand. “Not bad. You might like these.”

I took them from her. “If this date doesn’t work, that’s it. No more.”

She laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

I looked at the images in my hand. “Are these copies of hand paintings?”

“Yeah, he wants to sell the originals though.”

Dee took care of a few customers while I looked through the images. Something interesting about them. Unique. Then I saw something familiar. 

“What?” Dee put some ice in a blender and poured coffee on top.

“These shoes.” I ran my fingers across the image. Simple painting. Just a man sitting in a chair. Only his torso and below visible. Casually, he sat on a stool with his laces untied. “I remember these shoes from the coffee shop that night.”

“What night? What shoes?”

“These black Converse shoes. I’m pretty sure he was wearing these shoes the night I saw him.”

“You mean
the night
?
The him
?”

I nodded, eyes hugging tight to the picture.

“So you’re saying this painter guy knows the man of your dreams?”

I laughed. “It’s a long shot. Converse shoes are popular nowadays. I just didn’t remember that detail until now.”

“You want me to ask him if he can bring the guy in the painting to the shop?”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. Are you serious?”

“Can’t hurt.”

“No, don’t bother with it. I doubt it’s the same person. Just interesting, that’s all. Who wears the same shoes for ten years? That’s pretty unusual.”

“Yeah.” She whipped up another drink as she spoke. “You’re probably right, but hey, if I see him again I’m definitely going to ask.”

“You’re too much.” I topped off the drink with a generous helping of whipped cream.

“So, do you like the images?”

“Eh, they are nice. I’ll keep them in the pile. Maybe when we need new ones I will give him a call. Right now we’re pretty good. Too many starving artists in the world . . . I can’t help them all unfortunately.”

“Well, if it changes your mind at all, him and the friend who dropped them off were quite the lookers. And”—she held up her left hand—”no rings.”

Waving her off, I headed to the back to do some paperwork. 

Sarah knocked on the bathroom door. “What are you getting ready for?”  

“Nothing.” I wrapped another lock of hair around the curling iron.

“You don’t take that long most days. Got a big date?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Open up the door, eh?”

I unlocked the door and she came in. 

“Wow, even breaking out the dusty curling iron.” She leaned against the wall and watched me loosen a curl.

“Just a blind date. Dee set it up. I’m extremely nervous and extremely hesitant, but I’m doing it to prove to her that this is ridiculous.”

“What if it ends up being someone just like the man you say all those years ago, but it’s not him?”

“I don’t even know what the guy from before is like . . . just what he looks like, or at least what he looked like then.”

“Okay, so what if he looks like him, but isn’t him? Will you give him a chance?”

I laughed. “It’s not that complicated. I’m willing to meet other people, yeah. I’ll give anyone a chance if it has promise, but it has to have promise.”

She sat down on the floor by the bathtub, knees to her chest. “This guy I’m dating . . . .”

“Yeah?”

“He seems pretty serious.”

I looked at her. She nodded. My gaze lingered on her left hand ring finger.

“No ring yet,” she said. “But I think he may be looking now.”

I raised my eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound like excitement in your voice.”

“I don’t know.” She stretched her legs out on the floor and pushed her cuticles back.

“What’s going on?”

“This is so fast for me. I don’t know if I can commit to someone yet.”

“Sarah, we have to grow up one day. We’re almost in our thirties. Pretty much all of our friends have nice husbands and little fenced in yards where their kids play. We’re still single ladies living in the city.”

“Believe me, I’m not complaining. You’ve just got me thinking about the Mr. Right stuff all the time. I really don’t know. I didn’t tell you much about him yet. There are some things that make me question what I’m getting myself into.”

I finished putting on a light lip gloss and looked at her. “Do you love him, Sarah?”

“It’s too soon to know the answer to that.”

I smiled. “It’s never too soon. Love grows, but it has to start somewhere.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Then maybe I don’t.”

“Is there something specific that’s holding you back?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure I want to tell anyone though. It doesn’t really paint him in the best light and I don’t want to paint him blue if I do marry him. It could just be my own issues making him blue, when really he’s green.”

“Green, blue, red, purple. What are you talking about? Since when do you keep things from me?”

“This is different. It isn’t my problem. I don’t want you to see him in a negative light.”

“What is it? Porn?”

She laughed. “Not sure about that one, but that’s interesting. Why’d you bring that up of all things?”

“I don’t know. That would be a red flag for me and pretty much every guy in the universe looks at it.”

“Really? I never knew you didn’t like porn.”

“And you do?”

“Well, it doesn’t do anything for me, but I wouldn’t mind if my husband watched. As long as he comes home to me.”

“That is the most unromantic thing I’ve ever heard of. What’s with women always giving in to these horrible things men do? You are getting married to a person and I know I’m not perfect, but if I wanted other women in my marriage I wouldn’t get married.”

“That’s one way to look at it, but another way to look at it is that it’s just images, movies. They can’t be attained. It’s just fantasy land.”

I finished my hair, sprayed it with some gunk, and looked at her. “Fantasy land easily turns into 900 numbers, and 900 numbers easily turn into strip joints, and strip joints easily turn into a quick fling with a prostitute. Next thing you know he’ll be asking you to invite other women into your bedroom while the kids are sleeping in the next room.”

“Highly doubt that. Most men are too wimpy to go that far.”

“I don’t know, Sarah. I wouldn’t mess with a guy if he’s openly into porn. That’s asking for a tough time as a wife and mother.”

“Well, you find me a guy who is 100% free of porn and I will marry him. How does that sound?”

“Deal.”

If I could think of one word to describe how I felt as I drove to meet my blind-date it would be . . . well, to be honest I have no idea. Nervous, excited, trying not to be excited, sad, happy. Did I say nervous? Pretty much a montage of emotions whirled into one haphazard state of being.

I stopped at a red light and wiped my hands on my skirt. By the time I reached for the steering wheel my hands were damp again. 

Fifteen minutes too early, I pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant. Couldn’t see anyone in the waiting area, so I drove to the back of the parking lot and waited. I felt more comfortable walking up to him than waiting for him to walk up to me. At least this way I could leave if I wanted.

Not that I’d really do that.

I think.

Two eternal minutes passed and I saw a black Passat park toward the front. A few seconds later a dark-haired nicely built man stepped out and I knew it had to be him. He fixed his simple button down shirt in the reflection of his car, then walked toward the restaurant. I watched for a few seconds to see if he would wait or go in. With a smile, he held the door for an older couple then walked inside the glass doors. I thought he walked in to be seated, but then he reappeared by the doors and looked at his watch.

He’s going to think I’m so weird for parking this far back. I guess I deserve that.

“Well, here goes,” I said to the steering wheel, and left my car for the first blind-date in my entire life.

Feeling about as silly as possible, I walked toward him. He came out of the doors and squinted in my direction with his hand above his eyes. 

I walked toward him and he said, “Ella?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, but Dee never told me your name.”

“Patrick.” He reached out his hand and shook mine. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

He opened the door for me and followed behind. The hostess sat us immediately. We looked at each other across the table and didn’t say much.

“You’ll have to forgive me.” He cleared the silence with his soft voice. “I’m not good with this type of thing.”

“Don’t worry. Neither am I.”

An extremely beautiful waitress stopped by our table with her breasts practically touching my eye balls. Awkward to say the least. 

“Hi. My name is Danielle. I will be taking care of you today. Our soups are special today.” She caught her breath. “I mean, our soup specials today are broccoli and cheese, chicken enchilada, and dutch-style chicken pot pie. Can I get you guys something to use?”

I looked at Patrick. His eyes were practically glued to me. 

“Did you want something?” I said to him.

“Oh, sorry.” He looked at the girl, not her chest. Yes, I did notice.

“A drink, sir?”

“Water with lemon will be great, thank you.”

She looked at me. “And you?”

“Same, please. Thank you.”

“So,” he said. “Dee didn’t tell me much about you. To be honest, I thought she would set me up with someone a little on the punk rocker side.” 

I laughed. “Yeah. That’s not quite me.”

“No, not at all.” He cleared his throat. “Not that there is anything wrong with that. I just think it would be too exciting of a lifestyle for me. That kind of music makes me want to crawl into a hole and go deaf.”

“I know what you mean. It doesn’t seem like music. More like unorganized noise.”

“Exactly.” He sipped his water.

I didn’t even realize the waitress dropped our water off. I took a sip too.

He watched me. I watched him through the glass. 

Smiling, he said, “What kind of music do you like?”

Flashbacks sliced through the present. “All sorts of things. I used to play violin, so I love pretty much anything with a violin in it. I like soundtracks, classical moody type of music. I like stuff like Ben Folds Five, Matchbox 20, then some older stuff like David Bowie, Queen. It’s so hard for me to answer this question. I tend toward music that has an obvious melody. My best friend says I listen to depressing music, but I don’t think so. Bohemian Rhapsody has emotion, but it’s not depressing to me.”