It's Got A Ring To It (24 page)

Our eyes were locked, but I knew his friends were still looking at
us. I wasn’t at all embarrassed by the truth in my words. Just saying the words
emboldened me—I stood just a little taller. The time for walking on
eggshells had long since passed.

Fifteen
minutes
later, the show and its encore presentation were over just in
time for our food. As physically and emotionally exhausted as I was after our
professions of love and making goo-goo eyes, I only wanted to focus on my
primal need to eat. Around the table, a decadent feast had been laid out. I
ordered Les
Oeufs
. In French,
it’s
just eggs, but everything sounds better, more romantic in French. Initially
,
taking four years of
French in high school seemed like a good idea to spruce up my college
applications, but the fact that it was a crowd-pleaser with the boys, was an
added bonus. “
Je
souhaite
que
c’etait
vendredi
,” I’d say every Monday, just to sound fancy
when I wished for Friday. Reading the menu, it all came flooding back.

Oh, two eggs never looked better than when they
were
slow dancing
with potatoes, croquettes,
toasted brioche, and bacon high on puffs of
applewood
.
Thinking about Lena fasting to look like a stick in her wedding gown, I knew I
could never be one of those people bent on giving up carbs. Might as well
confine a person to a dark dungeon with only a sliver of light from beneath the
door and tell them to enjoy the sun.

Strangely enough, I felt more comfortable with his friends after
everything had been laid out on the table
—
even if it was more like a production.
The whole time, I’d been yipping and yapping, and I’d barely taken two bites.
As soon as the waiter returned with the check, Andrew put cash in the leather
receipt holder and stood with a loud bearish yawn. The group had plans to see
Mystere
at T.I. and needed to get dressed, so we bid each
other adieu with lots of hugs and the promise of catching up before they headed
back home. Before I rose from my chair, Myles urged me not to rush and excused
himself to the restroom.

I turned back to my plate and within minutes, I felt like
a total
lard. My eyes were bigger than my stomach and the
thought of taking even one more bite, made my stomach bubble. Across the room,
our busser
had just delivered a fresh basket of assorted bread loaves. The moment his line
of sight turned in my direction, I waved him over for a couple of boxes.

“You’re all set
,
ma’am,” he offered, expertly slipping the cardboard origami box into a small
plastic bag with the trademark burgundy and gold block-lettered logo centered
on the front.

As I wound my way back through the restaurant toward the entrance,
Myles walked toward me, mischievously eyeballing me. As he closed the distance
between us, he pulled his hands from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of
luscious pale pink peonies tussled together in hot
-
pink tissue paper.

“Hello, my name is Myles. I don’t have any pick
-
up lines or games to play. I was just hoping
that you’d allow me take you out to a nice dinner, possibly dancing or a movie,
if you take a liking to my company. What do you say?”

I
half-way
expected him to put his hand out
for a hardy shake, but he lightly pecked my cheek and took a step backward,
still holding the flowers.

“By the way, these are for you
.
”
H
e offered, nervous as a schoolboy.

If we’d really just met, I’d be second
-
guessing his intentions and wondering about
how many items on my man checklist could be crossed off. But, the irony of
starting over with him, it came with a newfound courage to put an end to my old
ingrained ways. It was a real-life do-over.

twenty-one

It still
wasn’t exactly clear to me, how we went from awkward choppy run-ins to what we
became after the
new year
. In sort of a blur, we were
inseparable. When I wasn’t with him, we were on the phone for hours talking
about nothing that I could actually pinpoint. He’d delicately perched himself
upon my mind. Just sitting
there
, rerouting his way
into my heart. Apparently, I was beaming from the insight out. Glowing,
Lena had used that word
. The
way people weave in tidbits about themselves into random chitchat, I’d
discovered that I had a remarkably uncanny ability to relate any conversation
or thought back to him.

At work, the girls playfully teased me about this newfound talent and
constantly accused me of being smitten with
Mr. Love
, they’d singsong with each mention of his name. There
was no sense in denying it, since the blood rushing to my face was a dead
giveaway. They reserved especially mushy kissy-faces for date nights, when they
would pour it on thicker than usual.

On the night of our fifth date, since the “do-over,” as he so
eloquently put it, I came in with
earbuds
and
sunglasses and pretended not to see their goo-goo eyes and faint snickering. So
far, it had been much more than I’d hoped for. I thought if we started again,
it would be the typical dinner and movies. It started out that way. But I knew
he would put his own twist on it.

Instead of going to the theater to see a movie, we opted for the
drive-in, which turned out to be so much fun. We didn’t have to whisper or be
considerate of other patrons, so we laughed loudly, ate an obscene amount of
candy and popcorn, and played twenty questions. We talked about the characters’
B-movie acting skills, and the flawed
special effects. When the crispness of the
night air got to be too much, we rolled up all the windows and moved to the
backseat, where he stretched across the seats and let me sit in the opening
between his legs. As much as I wanted him, I didn’t want to ruin the moment of
us just enjoying each other’s company.

I hadn’t expected horseback riding through the Red Rock trails with
an intimate picnic in the park. Beyond his smoky eyes, there was the
ever-present yearning and a slight knowing smile, but gradually, he let me see
a glimpse of a few new facets. Riding through the desert, we talked freely,
leaning in close to each other, open to all the possibilities. Bystanders would
easily assume we’d known each other for years, rather than the few months that
we’d stumbled along to get here.

The museum-hopping trip surprised me the most. Not only was I
introduced to the hidden culture of Las Vegas,
but
I
uncovered a few more of his many layers. From his perspective, the art jumped
off the canvas and spoke to him. As we walked by each piece, I felt myself
behind closed lids, looking at the art through his words. The way he talked
about it, I was transported into the montage of emotions and sleepless nights
that inspired the work. As he spoke, a small crease in his brow furrowed and
his eyes read the pain and the joy of the artists. His hands gestured toward
each work as he attempted to demystify the feeling behind the strokes and
angles. Nothing was abstract or literal, but subject to interpretation, he’d
explained. And I found myself, woven into the textured fabric of his life,
wondering which threads led to his heart.

Beneath the invoices on my desk, I tugged at the glossy cover of a
bridal magazine with a fluorescent pink
P
ost-it peeking out
—
Winston Wedding 4:00 pm.
My last appointment of the
day was in ten minutes. A sweet couple from L.A. was
having their ceremony and reception at a
family friend’s estate. When I first saw the groom, Ryan, I had him all sized
up. Classic Ken doll perfection: suited and frilled with gadgets hanging from
his ear, waist-clip, and back pocket. He seemed like the typical guy who would
be too unavoidably detained to be into details, for the most part. Though, as I
patronized his fiancé
e
,
Linda, a meek mousy brown-haired transplant from the
Midwest
, with my regular, “
H
ow’d you meet
” question, to break the
ice, it was his answer that shocked me the most. She hemmed and hawed about a
good heart and compatibility, but Ryan surprised me. He was, “
P
ut on the earth to love
her,” he muttered endearingly. In the back of my mind, I threw around questions
and theories with no proper hypothesis. This
tenderhearted
romantic somehow resisted the
clich
é
. With him, chivalry never died.
Constantly, he
held
doors, pull
ed
out chairs, and help
ed
her on with her coat. And I couldn’t help
but wonder, how some men could perceive love and marriage as the end of life as
they know it, while a rare few get to be privy to a different outlook
—
the gift and blessing
that only a lucky handful get to experience. And what’s more, I contemplated
indecisively into which category would Myles fall.

By the time the appointment ended, they had opted for a modern,
elegant theme, with a
flair
for old
Hollywood
.
Black and white, sleek with assorted apothecary jars and vases. Their circular
script W monogram along with a satin damask ribbon would faintly fill the
background of all the labels and custom napkins. After a couple compromises,
they opted for red candy to match her rose and hydrangea bouquet. They were
pleased with my recommendation that included
C
herry
S
ours,
T
wizzlers
,
R
ed
H
ots
, and
C
innamon
B
ears, among their
favorites. Laid out on the ivory satin tablecloth with hydrangea centerpieces
dispersed between the vases and jars, it fit their “simple but elegant” theme.

Outside the window, I watched longingly as Ryan held the door of
their sleek sedan for Linda. She slid into the passenger seat. Just before he
closed the door, he lightly brushed his lips against hers and made his way
around to the driver’s seat. I shook my head, as if to shake myself from the
daze, and turned to find the girls each with a customer. Quickly, I made a mad
dash for my office before they could read the thoughts all over my face. I
needed to hear Myles’ voice.

Before the line rang a second time, he picked up. “Hello,
sweetheart,” he uttered, sending butterflies soaring through my stomach. He
exhaled, and it made me feel as if his need to talk to me was just as urgent.
“How’d everything go?”

“The Brown wedding is booked, the Singers need a day to review the
contract
—
I think
they’re comparison shopping, and the
Winstons
are
in.”

“Two out of three is
n’t
bad, but I’m sure the
Singers’ll
come around soon,
once they review all the details. Plus, what other company has a representative
like you, babe?”
h
e
said it so comfortably without a second thought, while I listened to him,
analyzing each inflection in his tone, hoping for some new insight.

“No, not bad at all. Plus, I’m booking up pretty fast here, so
they’ll need to make up their minds sooner than later, if I’m going to be an
option for them at all.”

 
“Other than that, how’s
your day going?”

“I wish it was time to close now. I can’t wait to see you. I miss
you.” It slipped. Immediately, I wanted to take it back. I’d been so careful
not to be too eager. I hated the desperation in my words.

“I miss you, too,” Myles replied matter-of-factly, and with it, all
the tension in my neck and shoulders released. He missed me. I wasn’t alone in
this crazy thing we had going. “Can you get out a little early?”

“Uh…” I hesitated. “I was scheduled to stay for another hour, but it
is Friday. And I am the owner
.
”
I
mentally recount
ed
all the things that still
needed to be done before we closed. What’s the point of having a fully
empowered staff, if not to knock off early every once in a while? Plus, there
were no pressing deadlines until Tuesday. “Sure. What’d you have in mind?”

“You’ll see,” he murmured sneakily. “Can’t wait to see you.”

Not until the dial tone sounded, did I actually hang up. I was still
sitting there, my mind doing acrobatics trying to figure out what he was up to.
From an abrupt ending to a proposal, my overactive imagination spanned the
gambit, but nothing made sense. Hastily, I packed up the courier bag for the
bank deposit and threw it on the back counter. Why would he say he missed me,
if it was over? All the orders for Monday were already completed and tagged for
pick up. Marriage seemed a little farfetched, even to me. After a quick
check in
with the girls and
a cursory pull on the drawers, my wandering mind and I exited the building.

Absentmindedly, I dug into my purse, listening for the jingle of my
keys. I pushed the unlock button. Nothing. No honking horn or flashing lights.
The lot could hold twenty or thirty cars, but there was only a dozen or so
left. The morning had been a little hectic, but I wasn’t going crazy. My car
was gone.

Panic set in all at once. I stood there,
lost,
tapping my foot with fumes billowing from my ears. A sheen of perspiration
formed above my brow, not only because it was still in the high nineties, my
blood was boiling. My mind could not wrap itself around the idea that someone
had the audacity to steal the car
.
Between short breaths, I replayed the
events of the morning in my mind. It was a day like any other. I woke at nearly
seven, showered, dressed, and stopped for a cup of coffee down the street at
the French bakery. When I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked at
the end of the aisle facing the shop to leave room for customers. I wasn’t
losing it. My car
had
been
stolen.

Shit! Now, I would have to call the police and the insurance company,
and labor through phone call after phone call, just to be made whole again. My
clammy fingers stiffened around the slim smartphone. It was time to suck it up,
and get the process under way. One by one, I dialed
9
1…honk
!...
1.
Startled by ear-shattering noise, I nearly dropped it. No sooner was I about to
give someone a piece of my mind, did I look and see Myles
’ car
. If
I
wasn’t so happy to see him, I might’ve
killed him.

“Oh thank
G
od
you’re here. I’m so glad you’re here. Someone stole my car
.
”
T
he words rushed together frantically.

“Oh.” He remarked, apathetically, as if I’d asked for a cup of sugar.

“Wait. What are you doing here? How did you know something was
wrong?” The sides of his guilty, sexy mouth curled up. “Did you know something
was wrong?” I mirrored his smile involuntarily. Myles definitely had something
to do with it. There I was freaking out, and he was cracking up on the inside
at my expense. “Myles, what have you done with my car? You are up to no good
and I know it.”

“Get in and I’ll see what I can do to help out.” He winked
mischievously and though I wanted to yell at him for nearly giving me a heart
attack, resisting that face of his, hadn’t worked out for me so far.

Myles shifted his body in my direction without affecting his knowing
grin. Slowly, his eyes squinted, smoldering with heat. From inside the car, now
I could see that he had solicitous intentions. “You are stunning.” The words
sizzled off his silver tongue. “Have I ever told you that? You really do take
my breath away.”

Under the weight of his words and eyes, my skin pulsed.
I knew I was blushing
.
Throbbing with a hunger for him that, until now, had just been a niggling ache
in my heart. It found its way down to a place much deeper. It wasn’t a question
whether I was in good hands. That
was
the trouble.

Instinctively, my hand reached for my face.
Self-conscious
and slightly embarrassed.
I’d been at work all day. Any traces of makeup
from the morning were surely faded. My hair was in a ponytail, and the wrinkled
black skirt suit was meant more for professional effect than appeal. With the
suit, I’d just as soon be auditing him than seducing him. Not even a glimpse of
cleavage peeked from the red camisole beneath, and the skirt barely made it
above the knees.

“Don’t. I think this is when you’re flawless,”
H
e uttered at a near whisper, pulling my hand
from my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. “Want to get changed?”

“I
was
going to stop
home and change before I came over,” I
said,
with an
accusatory tinge edge to my tone.

“No need. I’ve got everything you need here
.
” Myles motioned to a duffel bag in the back
seat I hadn’t noticed before. Only in looking closer at the bag, it dawned on
me. It was my bag. Not purchased for me, but the quilted lavender floral
weekender tote already belonged to me. It was an online steal from two Cyber
Mondays ago.