“You didn’t hear the back door? You two must have been so wrapped up in your little tete-a-tete you didn’t notice me back there.”

“I think Bryony should ask Mister Forster to go on a date,” Todd said.

“Oh, happy day!” Lillian clapped and looked upward. “Someone else agrees with me.”

“This is no business of yours,” Bryony glared at Lillian as she tied on her apron. “Or yours,” she said, glancing at Todd. She didn’t like them ganging up on her.

“I’m sorry, Miss Green,” Todd said.

“Apology accepted. Would you please unlock the front door now?”

Breaking with his routine, Cal had not shown up for his morning coffee, and Bryony decided to walk home before the after-school crowd arrived to ensure she would miss him then, too. She knew she would be hyperaware of how Lillian perceived her every interaction with the man. She would feel awkward, and it would show. Lillian might take that as a sign of her interest in Cal. He might, too, and she wasn’t ready for any more encouragement from Lillian or confusing comments from Cal.

Why did being attracted to someone have to be so confusing, agitating, threatening?

She remembered the revelation she’d had about her father the day Alma socked him in the arm. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe she’d been raised to fear strong men. And maybe Cal was one of the strongest men she’d ever met. Not in terms of athleticism, though he did seem fit. His strengths were his mind, and his obvious love for people in general, and his sense of humor.

A blue sky with wisps of cloud backdropped the traffic light as she approached the intersection. She glanced at the car stopped at the red light allowing her to cross. Cal drove a similar car. She made eye contact with the driver. The young man behind the wheel met her eyes and smiled. She replied with a brusque tip of her head and looked forward, a slowly curving Mona Lisa smile on her lips . She had wanted it to be Cal.

The realization came like a puff of smoke that faded as fast as it appeared.

Two blocks from her house, the cell phone in her pocket buzzed. She pulled it out and flipped it open, familiar with the number.

“Hello?” she answered.

“You weren’t in the coffee shop, and I wanted to talk,” Cal said.

“You wanted to talk?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I need to go over forms for the program.”

Bryony held the phone tight to her ear. “Are they important?” They must be if he couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

“Forms have no inherent importance, but we must fill them out,” he said. “We could meet somewhere for dinner, and I could, uh, hand them over. I mean, I haven’t eaten, and you probably haven’t either.”

Was he asking her for a date? Had Lillian or Todd said something to him?

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Dinner cannot wait until tomorrow. That would make it breakfast. I never skip a meal.”

She smiled, and though unclear about his intention, the inclination to accept his invitation overcame her worry about whether she was ready to explore a relationship with any man, and whether she could trust this man in particular. “Meet me at the coffee shop at six‑thirty.”

They ended the call after Cal assured her he would be on time, not too early, not late at all, and dog free.

Within sight of her house now, she visualized her closet. Should she wear a dress? No, she should wear a pair of pants and a nice sweater, business casual. Because he had said there were forms to sign.

Wearing a dress would send the wrong signal, telling him she wanted it to be a date, and she wasn’t ready to declare herself open to that, not to him, nor to herself.

But later, when she stood naked in front of her closet, still damp from her shower, she forgot all about business casual and pulled out a dress that flattered her curves and made her feel pretty.

CAL CRACKS THE DRESS CODE

“I feel like a girl.” Cal stood between his closet and his bed.

Sitting on the floor beside him, Bailey thumped his tail.

“What should I wear?” Three shirts, still on hangers, covered the bottom half of Cal’s bed. “Pick one, buddy.”

Bailey dropped to his belly and put his lower jaw on the floor between his paws.

“You’re no help. You always wear the same thing.” Cal scanned the closet again and returned to the three on his bed. “Blue to match my eyes, brown to match hers, or classic black?”

Bailey rolled to his side and stretched his legs.

Cal returned to his closet and moved the shirts left to right again, one by one. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, definitely not, Hawaiian’s too casual, no tees—” followed by eight swishes of metal across metal. “Okay, the suitable options are on the bed.”

He returned to the bed and picked up the black shirt Heidi had gifted to him for Christmas last year. Maybe it would bring him luck. He put it on, pairing it with a newer pair of black pants and a tie with blue and brown swirls on a black background.

“This color combination covers all the bases,” he said as he knotted the tie and patted down his hair. “And I’m wearing these.” Cal picked up the tiny box from the shelf beside the medicine cabinet. Inside lay the diamond studs.

He never wore them at school. Earrings would have attracted too much attention. Conservative dressers received less scrutiny, and the appearance of conformity allowed for leeway in teaching methods.

Arriving promptly at the appointed time, Cal saw Bryony through the front door glass of the shop. Before he had the car all the way into the parking space, she had thrown a lacy black shawl over a black dress, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and locked the door behind her. He would not be escorting her to the car or opening the door for her, at least not yet.

“Okay, Bryony,” he said under his breath as he put the car in park. “You’re in charge.”

Bryony opened the car door and lowered herself into the passenger seat.

“You look nice,” he said.

In fact, she looked and smelled heavenly. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. An herbal scent filled the car, reminiscent of a field of wildflowers, out of sight and out of reach, but hinted at by the wind.

“So do you,” she said.

“We match,” Cal said.

Her head and shoulders shifted toward him. “Aw,” she said. “Nice tie.” She moved her gaze to one side of his head, and then the other, frowning. “What are those?”

“Are you referring to my high cheekbones, or the masculine angles on each of my jawbones?”

“Has Mitch seen those earrings?” she asked.

“This is the first time I’ve worn them outside the house since moving here. I generally put them in at night before I go to bed. I was advised to wear them daily so the holes in my ears wouldn’t close up. What do you think?” He turned his head side to side, modeling Prissy’s handiwork.