“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.
“I think they look good, but you might want to keep not wearing them to school.” Bryony lowered her head and dropped into a serious tone. “Mitch lobbied for the gym teacher’s resignation when she had her nose pierced.”
“And she left?” Cal asked. “With no fight?”
“Oh, I think she negotiated a pretty package.” Bryony sat back in her seat and buckled her safety belt.
Pretty package. Women were sometimes referred to with the phrase, and while Cal routinely railed against such open displays of sexism, he couldn’t help feeling like the phrase fit nicely when he recalled his fall with Bryony, their brief togetherness of being tangled in Bailey’s leash. Cal had wanted to stay there, wrap his arms around her, unwrap her reserve and find the places where she could warm up to him, feel safe with him.
“Cal?” Bryony asked.
“Hmm?”
“Are you ready to go?” She settled into her seat.
The truth was he didn’t care whether they stayed or left. He could sit in the car with her all night, as long as they were together. But he knew she wasn’t ready, and he also knew he wasn’t confident about his long term prospects. If they ended up dating, it would be casual, something easily ended without anybody crying or wishing they had never started it in the first place. Maybe this was a bad idea, this dinner date initiated by none other than him, Cal, the challenging child, the manic man, the friendly fool.
“Cal?” Bryony asked again.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
