Big City Little Rebel

ChapterSeven

Beau

Beau had forty-five minutes to pull it together before Bobbie got off work. Looking around his place, he was nowhere ready for company, but he’d make do. Given the crackle of energy that surfaced each time they were together. He made sure, if anything got done, he made his bed. He didn’t want to assume anything, but a Boy Scout was living in his heart, telling him to be prepared.

He tossed his new dishes in the cupboards, figuring he’d organize them tomorrow. All that was left was the plant. He set it in the corner, moved it to the coffee table, and finally placed it in the middle of his dining table. He wanted everything to be perfect, just in case.

His place was as good as it was getting tonight, but he needed work, so he jumped in the shower and dressed before he rushed out and headed to the diner. He arrived as she walked out, and her smile shone almost as bright as the neon sign that flickered above her.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming.” She turned around and leaned against the door. Chained to his worksite door, she was beautiful, but tonight, with the glow of light kissing her skin and a smile that could melt hearts, she was stunning.

“Of course, I came. It’s our second date.” He leaned in and kissed her on her cheek. “I even showered so I don’t smell like a construction worker.”

“You are a construction worker.” She poked him playfully in the chest. “Let’s go. My feet ache, and I want to sit down.”

He offered his arm and led her away from the diner. “I have to stop in there.” He pointed to the corner liquor store. “We need a bottle of wine or something to toast our first time together without wanting to kill one another.”

She laughed. “Don’t count that possibility out yet. The night is still young.” She gripped his arm and followed him into the store.

Just inside the door, he stopped and turned to her. “Can we extend the neutral zone tonight?”

Her eyes softened. “Yes. I’d like that.”

He walked down the wine aisle skimming the bottles with his fingers. “Do you prefer white or red?”

“Red.”

“Red it is.” He picked his favorite, a Malbec, and paid the cashier. They walked toward Thirteenth Street.

At the door to the building, Bobbie stalled.

“I’d invite you up, but my apartment isn’t neutral ground. I’ve got some stuff on my walls that could be considered inflammatory.” She pulled her lip between her teeth. A nervous habit he noticed when she was uncertain.

“I’ll tell you what, we’ll go to my place. It’s about as neutral as it can get.” He gently took her elbow and led her through the door. She stopped in the common area.

“I thought you said we were going to your place.” Her smile was gone, and annoyance took its place. “Seriously, Beau. My place is a no-go.”

“We’re not going to your place.” He grinned. “I’m on the third floor, number three-seventeen.” He gave her a look that said, what are the odds?

“How did that happen?” She laughed as she went up the stairs. “Wait! Are you stalking me?”

He held his hands in the air. “I’m no stalker. It seems the world is pushing us together. Believe it or not, I signed the lease on this place from New York.” When he unlocked the door, he stood aside and let her enter first. He wanted to see his place through her eyes, and at first glance, it wasn’t much to look at, but at least it was clean.

It smelled new, like fresh wood and cardboard boxes. He made a mental note to pick up a candle or air freshener. They walked to the couch, and he asked her to sit while he went to the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets. The best he could come up with was a couple of coffee mugs. Damn it. He didn’t even have a corkscrew.

He came out of the kitchen with two coffee cups and a full, unopened bottle of wine. “I’m totally failing at this dating stuff.”

“It doesn’t matter what we drink out of.” She looked at the unopened bottle and nodded. “Oh, right.” She hopped off the couch and walked toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

While she was gone, he plugged in his phone and chose some soft music. She took so long, he thought she wouldn’t return when he heard a soft knock at his door.

When he opened it, she was standing there with dripping wet hair, a plate of cheese and crackers, and a corkscrew. “There isn’t anything sexy about smelling like chicken-fried steak, so I took a few minutes to shower.”

He would have disagreed with her. He liked chicken-fried steak, but he wasn’t complaining. She walked in and placed the plate of cheese and crackers on the coffee table—the same table that had been in no fewer than ten pieces a few hours ago.

“Chicken-fried steak is my favorite, by the way.” He took the corkscrew and opened the bottle.

“I thought your favorite was the cherry pie.” A smile lit up her face. “I didn’t have enough hands to bring down the wine glasses.” She sat on the couch and curled up in the corner to face him. “I have this same sofa.” She bounced up and down on it a few times. “It will get softer as it gets older.”