Ugly Sweater Weather

"I think your car is here," he said just a couple seconds before I got the alert on my phone.

It wasn't a taxi or an Uber, some rideshare thing we'd done a million times.

No.

I got us a car.

With a driver.

Who was wearing a suit as well.

Not a limo, since that would have been way over the top, but a town car.

"It's not over the top?"

"It's the perfect amount of class. Save the champagne for after the ballet, though," he advised. "It would be too much right away."

"Already the plan," I agreed. "On the way to the restaurant."

"Alright, bro. Good luck," he said, giving me an encouraging smile. "Tell Dea I will pop over and walk Lock later," he said, having a key since he'd done her the favor a few times in the past.

"I need to get you a couple extra Christmas presents," I decided as I made my way to the door.

"You know me. I'm not happy unless it's designer," he reminded me. "Did you see that new Game On collection from Louis Vuitton?" he added, dropping unsubtle hints as he had always been known to do.

"I will look into it," I agreed, making my way out the door.

Flowers in my hand, I stood outside of Dea's door, my heart hammering in my chest, my palms feeling damp.

I'd been on plenty of dates in my life. I'd never felt anything like this before. But, then again, the stakes had never been quite so high.

I could hear the click of heels across her floor, followed by the tap of Lock's paws. "Here buddy. I got you the big bone," she told him, before I heard the item in question hitting the floor with a thud.

The locks slid.

The door pulled open.

And there she was.

I thought Dea was a knockout when she'd barely just rolled out of bed with messy hair, no makeup, and toothpaste stains on her shirt.

But this dressed up version of Dea was breathtaking.

The dress her mother had gotten for her was practically made for Dea, the red silk gliding over her hips, scalloping low on her chest, skirting the floor at one side of the hem, then slitting drastically up her thigh on the other.

She'd gone with nude heels, and had tamed her hair into silky sheets, had matched her dress to her lipstick, lined her eyes, put little golden hoops at her ears that matched the dainty golden chain with a small hollowed-out circle clock necklace I'd bought her for her first anniversary of living in the city. Her "New York Minute" necklace that she wore on special occasions.

"Wow," I said, the sound rushing out of me, unstoppable.

"Yeah?" she asked, doing an unsure little turn. "It's not over the top?" she asked, running her hand down her stomach uncertainly.

"It's perfect. You're perfect." That was probably too much, but it was true nonetheless.

Her smile was of the shy sort, her gaze skittering away for a second, then moving over me. "Hey, we match kind of," she told me, reaching out to touch my pocket square that Clarence had picked out which had hints of gold and red. "You smell amazing," she said, making my lips curve up as she leaned forward, taking a deep breath.

"So do you." I'd always been a fan of Dea's perfume. She hadn't switched it up for the night, had gone with her old favorite scent she wore every day, something her caretaker, Tilly, had bought her as a birthday present when she was little, something light, feminine, powdery. I swore she stuck with it as an adult as an ode to Tilly and also to tick off her mother who thought it was a little girl's perfume.

"Okay. Let me just grab my clutch. Yes, a clutch. I was informed today by a coworker that I can't carry a shoulder bag with a silk dress."

"And the shoes," I added, even though we wouldn't be doing much walking, and would be sitting down most of the night.

"Okay, all set," she said, handing me the shoes to tuck away while she baby-talked at Lock about being home soon and belly rubs and snuggles.

"Clarence said he would pop by later to take Lock for a walk, so we don't have to worry about getting back at a certain time."

"He's too good."

"I have to get him some of those new Game On pieces for Christmas, apparently."

"Aren't they like two grand for a scarf or something like that?"

"Probably," I agreed as she grabbed a shawl that didn't look like it would be nearly warm enough, but she'd probably been informed by the same fashion-advising co-worker that her usual jacket would clash with her dress as well. "Okay. All set. Did you call an Uber, or are we taking a cab? What?" she asked when I shook my head and led her down the hall, through the lobby, then out onto the street, where my driver was standing beside the town car. Seeing me, he reached out, opening the back door.