Love and Romance, etc.
A Free Newsletter for romance novel lovers
By Bonnie Williams
Episode 7
The Hot Date
Emma struggled with the silky black “slim-shaper” nylons— Yeah, you look slimmer because you can’t eat once they’re on. She managed to get both feet inside the garment then nearly fell on her face. “I’m going to kill the man who invented these,” she groaned, when her thumbnail snagged the “panty” in the pantyhose. “Agh! And if he’s already dead—I’ll kill his descendants.”
Pumpkin tried to wind her plump body around Emma’s legs. “Listen to me, Pumpkin. Only a man would create such masochistic under things for women to wear. After all, it was men who created the corset, didn’t they?” Pumpkin didn’t care. She just wanted her growing tummy rubbed.
Emma took a break from the torturous task and glanced at the simple black dress on the bed—required attire for a first date. Hey, she read chick-lit. She knew the drill. And if she intended to wear it, she had to fit her butt into the nylons.
She had them up to her knees when the phone rang and she nearly tripped while hopping to the phone. “This better be important,” she groaned into the receiver. “You’ve just interrupted my contortionist act.”
“Sorry I’m not there to see it,” said a deep, sensual voice.
“Blake?”
“Hi. Uh, there’s been a slight change of plans.”
“Hmm, let me guess.” She planted her butt on the edge of the bed. “Your house was demolished by a meteorite and you can’t make it?”
A masculine laugh sounded through the phone.
Oh, darn it! Why did he have to have a sexy laugh?
“If only,” he said. “But no. We had an unexpected visitor this evening and I’m running a little late. Would you mind meeting me at Ben’s Diner?”
“Ben’s Diner?” she said skeptically.
“Yeah. I’ll be there in forty minutes.”
“Okay.” Whatever.
“Great. See you there. Oh, and would you mind wearing that silky little green number you had on yesterday?”
“Dream on.”
He laughed again. “Well, a man can dream, can’t he? Bye, Emma.” The jerk was still laughing when he hung up.
“Ben’s Diner? Not exactly the most romantic place in town.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “Pumpkin, I’ll be damned if I’m going to wear pantyhose if we’re just going for burgers and fries. I should have guessed he’d choose something like the diner.” Maybe her mother was right. But Emma would prove her mother wrong even if it killed her. It was the principle of the thing.
Pumpkin hopped onto the bed, made two circles around the center of Emma black dress, then settled in for a nap.
“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t need the dress either.” Emma tugged off the pantyhose and promptly threw them in the trash. If they were going out for burgers, she required burger attire. She decided a thread-bare pair of jeans would be appropriate, and because she was feeling particularly obnoxious, Emma put on a pair of hiking boots and a t-shirt her brother gave her as a gag gift for her birthday last year that said “I Love Curly” across the chest.
She took the fancy combs out of her hair, brushed out the curls, and pulled it back in a ponytail. “There, that should do it, Pumpkin. At least I’ll be comfortable while I’m trying to keep Blake Kinsey’s hands to himself.” She scratched Pumpkin behind the ears and a loud rumbling came from her kitty throat. “Feel free to make a nest of that dress. I doubt I’ll ever be tempted to wear it again.”
Forty-five minutes later, Emma was desperately trying to remain ticked at Blake Kinsey. “So what if he’s a fantastic kisser.” No, don’t think about that. She circled Ben’s Diner parking lot a second time and finally found a space for her car. Ben’s was the town hang-out, and evenings were usually busy. She flipped the visor down to check her face in the mirror. Why was she bothering to check her lipstick? Because, this was the town’s most popular place for busy bodies, plus she was getting edgy. First date butterflies, that’s all. After one last look— Who was she kidding? Besides, she wore jeans and a t-shirt…she wasn’t trying to look attractive—was she?
Emma got out of her car and walked through the glass double doors of the diner. The usual smell of Jose’s meatloaf and Betty’s apple pie was overwhelming. Ben met her at the host podium. “Hey, Ben. I’m supposed to meet someone here.” She noticed several heads turning in her direction.
Ben straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “Yes, Madame. Your table is ready.”
Madame. He wasn’t wearing his usual brown pants and plaid shirt. Though his thinning hair still looked disheveled, his black pants were ironed and he wore a white oxford shirt. “Are you feeling all right, Ben.”
“Fit as a fiddle,” he said. “Right this way.”
“O-kay.” She spotted two of her clients as she followed Ben toward the rear of the diner. One stopped arguing with her husband long enough to stare at Emma. The other woman sat at a window booth with her teenaged daughter. They both leaned toward each other lowering their voices to a whisper. Emma felt an odd sense of apprehension settle in the pit of her stomach.
Ben escorted her to the last table and she stopped in her tracks—stunned by what she saw. The table sat in the corner with a window at the side and back allowing the customers a pleasant view of the city. But that’s not what shocked her. The table was not the usual “diner” ware. This one was elegantly decorated with a flowing white tablecloth, candles, and a breathtaking all-white centerpiece with an unusual assortment of snapdragons, roses, and carnations that gave the bouquet an almost luminous quality. All tied neatly together into a translucent green vase, it nearly took the breath from her lungs.
Emma shifted her gaze to the man standing at the end of the table and her heart made an energetic lurch. Blake. He wasn’t dressed in jeans as she’d expected. In fact, he looked devastatingly handsome in his charcoal suit—minus the tie. She felt a hot ache grow deep inside her and tried to ignore it. The man was pure sensuality and it was maddening.
He scanned her critically, raised an eyebrow, then beamed at her with approval. Darn him. Her outfit was meant to put him off. Instead, he seemed to approve of her choice of apparel. Normally she’d never be caught dead wearing anything remotely hideous or offensive—not that Curly was offensive—but she’d had it drilled into her brain at an early age to be mindful of appearance when out in public.
Blake walked over to her, took her hand in his, then gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. “Hi,” he said. “I hope you like the table. If not we can always sit somewhere else.”
Was he kidding? “Um…” Emma was still mesmerized by the seductive twinkle in his irresistible chocolate-brown eyes and silky smooth voice. “I thought…I mean…Oh, God.”
There was a long silence among the customers. She tried to swallow the uncomfortable lump forming in her throat. The tension building around her made her anxious and self-conscious. She suddenly felt guilty for wearing jeans and disappointed that Blake wasn’t. Leave it to her to get the signals crossed. Lord, help her if her mother could see her now? Chances are, her mother would hear about it one way or another, but if she saw what Emma wore right now--out of the house—she’d never hear the end of it.
“You okay?” Blake asked as he tugged gently on her hand. He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. Even the chairs, she noticed, had been adorned with white ruffled cushions for the occasion. “Thank you” was all she’d managed to say.
Was that Ida Brown, the town busy body staring at her? Of course it was. Emma nearly groaned aloud. Now her mother would definitely know everything.
“I asked around to find out what your favorite food was,” he shrugged. “I was surprised to discover that Belgian waffles with strawberries were your favorite. Rosy said you could eat them any time of day. So I got to thinking, I could take you anywhere within a fifty mile radius of town, but you’d never find a better waffle this side of the equator then Ben’s place. So here we are.”
She stared at him in wonder and felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
The talking and chattering started up again. Emma thought she heard whispers of “…her mother wouldn’t…and that house” and “…disgraceful…wearing jeans?” Emma even thought she heard several sexually suggestive comments from the men. She felt a shudder of humiliation and embarrassment that quickly turned to anger—mostly at herself. Why couldn’t one single thing come easily for her? Everything she’d gained in her life took ten times more effort then for most people. She wanted to remain angry with Blake—but it wasn’t his fault that she’d jumped to a hasty conclusion about his character. Among other emotions racing through her brain, shame was now added to the mix.
Panicked thoughts rioted through her—her mom would be furious—her clients might harass her—her brother would never speak to her…
Blake sat down across from her and smiled. She suddenly wanted him to find her desirable, which she was certain he couldn’t with her outdoor-slob gear. She quickly looked away.
She couldn’t handle this. It was all just too much. Anxious to escape, she mumbled a feeble “I’m sorry” as she stood up and ran for the door.
THE LONELY GUYS
Copyright© 2004 By Bonnie Williams
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