“Victoria.”
She became quiet.
Daniel smiled.
“Just take it.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
A pause.
“Dinner.”
She laughed.
“What?”
“You offered breakfast.”
“At two-thirty.”
“Exactly.”
“So now?”
“Dinner.”
“Is this a date?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Victoria liked that.
“When?”
“Friday.”
“I have New York Friday.”
“Saturday.”
“London Saturday.”
Daniel frowned.
“You live terribly.”
“I know.”
“Sunday.”
“I return at six.”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Where?”
Daniel smiled.
“Not somewhere you own.”
She laughed.
“That eliminates more restaurants than you think.”
Sunday at 7:28, Victoria arrived at a small Italian restaurant in Bridgeport.
No driver at the door.
No assistant.
Dark green dress.
Simple coat.
Daniel was already there.
Clean shirt.
Jacket.
No grease.
Victoria stopped beside the table.
He stood.
She looked him over.
“What?”
“You clean up.”
“So do you.”
“I was already clean.”
“That sounded arrogant.”
“It was meant to.”
He smiled.
Dinner lasted three hours.
No business.
Mostly.
Victoria tried.
Daniel caught her checking email once.
He reached across the table and turned her phone face down.
She stared.
“Did you just touch my phone?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how many mergers are inside that phone?”
“They can wait for pasta.”
She looked almost offended.
Then she smiled.
“You are either very brave or completely unaware of consequences.”
“Mechanic.”
“Right.”
They talked about music.
Daniel liked old blues and terrible seventies rock.
Victoria listened to classical piano while working and dance music while exercising because, in her words, “suffering requires tempo.”
Daniel told her about Rachel without shrinking the past to make room for the present.
Victoria appreciated that.
She talked about her mother.
A seamstress who later opened a clothing store.
The store failed when Victoria was nineteen after a lender accelerated debt during a bad winter.
Daniel understood suddenly why the loan review had affected her so deeply.
“You built all that because of one store?”
“No.”
Victoria looked at her wine.
“But that was the first time I learned contracts can be legal and still be cruel.”
Daniel said nothing.
She continued.
“My mother blamed herself for years.”
“For missing payments?”
“For trusting them.”
Victoria's jaw tightened.
“I hated that.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Maybe that's why you didn't like my foreclosure.”
“Maybe.”
“Not because I'm handsome.”
She laughed.
“Your humility is astonishing.”
Dessert arrived.
Daniel did not remember ordering it.
Victoria did.