“That explains why you didn't want me touching anything.”
Her cheeks reddened.
“I was awful.”
I smiled.
“A little.”
She covered her face.
“Oh, God.”
I laughed.
“It's okay.”
She looked up.
“I was frightened.”
I nodded.
“I figured.”
Vanessa stared.
“You did?”
“People get sharp when they're afraid of losing something important.”
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Then she whispered, “You really do understand cars.”
I smiled.
“Sometimes people too.”
She laughed softly.
And I felt something shift between us.
The conversation no longer seemed like a blind date.
It felt like two people who'd unexpectedly found a place where they could stop pretending.
Halfway through dessert, Vanessa's telephone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen.
Her expression changed.
A man's name appeared.
Arthur Bell.
She declined the call.
Then set the phone facedown.
“Work?” I asked.
She sighed.
“Unfortunately.”
I smiled.
“Same problem I have.”
She looked toward me.
“Does your garage ever let you leave it alone?”
“Not lately.”
For a moment, I considered telling her about the foreclosure.
Then stopped.
I didn't want her to think I was asking for money.
I didn't want the date to become a business conversation.
And I didn't want to ruin the first genuinely enjoyable evening I'd experienced in three years.
So I changed the subject.
Vanessa seemed grateful.
We talked about music.
Road trips.
The worst meals we'd ever eaten.
And whether the Pacific Northwest had too many rainy days or simply not enough people who knew how to enjoy them.
By the time the waiter brought the check, nearly three hours had passed.
I reached for my wallet.
Vanessa glanced toward me.
“Marcus.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“I chose this restaurant.”
“And I agreed to come.”
She smiled.
“Then perhaps we split it.”
I considered that.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
We paid separately.
It wasn't a grand gesture.
But I liked that she didn't turn the evening into a test of masculinity or wealth.
When we reached the entrance, the rain had stopped completely.
The lake shimmered beneath the lights.
Vanessa stood beside me, her long dress moving softly in the evening breeze.
For a moment, neither of us seemed ready to leave.
Then she looked up.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Would you have helped me if you'd known who I was?”
I considered the question.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Really?”
“Of course.”