The "What If" Guy (23 page)

My eyes welled. I hadn’t been told that in a long time. “Thank you,” I whispered.

We walked to the front door in silence. Out on the porch, he leaned in for one last kiss, his whiskers brushing against my skin. “Be ready. It’s time you were treated to a proper date.”

He walked away.

My pulse skittered. A proper date? With Henry? I wiggled in place as he got into his truck and backed out of the driveway, waving at me with a silly grin.

As soon as he was out of sight, I ran through Layla’s entire house, screaming.

Chapter Seventeen

Henry called me every day during the week leading up to our date—sometimes twice. And one afternoon, he brought me dinner while I worked the late shift at the pharmacy. We ate, sitting on the tailgate of his truck, swinging our legs and talking as the streetlights blinked on.

He asked me what I’d been up to, and whether I’d seen Holly lately, who struggled to stay on bed rest as spring arrived on the Judd farm. He said good-bye to me in a sexy, low voice, and I started a mental countdown until Friday.

Much to my relief, Elliott had been invited to sleep over at Marshall’s house Friday night. Now, I only had to figure out how to handle my father. Henry had told me to pack an overnight bag, which both thrilled and terrified me, so I had to explain to my dad that I wouldn’t be home until Saturday morning.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t take my medicine after dinner, I know.” He picked up the pills I’d set on his TV tray, then popped them in his mouth.

“Thank you.” I sat across from him.

“What?” He muted the baseball highlights he was watching. “Whatcha staring at me for?”

I laughed. “I just need to talk to you about something.”

He gave me a sideways glance. “Eh?”

“Tomorrow night, El is going to Marshall’s to spend the night.”

“Oh yeah? That Marshall’s kind of weird, but he’s a good kid.”

“Right. So, I’m going to go out, too.”

“That’ll be fun.” His eyes stayed glued to the television screen. “You hang out here naggin’ me too much, anyway.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ve asked Doris to call a few times to check on you. And Smartie said he’d come over to watch the Mariners with you.”

He cut his eyes at me. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I know you don’t, but I’m gonna be gone for a while.”

“A while?”

“Like…overnight.”

My dad raised his graying eyebrows. “You goin’ to Spokane or somethin’?”

“Um, yes. I think so. I’m not sure. But, I’ll be back Saturday morning. And I’ll have my phone with me the entire time. All you have to do is call, and I’ll come home.”

“You goin’ with Holly?”

“No.”

“You goin’ alone?”

I cringed. “No.”

My father said nothing. He just scratched his whiskers and waited. Damn him.

“I’m going with, um, I’m actually going with… Uh, the thing is, I—”

“Good grief, Auto. Spit it out.”

“I’m going out with Henry Tobler.”

He appeared to let the idea sink in as he stared at the TV. I held my breath. I was in my thirties, getting ready to go away with the man I’d loved since I was twenty years old, and I worried that I was about to get grounded.

“You love him?” my dad asked.

I swallowed. “Yes. Very much.”

“He good to you?”

“He always has been.”

Again, he fell silent, and I waited.

“Well then,” he grumbled. “It’s about time you admitted that you love him. Seemed pretty obvious to me.”

I smiled and left the room. That was all the permission I needed.

§

It felt like prom night when Henry pulled his big truck in front of my house. I opened the door and watched him walk up the sidewalk, looking more dapper than ever. He wore an elegant charcoal suit with an olive-colored shirt and tie that complemented his skin tone and his tousled brown hair. He looked like he’d tried to tame his whiskers, but his face was still shadowed nevertheless. Henry held a bouquet of bright yellow tulips in one hand and a DVD in the other. I smiled at him, giddy.

I was going on a date with
my
Henry. I’d waited so long for this.

My outfit was perfect. I’d gone shopping in Holly’s closet and found a cocktail dress she’d worn to her uncle’s formal wedding. By the grace of God, it happened to fit me. It was a black, baby-doll-style dress with pleats of fabric cut on the bias that fell to my knees—sexy and whimsical at the same time. I’d spent hours manipulating my hair into smooth pin curls that framed my face.

I’d also splurged on new lingerie for the evening. This was my first date with Henry in thirteen years, but it would be my first night with him
ever
. My cotton bras and panties weren’t going to cut it. I’d shopped online and chosen a lace-trimmed, black satin slip with a built-in, push-up bra, then cranked out the big bucks to have it overnighted to arrive in time for my date.

A half-hour before Henry arrived, I had perfumed, lotioned, plucked, and exfoliated every surface of my body that he might touch, then sat on the edge of a kitchen chair, tapping my fingernails until my father told me to knock it off.

Henry stepped up to the door and kissed me on the cheek.

“What’s the DVD for?” I asked.

Henry stood back and gulped. “You look incredible.”

I giggled like a fourteen-year-old. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Henry looked at the flowers and the DVD as if he’d forgotten about them. He handed me the beautiful bouquet.

“They’re lovely. Thank you.”

“The DVD is for your dad. It’s a movie about the history of the Seattle Mariners. I thought he might like it.”

I smiled. “That’s thoughtful. Take it on in.”

Henry stepped inside, and my father nodded at him. “Hey Billy, you watchin’ the game?”

My dad looked up from the television. “Yup. Up by seven.”

“Nice.” Henry handed him the DVD. “Check this out after the game.”

My father looked it over. “Thanks, kid.”

Henry grinned at me as I put the tulips in a vase, then he picked up my sweater. “This yours?”

I nodded, still soaking in his awesomeness.

Henry held the sweater for me, and I slid my arms in. His fingers grazed my shoulders, and I shivered with anticipation.

“Dad, did you take your medication?” I asked.

“You watched me,” he replied, his tone gruff.

“You have your list of numbers to call if you need anything?”

“Yup.”

“Then have a great night.” Henry and I moved toward the door. “I’ll have my phone with me. And Doris will be calling, and—”

“Go on and get out of here.” My dad waved his hand. “Take a night off, nursemaid.”

“Fine.” I squeezed his bony shoulder.

“Hey, Tobler.”

I cringed. What was my dad going to say now? Was he suddenly going to become a protective father? Oh lord, was he going to give us the sex talk?

Henry faced my father, who pointed a shaky finger at him. “You treat her right. I might not be strong anymore, but I know people.”

“Dad, don’t threaten him.”

Henry chuckled. “I understand. And if I don’t treat her right, I encourage you to contact those people.”

My father’s mouth twitched. “Get the hell out of here, I’ve got girls comin’ over.”

I scoffed and pulled Henry out the door and down the sidewalk. “I’m so sorry. I guess he’s feeling sentimental or something, I—”

Henry spun me around, flattened my back against the side of his truck, then brought his mouth down on mine with a flash of heat that ignited my insides. When he pulled away, I blinked to uncross my eyes. “I, uh, forgot what I was saying.”

Henry grinned. “Your dad knows people.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“What kind of people does he know? Should I be afraid?”

“No. He only knows farmers.”

“Farmers could kick my butt.”

“I don’t know. They’d just chase you on their John Deere, and I think you could outrun them.”

Henry opened the passenger-side door for me. “Be nice.”

Conversation came easily during our drive to Spokane. He told me about his classes at school, and how the kids were enthusiastically getting into Greek mythology. We discussed Elliott’s talent on the cello, Henry suggesting that he work one-on-one with him until I arranged private lessons. His eyes brightened as he described a solo of “Quasi Scherzando” that El had performed for the strings club the week before, then told me about how petrified he’d been to give his first solo as a kid.

I loved hearing about Henry’s childhood and couldn’t help picturing him being a lot like Elliott. Gangly, with messy dark curls and a quirky personality. It warmed my belly to think about how well we three seemed to fit together. Kind of like a family.

Henry drove us to downtown Spokane, to the heart of the city, and parked next to a parking meter outside a café. I grabbed the handle to open my door.

“Stay there.” He hopped out, crossed to my side, and opened the door.

“Ma’am,” he said with a smirk.

My appetite for Henry simmered. I placed my hand in his and slid out of the truck, my skirt fluttering. We walked hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, sidestepping puddles and people. “Where are we going?” I asked, enjoying the tingling sensation I felt, having Henry’s fingers laced with mine.

“It’s a surprise. Something to remind you of a few of our earlier dates.”

Henry slowed in front of a small art gallery full of people. My face lit up at the sight of oil paintings and sculptures. “We’re going to an art show?”

Henry shrugged. “We’re going to a few of them. It’s First Friday.”

“First Friday?”

“A special night when the downtown businesses feature local up-and-coming artists’ work.” He opened the gallery’s glass door and led me inside. “The event promotes the artists and brings in customers for the businesses, so it’s a win-win. I’ve been coming almost every Friday since I moved here.”

We strolled around the small building, examining the art—some pieces modern and eclectic, others traditional and realistic. Many of the sculptures were Native American inspired, as Spokane was rich with Interior Salish history. Henry and I drifted apart whenever we saw a piece that interested us, then wandered back to each other every few minutes, our fingers immediately intertwining.

I remembered our dates back in Seattle. We’d spent many an hour wandering through the Seattle art shops and galleries, then sitting so closely together, talking in coffee shops, that you couldn’t tell where he ended and I began. But tonight was different. We were older, the atmosphere more sophisticated, but the sexual tension was the same.

Henry bought me a cup of espresso, and we wandered into a couple more shops and galleries—his arm around my waist. We tipped our heads toward each other as we discussed the use of a bold, brash red in a collection, or an artist’s personal vision, our voices quiet and intimate. A series of blown glass bulbs caught my eye and I wandered away, only to catch Henry watching me from across the brightly-lit gallery. He looked captivated, his mouth upturned, eyebrows low. My stomach clinched, and I gave him a sly grin.

I’d been waiting over a decade for this night, and he’d planned something for us to do that was very meaningful to me. I tossed my empty espresso cup into a trash can, flipped my hair away from my face, and made a beeline for him, stalking with such determination that a handful of people parted as I crossed the room.

When I reached Henry, I slipped my arms beneath his suit coat and grasped the back of his shirt. “Can we be alone now?” I whispered, with an edge of desperation in my voice. “Please?”

He cleared his throat. “We have dinner reservations.”

I pressed my lips together.
Who the hell cares about dinner
?

He put his arm around me and led me out of the gallery. We crossed the damp street and walked a couple of blocks to a brick building facing the raging waters of the Spokane River. Mist from the falls pricked my face as we approached the door.

“You got us a table at The Edge?” I said. “You’re kidding, right?”

Being one of Spokane’s premier restaurants, it was almost impossible to get a table at The Edge without planning a month in advance. The restaurant had incredible ambiance—chipped brick walls and knotty wood floors, heavy, medieval-looking doors with wrought iron hinges, and lighting so low that you needed a flashlight to read the menu.

Our table was set, with candles flickering, in the far corner of the dining room that jutted out over the river, its white caps visible in the darkness below. Henry pulled out my chair. I peeled off my sweater, he kissed the side of my neck, then I settled in my seat.

“Couldn’t resist,” he said, sitting across from me. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?”

Blushing, I busied myself by adjusting my silverware. “You may have mentioned something about that.” I glanced at him. Damn if he didn’t look edible himself. “You’re looking handsome tonight, too.”

“Thank you.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “I love it when you wear your hair down.”

I touched my curls self-consciously. “I’m certainly no comparison to the way I looked thirteen years ago, but—”

Henry tightened his grip on my hand. “You’re more beautiful now than you ever were.”

“Now I know you’re lying. I was so carefree back then—enveloped in my art, and so wild.”

“I remember. You always had paint under your nails, and wore vintage band T-shirts all the time.”

“And your hair was so shaggy. It covered the tops of your ears.”

“My mother hated it. She was always telling me to cut it. But it went with my ripped jeans so well.”

“It did. We were so
Seattle
circa the nineties back then.”

“We really were. We were like a scene from the movie
Singles
.” He grinned happily.

“Argh. I know.”

“Do you still like live music?”

“Of course. But I haven’t seen any bands play since I left Seattle. You?” I sipped my water.

“Whenever I go back to California, I try to stop in to see a band or two at this little club I know of. Someday I’ll take you there. You’d love it.”