“Hi, Brooke.”
“Hi, Adam.”
We both stood there for a few seconds just smiling at each other. Then he pushed the flowers toward me.
“These are for you.”
I brought the bouquet to my nose and inhaled. “Thank you. They’re beautiful. Come in for a minute while I put them in water.”
Adam followed me through the formal living room, which Gram calls the parlor, and the dining room before we reached the kitchen. I pulled a large glass vase from a cabinet and filled it with water.
“You look beautiful tonight. You always look beautiful,” Adam said from behind me as I arranged the flowers in the vase.
I looked back at him over my shoulder, still feeling nervous and suddenly shy. “Thank you.”
Once I had the flowers arranged and on the kitchen table, we walked back through the house. Adam held the screen door open as I locked the front door. He put his hand on my lower back as we walked to his car. And he opened the door for me and closed it after I slid into the passenger seat. If this was what first dates were like, I was never going on a second one. Oh, wait. No kissing on the first date. And I really wanted to kiss Adam.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I asked.
“Nope. Although I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”
He looked at his phone when we were stopped at the main stop light in town, and I could see he was looking at a map. He had already scored major points for the flowers and the car door opening. And now he was taking me somewhere he obviously had to research since he was new in town.
We drove out of town and south along East Lake Road. There were several lakeside restaurants on this side of the lake. When we passed Lindsay and Grady’s house, I pointed it out and gave Adam the cliff notes version of how they met and got back together five years later.
It was easy to talk about something other than myself, so I was still chattering away when Adam turned into the parking lot for the Manning House. I had never actually been to this particular restaurant, but it always looked so romantic when I had driven by.
It was a large Victorian house set right on the lake. Adam ushered me inside and gave the hostess his name.
“We have tables inside or outside,” the hostess said.
Adam turned to me. “What would you prefer, Brooke?”
I looked around and took in the muted lighting and small tables inside and the large deck I could see through the windows. “Outside. If that’s alright with you?”
“Outside, please,” Adam said to the hostess.
We were seated at a table at the far end of the deck, directly over the lake. No matter how many times I saw the lake at sunset, it never got old. The waiter came to take our drink orders. Ten minutes later we gave our food orders, and I sipped on the white wine Adam had ordered a bottle of for us to share. We had covered all the basic small talk - what we had done that day, the weather, how nice we both looked.
Adam placed his forearms on the table and leaned forward. The silver watch on his left wrist caught the setting sun. “I know talking about past relationships is a big first date no-no, but I have the feeling it will be a big help in getting to know you, Brooke. So, I have to know what prompted Leah and Lindsay to give you a list of rules to follow.”
My first instinct was to play dumb and deny any knowledge of why I had to have the very simplest of dating rules written down and tucked into my bra at all times. But something about Adam made me want to talk to him. To tell him the truth about myself.
With a sigh and big gulp of wine, I said, “In case you couldn’t tell from the night we first met, I’m kind of a whore.” I meant it half-jokingly, but Adam didn’t seem to see the humor in my statement.
His expression immediately turned dark, and his voice was low and firm when he said, “Brooke, I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.”
The steel in his voice caught me off guard, and he seemed very much like the principal he was during the week.
“I was just joking. Sort of,” I mumbled.
My right hand was nervously straightening and re-straightening my silverware. Adam reached across the table and took my hand. Rubbing his thumb over my fingers, he said in a softer tone, “I’m sorry if that came across a little harsh. I just don’t like hearing you talk about yourself like that. Some women might deserve that label, but you’re not one of them.”
I shrugged but didn’t want to say anymore. Adam refilled my wine glass with the hand that wasn’t holding mine.
“Tell me why you said that, Brooke,” he prompted, his brown eyes focused solely on me.
So I did. I told him about my first “boyfriend” in high school, although he was actually someone else’s boyfriend. I was just the girl he called when his real girlfriend wouldn’t put out. That lovely relationship lasted from the beginning of my junior year until we graduated and he left for college.