So fluid. Like every guy would do the same. Except, as she stood there, she realized that nobody ever had.
"Oh, um, thanks,” she mumbled as she climbed into her seat. "I've never been there, but I like taverns. I'm willing to give it a go."
"Excellent. It's kind of a hole in the wall, but the food is great." He closed the door behind her and she watched as he rounded the car. Had he always been like this and she’d just never noticed? So gentlemanly?
He slid into his own seat and started the engine. It was nice, grayish white leather, heated seats, and little glowing lights on the doors like they had in limousines.
"This is a nice car." The words sounded foreign in her mouth. Like a vocal admission that she was at a loss for words.
"Thanks. It's new." He smiled at her and then turned onto a side street.
"What is it? Toyota?"
"No," he hedged a little before he continued, "it's a Mercedes. But I'm sure that's not really interesting to you." He sounded polite, but she could hear him straining to hide his laughter.
"Yeah, I don't really know much about cars." She was lucky if she even knew what her own vehicle’s make and model was. Still, it seemed like a quality car, and she was always seeing those Camry commercials.
"I'll add that to my records,” he said, then thumped a tiny notebook that sat on the console between them.
"Records?"
"If you're going to be my 'wife,' I need to know about you. That's why we're here."
“Right.” She nodded, willing herself not to grab the notebook and read over all the observations he’d already made. She could only imagine what it might say:
Day One: Subject is unable to determine barrier between test and reality. Further boundaries will be explored in order to gage likelihood of capacity for intellect.
They parked in front of a rickety old shed of a place, and before Rachael could had finished clearing her head, Garret was already out of the car and opening the door for her. It was like he was the mascot for politeness or something. Maybe that was another test.
Day One: Subject responds well to old-fashioned manners.
She inwardly rolled her eyes at herself then followed him to a booth near a shabby pool table. The place was perfect—filled with old Tiffany-style lamps and wooden floors whose creaking was only partially drown out by the jukebox blaring in the corner.
Even the service was good. Within seconds of sitting down, an elderly waitress with bright magenta lipstick sauntered over and asked for their drink order. Though there was no smoking allowed, she seemed like the kind of woman who would have a Misty tucked perpetually between her lips if it was up to her.
"So, wife, what'll it be? What's your drink of choice?" He pulled the small notebook and pen from his jeans pocket, sat it in front of him, and then flipped open to a clean page.
He had to be kidding.
Nope, he just sat there, gazing between her and his precious notebook, poised to observe her like some kind of research monkey.
"I'll have a Sex on the Beach, please." The drink was delicious, but never comfortable to order and the waitress’s response certainly didn’t help to relax her.
"Wouldn't we all, honey?" The waitress' chuckle quickly evolved into a cough. Rachael seriously needed to find a new favorite drink.
"I'll have a Jack and coke, please," Garret nodded to the waitress and she tottered away, her blue hair bouncing as she went.
"Are you seriously going to record everything I do? Why didn't you just bring a damn video camera?" She sighed. This whole thing was ill-advised from the start, but now it was getting absurd.
"Well, I need..." He stopped. His gaze bore into hers for a long minute before he began again, "We need to convince your family. But you're right. Let's start small. How did Lance propose?"
"Oh." It totally had not occurred to her that she'd have to confess all the torturous details of her relationship to her boss. “Why do you need to know all that?”
“Convincing background information. How would I then propose, etcetera.”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Makes sense.” Then, taking a deep breath, she started, "Well, it was kind of...” She couldn’t. It was too embarrassing. Maybe she might have told him when he was safe, office Garret. But this? In his sexy clothes and with that stubble, that chiseled jawline… “It’s not important. Let’s just start fresh.” Mercifully, the waitress reappeared and sat a drink in front of her.
"Don't you think it'll come up?"
"Maybe not. If it does, I'll handle it." She sucked hard on her straw, and then nearly choked. Apparently all the alcohol in her drink had gone straight to the bottom.