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Our food arrived, and the conversation transitioned to a familiar, date-like pattern. He answered my questions about his life since we’d last seen each other, using euphemisms for this current job, but being truthful about college. At least I thought so, anyway. In turn, I relayed my path from Los Angeles to the Smithsonian.
I didn’t need to make up terms or job titles as he did. I had no reason to hide being a museum rat.
Every time I looked up, I saw a bit more of him, with less of the filter of my brother’s or father’s animosity tainting the image.
“What’s that smirk I see every once in a while?” he asked, catching me in one of those moments.
“Nothing.”
He pointed his fork at me, and his grin turned into a grimace. “There are a few rules. The first is you have to follow my instructions exactly and without question. The second is that you have to be completely honest with me. Hiding even the smallest thing can be dangerous.” He leaned forward and whispered the next words. “It’s the only way I can protect you.”
Even whispered, his words conveyed conviction. I believed he really did want to protect me, almost as if he were family.
I looked down. “I was just thinking you’re not so bad.”
“Thank you,” he said, spearing a piece of meat. “Not thatnot so badis such a great compliment, but for being honest.” He pointed the meat-filled fork at me. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
I felt like throwing something from my plate, but I kept it together. “Thank you.”
I recovered my composure, and we finished the dinner without any more blowups.
After I declined dessert, he put down his menu and didn’t mention the key lime pie he’d asked the waitress about. I was anxious to go somewhere we could talk frankly about what to expect, and whether I should do what the note had asked.
We split the check and walked outside.
“Can we talk out here?”
Instead of answering, he asked, “Did you drive in today?”
“No, I took the Metro.” I didn’t add that I hadn’t remembered to gas up.
He pointed toward the garage down the street. “My car is this way. I’ll drive you home, and we can talk on the way.”
I followed him. “You know where I live?”
“Of course.”
What was I thinking?They probably had a three-inch file on me. “What’s my favorite color?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Maybe it wasn’t three inches thick after all.
He slowed and took my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine.
The shock of his touch made me pull away.
“To anybody watching, we’re on a date,” he said, offering his hand again.
I moved my heavy purse to the opposite shoulder and took his hand again.
This time, his grip was stronger.
In a move that surprised me, he shortened his stride to match mine.
I looked up at him. The streetlights gave his chin an even more chiseled look than earlier, and I liked it.
* * *
