road.
“Listen, Laura, I totally get how you feel and I know that in time you’ll come to terms with all of this.”
“Thanks.”
“I love you and I’m really looking forward to having you move in.”
“Can I start bringing stuff over tomorrow?” she asked, her voice filled with hope.
“Of course!” I said. I took a deep breath and hesitated before telling Laura I really had to get going.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, “I’m so sorry! I had no idea what time it was! I’ll let you go. Call me in the morning?”
“Okay,” I said, “Call me on my cell if you need me. I’ll pick up, I promise.”
“No, I’ll be okay,” she said, “You go have fun!”
“Thanks,” I said, “I’m really nervous.”
“Don’t be, you cougar, you!”
I burst out laughing. “Actually, I’d prefer M.I.L.F.!”
We hung up and a moment later I heard the doorbell. I quickly slipped my little black dress over my head, giggling as I saw that the length of the dress wouldn’t hide the band-aids. I didn’t care, though. If there were no knee scrapes, there would be no Luke.
The bell rang again. Time to focus. I grabbed a pair of big silver hoop earrings and put them in my ears while running downstairs to get the door, all this while praying that my bold, confident, sexy, young guy was as cute as I’d remembered. When I opened the door and saw him standing there dressed in khaki shorts and a short-sleeve white pullover that accented his dark skin, eyes and hair, I realized that my prayers were more than answered. Preston Christiansen was hot! He smiled, and I noticed that his white teeth identically matched his shirt.
“Hi,” he said casually, seeming nervous, which I liked because I was a wreck.
“Hi,” I said with a smile, “Come in.”
“Thanks.”
After a moment of the worst awkward silence I could remember in years, I suggested we have a glass of wine. Preston liked the idea, so I opened a bottle of Pinot, while he sat at my kitchen table, literally silent. ‘Why is he so tense?’ I wondered. What happened to the brave, self-assured guy on his knees in the McGowan’s kitchen?
As if he read my mind he stood up, walked over to me, took the bottle out of my hand and began pouring the wine. “I’m really nervous,” he said with a chuckle.
“Me too,” I said.
Preston put the wine glasses on the kitchen table and then looked me right in the eyes and said softly, “You look really pretty.” He never said a word about the band-aids.
His skills in the area of seduction were top notch and looking back, I think I was ready to go to bed with him right then and there. That’s what I think now. But at that moment, I was focused on my trembling body. I calmed myself down by taking multiple little sips of red wine, which I think Preston thought was funny because he kept chuckling.
After the wine at my place, we headed to Donatella’s , a little Italian restaurant in the next town over, which was cozy and intimate, the perfect place for a romantic first date. Another plus about the restaurant, I was sure I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew. Not that I was embarrassed by Preston, I actually felt proud to be seen with such a gorgeous guy. But my community was very small and gossipy, and I didn’t think that strutting around like a major cougar was that great of an idea. It would no doubt lead to lots of talk, and I was trying to avoid that since Isabelle now understood grown-up conversations.
Over more red wine, bruschetta, and grilled calamari, we talked about Preston’s position at Winchester Foods, and I realized he was extremely smart, which gave me a newfound respect for him and added a new dimension to the guy. I learned he went to College at Northwestern, and had a Masters degree in finance from Harvard. Hearing him talk business made him sexier than he already was, which I didn’t think was possible.
“So, when did you get divorced?” he asked halfway through dinner. This was the question