With Love from London(64)

“Are you nervous?” Liza asks expectantly.

“It’s been more than fifteen years since I’ve been on a first date,” I say with a sigh. “So yeah, a little.”

“Don’t forget a flirty blouse and a spritz of perfume.” She points to the back of her ears, her collarbone, and each of her wrists. “Placement is key, and may I suggest vanilla?”

Before I can reply, the FedEx truck pulls up, a bit earlier than usual. Given that Millie plans her day so that she has time to powder her nose and swipe on a little lipstick before her daily dose of Fernando, any minor schedule change catches her off guard. Today, he finds her sitting on the floor, surrounded by gift bags, with a shiny nose and pale lips. Judging by the look on his face, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Hi, Millie,” he says, setting a few packages on the table beside her.

“Oh, Fernando,” she replies, as tongue-tied as she always is when he comes in.

“What are you working on?”

“We’re…getting ready for the store’s fundraiser tomorrow night,” she says quickly.

He smiles. “I’ll be there. I bought a ticket last week.”

Millie beams. “You…did?”

He nods. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Hey, I was…thinking…that maybe…I mean, if you wanted to, I could, or I mean, we could, well, go…together.”

Millie’s mouth falls open. She’s stunned silent, so Liza answers for her. “She’d love that, Fernando!”

He exhales, smiling big as if Liza’s response—any response—is more than acceptable.

“Why don’t you come by and get her here at five-thirty tomorrow night and you two can walk over together,” the dating pro continues.

“Yes,” Fernando says, grinning at Liza, then Millie. “That sounds perfect.”

“That sounds perfect,” Millie echoes, a bit dumbfounded as he heads to the door.

When he’s gone, Liza squeals, and I join in the fun. “Millie! Are you breathing? Fernando asked you out on a date!”

I can’t tell if she’s about to laugh or cry or both, but then she turns to us and lets out a squeal of her own. “Did that really just happen?” she asks, wide-eyed.

“Yes, it did,” Liza says as Millie returns to the counter, unable to stop smiling. It’s so good to see her happy.



* * *



—

“I think we’re getting close to the restaurant,” I say to the cab driver over the scrape of the windshield wipers. It’s raining so hard that the driver has set them to maximum. Visibility is as low as a foggy night in Seattle.

“You said Bella Norma’s, right?”

“Yes.”

The driver nods. “It’s just over there, across the street.”

I wipe the fog from the window, and there it is—a charming little corner spot that’s dimly lit, with candles flickering in the windows. Perfect.

I pay the fare, then dash through the crosswalk. Ducking for cover under the restaurant’s awning, I pat the water droplets off my cheeks, praying that my waterproof mascara will hold.

“I’m Valentina Baker,” I say to the hostess stationed at the entrance, “here to meet Daniel Davenport.” I like the sound of that.

“Ah, yes. I have your table ready.” She selects two menus and leads me through the small dining room, stopping at a cozy table for two near the window. I’m five minutes early, as usual. Would Daniel run late, the way Nick always had? I’m too nervous to look at the menu. Instead, I gaze out the window at the rain-drenched street, eagerly anticipating his arrival, which is impressively cinematic, as seems appropriate for a filmmaker.

At the top of the hour, precisely as the clock strikes six, the man who must be Daniel Davenport walks inside the restaurant—not early, not late, but right on time. He hands his coat to the hostess, and I can see that he’s tall and handsome, even beyond what Debbie had described. As he begins walking toward the table, my heart beats faster with each of his steps. I’m suddenly plagued with anxiety and have the urge to cover my face, or maybe bolt to the restroom, but somehow Daniel’s gaze tethers me to my seat.

“Well, hello there,” he says, his tall frame looming over the table.

“Hello,” I say in a squeak. I don’t know what to do with my hands and I feel as if my legs have quite possibly become paralyzed, or maybe it’s that they’ve melted into pools of gelatinous liquid beneath the table. I can’t feel them. I can’t feel anything, and I’m positive that my cheeks are at least fourteen shades of crimson. Possibly even sixteen.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” he says, sliding into his chair.

A man who apologizes for being on time? Who is this guy? Is he even real?

“Oh no,” I begin. “The thing is…my ex was always late. And I’m always early. So, I guess I’m just used to men being late.” I cover my mouth. “Oh my gosh, I must be nervous. I’m rambling. And talking about my ex. Sorry.” I rub my forehead. “I’ll shut up now.”

“Don’t apologize,” Daniel says. Look how white his teeth are. “I’ll confess that I’m a little nervous, too. First dates are awkward, but I have to say, you’re even prettier than I imagined. And, don’t get me wrong, from the way Deb described you, I imagined you’d be quite pretty.”