Page 21 of Not My Finest Hour

“It is. He wants me to call him when I’m free.” I take another bite of food and remain seated on the couch.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Fern says impatiently. “Aren’t you going to call him?”

“You think I should so soon? Isn’t that going to come across as looking too eager?”

“No. He’s already thinking about you, so hearing from you would be the icing on the cake,” Brett says, offering up his take.

“Okay, I’ll go.” With my dinner in hand, I get up from the couch and turn toward the hallway. “Don’t wait on me to finish your movie. This might be a while.”

ChapterNine

“What time is your date supposed to pick you up?” Fern asks, while passing by my doorway. She stops and sticks her head in my room when I don’t answer her right away.

My makeup is done, my hair is done, but I still can’t decide what sweater to wear. “He should be here in a few minutes, which doesn’t leave me much time to figure out my outfit.”

“What are you trying to decide between?”

I hold up two sweaters. One’s a formfitting V-neck and the other is a looser turtleneck sweater. “I’ve narrowed it down to these two.”

Fern takes in my high-waisted, wide-legged jeans and shakes her head. “I don’t like any of those choices for the jeans you’re wearing. Just give me a second. I have something that I think will work for you,” she says, then vacates my room.

I stand there in my bra and jeans, waiting for her to come back. She’s gone for a while, and I check my phone for the time because any moment now, Wesley is going to be knocking on the door.

“Sorry, it took me a while to find it.” Fern holds up the most gorgeous cream-colored wrap cardigan with an adorable tie at the waist. “When I saw your jeans, I knew exactly what to pair with them.”

I take the sweater from her and run my hand along one of the sleeves, feeling the buttery soft texture on my fingers. This sweater not only looks luxurious, but feels that way too. “Are you sure? You’re not worried I’m going to ruin it like I did your favorite blouse?”

Fern flinches like she can still remember the loss of her blouse. It was one she’d left at the house for safekeeping when she went to college. I wore it to school one day, fully expecting to have it back in her closet by the end of the day. She didn’t come home that often, so I thought it wouldn’t be a problem. What I didn’t count on was Fern being at the house when I got home from school. She’d come over to pick up our dad for a baseball game they were going to that evening. I had to act fast. I stripped off the blouse (thank goodness I had a shirt on underneath) and shoved it in my backpack. I didn’t know there was a leaking pen at the bottom of my backpack—a leaking pen that got ink all over Fern’s blouse. Mom and I tried washing it, but no amount of stain remover was getting out that ink stain. Eventually, I had to fess up and pay Fern for a new blouse. She took the money, but that blouse was vintage and one she’d thrifted, so she was never able to find a replacement.

“I’m not worried,” Fern says, casting one last glance toward her sweater like she might never see it again.

“I promise I’ll have it back to you tonight in one piece with no stains.” And I fully intend on keeping that promise. I slip on the sweater and look in the mirror. Fern’s right. This sweater looks amazing with these jeans. I do a little twirl in the mirror and fluff up my hair, then grab my phone off the bed where there’s a text on the screen from Wesley. “He’s here,” I say to her.

“Do you want me to get the door, or are you ready to go?”

“What do you think? Do you think I need to do anything else?”

“I think you look perfect.”

“Then I’ll meet him at the door.” I head to the front of the house, and when Wesley knocks on the door, I wait a few seconds before opening it. I don’t want to seem too eager to see him.

“Good evening, Dahlia,” Wesley says once I open the door. His gaze slides over my body and stops right at the curve of my waist where that little tie on the sweater is. It’s nice that even he notices how well it hugs my body. “Are you ready to go, or do you still need some time?”

“I’m all set,” I say with my phone in hand. I decided to use my all-in-one phone case again this evening. Wesley lets me lead the way down the steps and when we reach his car, some two-door sporty little number, he gets the door for me.

Now that we’re in the confines of his car and there’s nothing else to distract me, I can fully appreciate the fine specimen sitting next to me. Wesley has opted for dark-wash jeans and a button-down shirt that’s untucked with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Neither of us has on a coat tonight, which is risky considering it’s very chilly and rainy outside today. I’m hoping that my time outside is limited to just the time it takes to get into the restaurant because I’m not sure my hair will hold up for much longer than that.

“Where are we headed tonight?” I ask. While Wesley and I had the time and day settled for our date, he never said where we’re going to eat. Although, I’m not sure I’d know of it if he told me. I don’t have a lot of knowledge about the restaurants around here since I didn’t frequent many growing up. And as an adult, I’ve always been too poor to be able to go out to some of the finer establishments.

“I’m taking you to a restaurant near Shilshole Bay. It’s called Troy’s Boathouse. Have you heard of it?” While we’re sitting at a traffic light, he glances my way.

I shake my head. “No, sorry, I haven’t.”

“I’ve been there a few times, but only for special occasions. The food has always been phenomenal.”

“Special occasions? Am I underdressed for this place?”

His gaze does a slow perusal over my body, and a grin spreads across his lips. “Relax. You’re dressed just fine. It’s a special occasion place, but not an uptight place. You’ll see once we get there.”

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