Page 23 of Meet Stan

“What?” I suddenly realized I was still holding the bouquet. “Oh yes, they’re for you.”

I handed them over, and she smiled, taking a moment to smell them.

“Peonies. My favorite.”

“I remember.” I remembered because I took notes when we were still hashing out details. Her favorite color was hunter green, but she didn’t like to wear it because she felt it wasn’t her shade. She’d rather stay in and stream a movie than go to the opera. She had three older sisters who beat the crud out of her until she learned how to fight back and protect herself.

“Um, come on in, I guess.” She stepped back. “Second date seems like as good a time as any for you to see the dirty dishes in my sink.”

“Is that a metaphor?” I asked with a smile.

“No, it’s quite literal.” She gestured at her sink, and we both laughed. “I guess it could be a metaphor, though. I mean, what is dating but showing your uglier sides by degrees to insure the other person to them? Like building a callus.”

“You’re equating dating with building a callus?”

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s not the best simile, but am I wrong?”

“I can’t say if you are, or not. I’ve never really dated anyone before.”

“Oh bullshit, you’re rich, young, and good-looking. You’ve got women eating out of your hand and you know it.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t find a nice young lady to spend the night with. I said that I’ve never really dated.”

“Why not?”

I thought of my parents, and how badly their marriage had ended. Suddenly I didn't want to talk about it any longer.

“It’s not important right now. Are you ready to go?”

“Um, sure, let me grab my purse.”

I could tell by the expression on her face that she knew good and well I was dodging her question, but she let me get away with it. We took the limo downtown, to the five-star hotel where Chandler and June were having their coed baby shower.

“He rented the entire top floor.” I chuckled. “And Mr. Treasurer says I like to waste money.”

I collected our silver wrapped gift—some electronic learning toy thing that hung over the crib—and we walked toward the hotel lobby entrance. I took her hand along the way, and she seemed kind of shocked.

“Hand-holding is okay on the second date, isn’t it?”

“Yes, the second fake date,” she said.

“Ixnay on the akefay,” I said, tucking the present under my arm so I could bring my index finger to my lips. “Okay? At least while we’re in public.”

“Okay.” She shook like a leaf in the wind as we got in the elevator. When the doors closed I looked at her with concern.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m just freaking out a little bit, okay? And you throwing Latin at me doesn’t help.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. I felt a stab of guilt. My plan was causing her a lot of stress, it was clear. “I’ve never pretended to be someone’s girlfriend before.”

“Just relax, all right? It’s only the second date, you don’t have to pretend to be head over heels for me yet.”

“Right.” She closed her eyes and put her hands to the sides of her head. I wasn’t sure what she was up to, but she seemed to be deep in concentration.

The doors opened, and she suddenly opened her eyes as well. She slipped an arm around my waist and gave me a warm smile with just a hint of adoration.

“Hold still.” She reached up and carefully fixed my hair. Then she brushed microscopic lint off my shoulder and smiled. “You look very handsome tonight.”

“Look who’s talking. People’s jaws are going to drop to the floor.”

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