Page 16 of More Than Pen Pals

Istick a finger between my neck and the collar of my new shirt to loosen it. I’ll never tell Randall, but I went home to change into my navy suit before heading to the restaurant.

As I wait for Leslie to arrive, I look around the dimly lit room to avoid thinking about the conversation we’re about to have. The clink of silverware on dishes is muted, and instrumental music plays in the background at the perfect volume. I can tell the surrounding diners are talking, but I can’t hear their specific conversations. I’m not surprised people love this place.

I notice movement in my peripheral vision, and I turn my head. My gaze locks with Leslie’s, and she stops. Panic flits across her features before she gives me a shaky smile and continues toward the table, trailing the hostess. Though I’m tempted to sit and stare as she approaches, I stand and pull out her chair. I catch a whiff of her floral perfume, and it’s all I can do not to touch her bare shoulder as she sits. I don’t know who designed the strapless purple dress that fits her like a glove, but I want to call and thank them. Then I mentally smack myself for the way my body is responding to this woman who deceived me.

“Sorry if I seem flustered,” she says as she fiddles with her silverware and napkin. “I thought I was meeting Wendy.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m not prepared for this.”

Her anxiety oddly puts me at ease, though I also realize it probably means I won’t like what she has to say. And I’m surprised Wendy told me the truth about who I was eating dinner with, but she lied to Leslie. I’d have thought it would be the other way around, but Wendy obviously knew what she was doing, because we’re both here.

“I’m not prepared either,” I say, “and I knew you were coming. Leave it to Wendy to set this up.” I drum my fingers on my leg. “I have no idea how she got the reservation, but she must like you a lot if she’d give up her chance to eat here so this could happen. Did you know her before you started working at Carter-Jenkins?” Why is it so easy to talk to Leslie? I shouldn’t want to know anything about this woman. I also shouldn’t be so turned on by her accent.

“No. But I think I’m already her new best friend.” She gives me a tentative look, as if wondering whether to say what she’s about to say. Then she asks, “Should I be worried about that? I like her, but I don’t know her very well yet.”

My chest swells at the realization she trusts my judgment and wants my opinion. “Wendy and I have a complicated friendship,” I say, not wanting to mention her crush on me on the off-chance Leslie doesn’t know about it. “But she’s a good woman, and she’s trustworthy.” One corner of my mouth quirks up. “Well, if you don’t count her lying to get you here.”

“Her intentions were good, though.”

We’re silent a few moments before she laughs and points at the ceiling. “Is this a Whitney Houston song?”

I focus on the instrumental music for a moment, and the tune sounds familiar. “I can’t say I’m a fan, but I’m pretty sure I’ve heard this tune coming out of my little sisters’ rooms.”

“Ah, yes, Tonya and Sonya,” she says. “How old are they now?”

It’s disconcerting to hear her talk about my sisters as if she knows them, but I guess in a way she does. “Tonya is about to graduate from high school, and Sonya’s a junior.”

“With their rhyming names, I always thought they should be twins.” A look of horror crosses her face when she realizes what she said.

“They act like they are,” I say in a pleasant tone, though a lump settles in my belly.

“Ash,” Leslie says in a pained voice.

“Yes?” I ask, while knowing she’s about to confess.

A waiter materializes at our table. “Good evening, can I get you two something to drink?”

Leslie hasn’t opened the drink menu, but she immediately says, “A glass of your house red, please.” Her hands are trembling, and I’m guessing she needs some liquid courage.

“Bring the whole bottle,” I say. “Coke for me, thanks.”

“You don’t drink alcohol?” Leslie asks as the waiter walks away.

“No. I like to keep my faculties about me at all times.”

One corner of her mouth quirks up. “But you want me to lose mine?”

I raise an eyebrow at her.

“If you’re not going to share the bottle of wine with me,” she says, “are you trying to get me drunk?”

I sit up straight and try not to feel offended. “No. I wouldneverdo that. It’s cheaper to buy the whole bottle than two individual glasses, and most people drink more than one glass.” I’m nothing if not thrifty, which is odd, considering how I was raised.

Leslie reaches a hand across the table and places it in front of me. I want to cover it with my own but thankfully catch myself before I do.

“Ash, I was joking. I don’t think you’d set out to get a woman drunk. But your explanation makes sense. And you’re right. I’ll most definitely be drinking more than one glass.” She pulls her hand back and her head tilts to the side. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Should I not be?” I counter.

She hangs her head. “No.”

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