Page 6 of Suits and Spark Plugs

“I ruined things for you with my thoughtless remark,” he said after we’d ordered. “I apologize.”

I didn’t answer immediately, taking a moment to gaze at him as soft background music played. As usual, he was dressed in a blue suit that would have been at home on a fashion runway. His black-rimmed glasses never seemed to slide down his nose, and his army-short blond hair was in perfect order. Blaine was completely in his essence tonight and most likely had no idea that I was experiencing something totally foreign and new. I sighed, willing to let it go.

“I shouldn’t have gotten upset over it,” I replied at last.

“No, you should have. You were right, it did come off rudely. I only meant to tell you how happy it made me to see you love it.”

I let the last feelings of annoyance wash off and offered him a small smile. “It was incredible.”

“Now that I know how much you like theatre, I’ll have to make sure we go more often.”

My stomach flipped at the idea of him not only wanting to keep seeing me but also offering to take me back there. “I’d like that.”

He leaned close and took one of my curls between his fingers. I resisted pulling away. Some of it was out of years of habit. People without curly hair don’t understand how temperamental curls can be. There’s an assumption that I’m simply letting my hair do whatever it’s going to do, but nothing could be further from the truth. Curls have a mind of their own. They only behave if they want to, they never curl the same direction twice, and they get frizzy at the slightest touch.

Fickle curly hair aside, I’d never really been one to casually accept people touching my hair because it felt intimate and suggested closeness. For me, the hair was a hands-off situation.

After a few moments I leaned to the side under the pretense of adjusting the ankle strap on my high heels, forcing him to let go. When I sat back up I said, “Tell me about work.”

That was all it took to get him going. Blaine co-owned a marketing company with his father. While the company was quite successful, his stories of working with his dad often made me grateful for the freedom my family gave me. He’d made it clear that his parents were kind but had high expectations of their only son. From what I could see, he was living up to them.

“...Mother, of course, wants grandbabies as soon as possible. When I told her that finding the right person, getting married, and having children takes a while, she suggested I come up with a marketing campaign. Can you believe that?” Blaine was saying as I fully tuned back in.

I forced a laugh, despite the nerves I suddenly felt, and gave him a smile. “Hilarious.”

“Marketing for a wife and mother. What would those ads look like, I wonder?” Blaine’s eyes danced as his mind focused. After a few moments he looked warmly my way. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to meet them yet. I wouldn’t give Mother the hope, or you the pressure.”

“Thank you.” I grinned. “I’ll do you the same favor.”

We finished dinner, and Blaine helped me put on my coat. We walked slowly back toward the theatre, chatting about small things until we arrived where my little beat-up car was parked.

As we approached, I watched his face closely, knowing he’d never seen what I drove. I was rewarded with a look of pure horror flashing across his face before he could mask it. The tiny two-door car had once been maroon but was now more of a brown color. It was functional in the most stripped down terms, and I tried to not notice people around us giving it a double take as they walked to their own vehicles.

Blaine had always driven us in his shiny luxury auto, but his car was in the shop having some routine maintenance. He’d been working nearby and had a friend drop him at the theatre to meet me. I’d insisted on taking him home afterward, rather than having him call a cab.

It was blazingly clear that he wasn’t excited about being chauffeured in my rattle-trap, but he graciously forced a smile and held the driver’s door for me while I got in. He walked around to the passenger side while I buckled. I turned the key and nothing happened. Shoot! Blaine got in and I pretended that I’d been waiting for him before starting the engine.

“Let’s hit the road,” he said with forced cheer.

I turned the key, and luckily this time it caught, although the engine chugged a few times before actually starting, which obviously drew some looks from people passing on the street. I appreciated that Blaine didn’t try to duck and hide his face.

“That didn’t sound good,” he said.

I shrugged and looked over my shoulder to see if traffic was clear. “No big deal. It’s a cold night and she’s particular.”

“She?”

“Yes, this car is a woman.”

“Does she always groan and knock like this?” he asked.

I listened for a minute, trying to pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about, when in reality I knew very well that my car sounded like it was dragging a sheet of metal down the street underneath it while someone knocked on the trunk.

“She’s tired, but she always comes through.”

He used his forefinger to push his glasses unnecessarily closer to his face, landing them exactly where they’d already been. “I’m not feeling confident about you making it back to Oak Hills tonight.”

“Psh.” I made a noise and shrugged casually. “Her name is actually Old Reliable. That’s what I call her.”

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