Page 2 of Memories By the Shore
After tossing my phone back on the counter, I shave my legs and get out. It only takes me another ten minutes to slip on a nice red dress and high heels and put on a little makeup.Shit!I forgot Dave was still downstairs waiting for me. He doesn’t need to come up now since I’m ready to go.
Me: Headed down.
Dave the Dentist: Finally. I thought you had forgotten about me again.
I chuckle nervously, typing out a response. He acts like it happens frequently. It does happen often, but what does he expect? I live in my own head half the time.
Me: HaHa.
I swipe my clutch off the top of my dresser and fly down the stairs. I’m pushing through the double doors on the ground floor and straight out of the building in no time. Dave is standing off the side, with annoyance written on his face. I’m always late,and he hates it.
“You could have just buzzed me in,” he deadpans as I loop my arm through his. He’s wearing a white collared shirt, dress pants, and more cologne than usual.
“Sorry!” I rush out—a loss of breath from sprinting down the hallway in heels.
“I’m used to it.”
I curl my lip at him, but suddenly, my scowl turns into surprise when I see a limo pull up in front of us.
“What is this, Dave?”
“It’s a limo,” he says. “I thought that was obvious.”
“I know it’s a limo.” I watch as he opens the door for me. “What is it doing here? With us?”
He gestures for me to get in. “It’s a surprise.”
Weary and unsure, I oblique and slide into the back seat. “Alright.”
Dave jogs around to the other side and joins me. “I know you don’t like surprises. But you’ll love this one.”
Dave’s love language is acts of service. And I don’t mean back rubs or foreplay that focuses on me—he likes to buy things and have things bought for him. I would appreciate the gestures more if they were authentic, but his usual acts of grandeur are meant to stroke his ego.
“You know, you don’t have tobuyme.” I playfully smirk.
“I know you have enough money of your own. But I want to remind you of what I can give you. And maybe, at some point, we’ll be able to share it all.”
Share it all—what does that mean?
The limo pulls up to the back of a tall office building in theArts District. A gust of warm May air whips past me as the car door opens. When I step out, that same desert breeze moves through my hair. Dave comes around the other side and presses a gentle hand on the small of my back.
Glancing upward, my eyes scan each floor comprising dark windows, except for the top floor. The yellow glow of the lights and the tables nestled toward the window make me recognize this is a restaurant—and I think I know which one it is.
I turn to Dave. “Saguaro and Wren?”
His smile beams with confidence and a subtle hint of smugness. He knows who he is and what he’s capable of and will never give up the opportunity to flaunt the privilege he was born into.
“Yeah, the most exclusive restaurant in the valley,” he tells me.
The elevator door opens to a hostess stand.
“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you, Dr. Stoll.” The hostess with the high blonde ponytail greets us.
He’s had decades-long connections in the city. The Stoll family owns a large group of dental offices across the valley. His two siblings, father and mother, are all dentists and work out of the prospective offices.
I drag my eyes around the top-floor restaurant and along the floor-to-ceiling 360-degree views. The lights from downtown Phoenix and the low glow from the teacup table lamps are the only lights in this dim space. It’s dreamy and romantic.
“We’re happy to be here,” Dave says as we both watch the hostess grab two leather menus.
