“I’ll ask around. We have an adult education program.”
“Thanks, but I’ll figure it out. I used to be a waitress in college and New York doesn’t have a shortage of restaurants.” She was grateful for his offer, but she wanted to do this on her own.
“My offer still stands. Just let me know.” A soft chime came from Finn’s pocket. He pulled out his phone. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Can I help?” she asked, getting to her feet.
“No, I’ve got this.”
“Okay,” she said, while Finn dashed inside.
Colleen walked over to the glass dining table, smiling at the small arrangement of yellow roses. Taking another sip of wine, she leaned on the railing. It was good to see Finn again; she was comfortable, but there was a hint of underlying tension because they were taking a detour from their familiar friendship into unchartered territory. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, but she still couldn’t settle the nerves in her stomach. No man had ever affected her the way he had. And now they were alone together in his loft.
Finn returned with the bottle of chardonnay and another beer.
“Are you sure I can’t help you?”
“Sit,” he said, pulling out an upholstered chair for her. “I’ll be right back.”
Colleen placed a linen napkin on her lap and took another look at all the lights coming from the surrounding buildings. Finn returned, carrying a tray holding two white dinner plates.
“Oh, my God,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. “Is that what I think it is?”
He joined her at the table. “It’s Friday. Your parents never ate meat on Friday, and you used to love fish sticks and macaroni and cheese.”
“You even remembered the peas and tartar sauce.”
“Just for you, because I hate peas and I think tartar sauce is disgusting,” he said, clinking her glass.
Colleen dove into the macaroni and cheese first. “This didn’t come from a box, did it?”
“No, it’s my mom’s recipe. Speaking of moms, can you believe they’re going to Montana to volunteer for Habitat for Humanity?”
“I was surprised at first, but a volunteer vacation was something she and my dad talked about doing one day,” Colleen said, chasing a few peas with her fork.
He put his beer down on the table. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s joined a grief counseling group and has made a few friends there. I think she’s been letting go of him for a long time, especially since his second stroke. I mean, we knew he wasn’t going to get better. The best we could hope for was to keep him stable.” That was one of the most difficult times of her life. She appreciated Finn’s interest, but she didn’t want her grief to intrude on their evening.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Finn said.
She wanted to shift the conversation to share a positive memory. “I used to sit with my dad and tell him about my classes. I can still see his smile when I told him the funny stories and how his eyes expressed concern when I shared my troubles about school, and other stuff.”
“What kind of other stuff?”
“Nothing serious. Just day-to-day stuff about friends.”
“Boyfriends?” he asked, leaning forward.
Colleen lifted her wine glass, holding it for a moment in front of the candlelight. “I rarely discussed my boyfriends with my parents. My father didn’t think anyone was good enough for me, especially someone like Brian,” she said, holding Finn’s steady gaze.
“Why not?”
“My dad thought he had it too easy because of his wealthy parents.”
“Like me,” Finn said in a hushed voice.
“You were always different because you weren’t born into a wealthy family. He genuinely cared about you. I hope you know that.”