The easy banter they’d exchanged in the car had given way to nervous silence once again.
Jim’s hand lightly touched her elbow as they went through the door, but quickly withdrew when he saw her jump slightly. He rubbed his fingertips together absently before he stuck his hands in his pockets.
She looked fabulous. He’d never seen that outfit before, he thought. The blue shirt was feminine and draped across her frame perfectly. Her light gray skirt flared slightly at the bottom and swayed with her every movement.
Her shoes were killing him. Gone were the comfortable loafers and slight heels she wore to work. These were towers that did impossible things for her already fabulous legs and made him feel like he had to keep a hand on her in case she was to fall. And her feet! He swiped a hand over the lower portion of his face as he yanked his eyes back up to look for the maître’d. He chided himself mentally, but he didn’t think he’d seen her toes before. Now there they were, all small and feminine, nails painted a light pink.
His eyes trailed back to her. Her hair was up and away from her face and from his position a little behind her, he traced the outline of her neck and profile as he watched her reaction to the sights and sounds of the dimly lit restaurant. She was smiling.
She was dreaming. That was the only way this was real, she thought. He’d unknowingly fulfilled one of her frequent dreams…mainly the one where dream- Jim brings her here on a date. She’d stopped asking Roy if they could come here within a year of their being together, since he’d been so obviously uninterested. Now though, at this moment, she was so glad that he hadn’t. That she now had this memory with Jim.
She sneaked a glance at him. He was staring at the floor by her feet with a strange look on his face. She wished she could tell what he was thinking. She even wished she could see the back of his neck, since she’d gotten so good at reading that. It was his face that she had to get back in training for. She wished he would say something.
The maître’d approached them, all stuffiness and service in a black uniform. “Welcome to La Trattiora.” He said in rich tones. “May I have your name, please?”
“Oh,” Jim said, coming back to attention, “uh, Halpert.”
“Excellent,” the maître’d said, as though it made his day. “Your table’s all ready for you. This way please,” he said with a bow.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Before they get seated.
Chapter End Notes:
Next: Table Banter
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