Alice couldn't remember the last time she'd been on a date, or the last time she'd been this nervous. She had been in a state of confusion ever since she'd met Greg - everything had happened too fast that first day, and she didn't know why she'd been so brazen. On the other hand, she couldn't quite bring herself to regret it. She'd been so lonely, and he was a lovely guy who had made her feel attractive and given her so much pleasure, but still ...
She resolved that whatever happened tonight, she wouldn't sleep with him. She needed to rewind the clock and start again, see if he was genuinely interested in her rather than just sex.
She was a full fifteen minutes early arriving at the restaurant, and sat in her car, checking and re-checking her make-up in the vanity mirror; well-named, she chided herself, but it wasn't vanity but insecurity which made her worry about how she looked. Would he even turn up?
Her question was answered almost immediately by another car pulling in next to hers, with a familiar face at the wheel. He was early, too! She got out, her nerves jangling, but forgot all about that when he swept her into his arms and hugged her tightly.
"Hi, Alice, you look amazing! Hope you haven't been waiting long?"
"Only a few minutes," she said, omitting to mention that it had seemed like hours.
"You don't believe in being fashionably late, then?"
"No, I hate being late for anything, or letting people down."
Greg approved of that - he'd never been one for one-upmanship or tardiness, either. He stood aside to let her enter the restaurant first, following her as the waiter greeted them and led them to a table for two in a quiet alcove. She was lovely in a simple white dress, her long, dark tresses reaching halfway down her back.
"Would you like a drink first?"
"Yes, I could do with one, I think. A dry white wine, please."
"Nervous?"
"A little," she admitted with a wry smile.
"That's OK, I am, too."
"Really?"
"Yes. I feel as though I took advantage of you the other day, and I really want to apologise for that."
"I don't think you took advantage. I encouraged you, but I did feel bad about it afterwards. Um ... could we just start again? Please?"
"Of course. Let's just relax and enjoy a good meal. No pressure."
She smiled at him gratefully.
"Thank you, I appreciate that."
"How's Chloe?"
He remembered her daughter's name! A little thing, perhaps, but it made her warm to him.
"She's fine, thanks. My parents are taking care of her tonight."
It was the second time she'd used that phrase, and her choice of words struck him as a little odd. She'd told him that Chloe was fifteen, so shouldn't need much taking care of. She seemed quite reticent to talk about her daughter or her ex-husband, although that was understandable, he supposed, or perhaps it was just the fact that it was their first proper date.
He let it pass, and they concentrated on choosing their food, opting for the most exotic dishes they could find on the menu. She was still a little nervous, but he had a way of making her smile with his easy, self-deprecating humour and drawing her out by showing a genuine interest in her life and what she had to say.
By the time their starters had arrived, they were deep in conversation; he had discovered that she worked part-time as a secretary at her daughter's school, whilst she was surprised by his admission that he was retired from work.
"Aren't you a little young to be retired? I mean, you're, what, fifty?"
He grinned.
"Flattery will get you everywhere! I'm fifty-eight. I retired at fifty-five because I had the chance to take voluntary redundancy, and because we had all kinds of things we wanted to do before we got too old. It was only a few months after that that Isobel was diagnosed with cancer, and I spent the next year nursing her, before ..."
She reached out and touched his arm, and her eyes were full of sympathy and understanding.
"I'm so sorry. That must have been awful."
He pulled himself together. He didn't want to be a downer and make it all about himself. Not tonight.
"You've had your share of difficult times, too. Bringing up a child on your own. You must have been very young when you had her."
"I was nineteen, and had no idea what I was doing!"
"You're thirty-four? I would have guessed late twenties!"
"Now who's the flatterer? I'm thirty-five, actually!"
"Well, you don't look it. Although I'm actually a bit relieved to hear you say that."
"Why? Because you don't feel like quite so much of a cradle-snatcher?"
Busted! She had his number, all right, but he loved the candour and impish sense of humour which lurked behind her shyness and which was coming to the surface more and more as she relaxed.
"Yes, to be perfectly honest. I don't feel quite so bad now I know that you're an older woman."
She giggled and poked her tongue out at him.
"Watch it, old man! You're still old enough to be my father, you know ..."
He was acutely aware of that, and coloured slightly, for once unable to think of a witty reply. She noticed his discomfiture and placed her hand on his on top of the tablecloth.
"Hey, I'm teasing. I like that you're older. It makes me feel ... safer, somehow."
Their eyes met, and he saw that it was true. Beneath her shell there was a vulnerable little girl. The realisation brought out all of his protective instincts, and he resolved on the spot that he would do everything in his power not to hurt her. She searched his gaze, and saw nothing but genuine concern and care in them. Damn, she could get lost in those warm, brown eyes. Get a grip, girl!
