The Farther Shore - Christie Golden [6]
“Do you have lunch regularly at The Stop Spot? I can meet you there tomorrow and give it to you then.”
“I really don’t think I want to wait that long,” she said. “But I’m certain you’ve got plans for tonight.”
Again, he cleared his throat. “Ah, no ... tonight I’m free, actually.”
Of course you are. I knew that. “I’m surprised, but that’s my good luck. Please—let me take you out to dinner. It’s not enough to repay you for what you’ve done.”
He hesitated, and for a bad moment she thought she’d lost him. Then, “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure.” She gave him another smile. “Shall we meet at The Stop Spot at seven?”
She chose her outfit with care. She wanted to be enticing, but not overly so; tasteful, yet with just the [18] barest hint of eroticism. By the way his eyes widened and he swallowed, she thought she’d succeeded.
Libby strode toward him, hand extended. “Thank you again for safeguarding it.”
“You’re very welcome.” Again, he revealed himself by blushing. Libby wondered how far he’d gotten in the juicy, utterly fabricated “entries.” Far enough, she supposed.
“What’s your pleasure?” she asked.
His no-color eyes widened. “What?”
“For dinner. What’s your pleasure? I know all kinds of great restaurants. Do you like Ethiopian, or maybe Thai?”
“Um ... I kind of like plain food.”
Of course you do, she thought. His food preferences hadn’t been in his bio, but she couldn’t imagine this fellow being adventurous in any fashion.
“I know just the place,” she said. In a few moments they were sitting at a restaurant called The Garden of Eatin’. It was a bit on the rundown side, its one redeeming feature that it was consistent in its mediocrity. She knew that the chef, for oddly enough there was actually a live human in the kitchen, varied his menu not a whit, and that it offered such uninspired choices as Cobb Salad, grilled cheese sandwiches, and hamburgers.
She was not surprised when Trevor ordered a medium hamburger, no onions, extra pickles, and french fries. Libby had eaten meat before when she felt it was vital to her assignments, but she disliked to do so. She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich with a house salad and oil and vinegar dressing.
By sheer will she kept the conversation alive, asking as many questions as she could, which he replied to [19] with monosyllabic answers. At one point, though, when the conversation lagged severely, he took the initiative and asked her about what she did. Knowing that the truth was best whenever it could be applied, she told him she was a musician. He didn’t seem particularly interested.
Even when the talk turned to his work, he didn’t have much to say. Libby found this quite odd. Usually people loved to talk about themselves and their work. She was beginning to despair of the evening working out as she had hoped when, after they had finished dessert, Trevor cleared his throat and asked, “Would you like to come over to my place for a nightcap?”
She tried not to look as startled as she felt. Judging by his expression, he’d spent all evening working up his courage to ask her. For a brief moment, she felt sorry for him. He wasn’t unattractive, and the work he did was fascinating. He just needed to polish himself a little. She suspected this was his first date in a long time, and that was a shame.
Libby immediately set his expectations by saying, “I’ve got to be up early for a rehearsal tomorrow, so I can’t stay too long, but yes—I’d love to have a nightcap with you.”
His smile was sweet, sincere, and boyish, and again, she was sorry that he wasn’t out with someone who could really appreciate that smile.
Trevor’s apartment was exactly as she had imagined it. It was tidy and organized and devoid of anything resembling imaginative furnishings. She’d stayed in hotel rooms with more character. But then, she wasn’t here to analyze his decor. Her experienced gaze swept the [20] room with icy detachment, searching out what she