The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [49]
“It might not even be the right size,” Fallon said, but she acquiesced. Once hidden in the shadows she was shocked to discover how perfectly the dress fit. She’d never have picked this out for herself—yet more evidence that Max knew her body better than she did. Her bra showed behind the tiny spaghetti straps and deep neckline.
“Is it all right?” she asked nervously, leaving the cover of the woods. “My bra and shoes look ridiculous.” She hiked up the hem to show him her yellow Keds.
Max stared at her for a long moment before reaching into the bag a final time. He withdrew a pair of beaded silver flats and set them before her on the grass. A perfect fit, also, and Fallon could tell from the soft calfskin linings alone that these shoes probably cost as much as her monthly mortgage payment. She stared at them, bewildered.
Max broke into a wide grin. He reached around to slide the elastic from her ponytail, letting the curls bounce down to her shoulders. “Now you’re ready. Happy birthday.”
“Well. Thanks. This is…unexpected. I could have changed back at the studio, you know.”
“Where’s the surprise in that?” He took her clothes and shoes and put them in the bag, then offered an arm.
“Wait. I’m so close to looking the part, I may as well.” She reached behind and disentangled herself from her bra. She tucked it into Max’s bag and accepted his proffered arm, holding his strong biceps as they walked.
“Where did you get these things? And how did you know my shoe size?” she asked, not sure what else to say, or exactly how to interpret these gifts or this closeness.
He shrugged.
“Where are we going for dinner?” Fallon failed to think of any restaurant in Pettiplaise that warranted this kind of dress code. Moreover, every meal she’d eaten at the studio had been second-to-none. She couldn’t imagine what this man’s standards for actual dining might be.
“A very fine establishment,” he said evasively.
Five minutes later they arrived at one of the town’s many shabby fish joints, a bilingual sign in the window boasting five-dollar lobster rolls and draught beer specials. Max held the door for her, and she found them a booth with a table covered in red and white gingham vinyl. A candle flickered inside a cheap green glass holder and Maritime fiddle music drifted from the speakers. Tourist season was long over and they were the only patrons.
Fallon caught Max’s eyes as he sat down opposite her and she smirked. “Cute.”
He returned the smile. “This seemed more your speed than some snobby place. Not that we have many to choose from.”
“It is,” she said, registering her relief. “But the outfit’s a bit much, isn’t it? What if I get ketchup on it?” She glanced anxiously down at the silk.
“The world will keep turning.” He looked up to the menu posted behind the order counter. “What do you think?”
She scanned the fare. “I’d like…haddock and chips?”
“Very good.”
He went to place their orders and she heard him ask the clerk something in incomprehensible Acadian French, something involving the words for “our wine” and “friend” and “birthday”. Fallon felt an odd glow in her solar plexus at this new title. She smoothed the silk over her legs and tried her best to dismiss her shyness.
When Max returned he was carrying a pair of disposable plastic cups. He conjured a bottle of wine and a corkscrew from his shopping bag.
“I trust this is still potable.” He twisted the handle.
“How old is it?”
“This,” he said as the cork eased out with a faint pop, “would also have been turning thirty this year.”
Fallon’s eyebrows shot up toward the ceiling. “Oh my.”
He poured two cups, licking an errant drip as it slipped down the bottle’s neck then replacing the cork. He snapped his eyes to hers and slid a cup to her elbow. “What would you like to toast to?”
“To the first time I’ve had wine worth more than my car?” she suggested, still dumbfounded. She pulled the bottle close and studied the jaundiced label. It bore the designation Pauillac, Bordeaux and, indeed, the year Fallon was born.
“How about we toast to your birthday, instead?”
“Sure. Fine.