Leather and Lace - Chapter 5 by Erica Sutherhome
posted by Adam Scull
January 23, 2014
Angie
finished her errands and returned to her one bedroom apartment. It had all the basics, of course, with a
small kitchenette, sitting area and a bathroom, but little else. She still
hadn’t scraped enough together to buy a decent computer like she’d had
before…no, she wouldn’t think of that now.
She
took a shower, and did her hair and makeup carefully. Tonight was a date, not the club. She wanted a natural look. With a secret smile, she chose her lingerie,
then donned a long, cobalt blue, but soft maxi dress. She went for black strappy sandals and a
matching purse, and included a like-colored shawl. Now she was ready. She left the apartment, drove to Patrick’s
house and rang the doorbell. It was
seven-thirty. She was a punctual girl.
When
the door opened, Angie saw that Patrick was dressed stylishly in a dark blue
pin-striped dress shirt and black dress pants.
She wondered if he ever dressed down or relaxed. His dark, layered hair was styled perfectly
tonight, unlike the bed-mussed look he’d sported that morning. She realized she liked it both ways.
She
noticed she was staring and smiled.
“Hello, Patrick.”
“Angie…” The word came out like a groan. “God, you look amazing.”
“Thank
you.” She felt the flutter of nerves and, baffled by it, she tried to get her
breath back. “Are you ready?”
He
nodded. “Just one moment.”
He
was gone for no more than a few seconds.
When he returned, he had shrugged into a black dinner jacket. And there was one thing more. He held a single red rose out to her.
Her
breath caught, and she was oddly charmed by the gesture. “Oh, Patrick.
Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re
welcome.”
She
took the rose and inhaled its sweet fragrance.
“This is lovely. Can we put it in
a vase?”
“Of
course.” He opened the door and she accompanied him inside. They found a vase, filled it with water, set
the rose inside and stood back to admire it.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“Of
course,” she replied and followed him out.
Patrick
closed the front door, then with a hand on her back, he urged her towards his
car. It was a black sedan, not luxury
like she’d suspected, but still fairly new.
He opened the passenger door for her and she got in. After he climbed in, started the car and pulled
away from the curb, he flipped the music on.
Fireflight’s “Wrapped in Your Arms” came on, and startled eyes flew to
him. But, his gaze was on the road, his
face composed.
It
was the same kind of music she listened to when she wanted to relax. Fireflight
was one of her favorite bands. When she was feeling moody and reckless, she
listened to the hard beat of the alternative songs to bring herself down. This one, however, was softer, one that her
romantic’s heart secretly yearned for.
She imagined it was a story about a love so true, it even stood the test
of time. She shook the thought away and
tried to ignore the pull of the emotional lyrics.
She
cleared her throat. “Where are we going?”
“I
thought we’d do Italian. You like
Italian?”
“Yes,
that’s fine.” She looked away, out at the quick flash of headlights from other
cars that passed by.
“You
seem quiet,” he commented.
“So do you.”
He
chuckled. “You may be right.” He cleared his throat. “Did you go to work today?”
She
shook her head. “There really isn’t much
of a crowd during the day. The money is
in the evening.”
“So
it is,” he said softly.
The
silence that passed was awkward as hell.
Angie
worried her hands in her lap. “Was this a mistake?”
He
frowned, sparing her a glance before he looked at the road again. “What do you
mean?”
“You
said you were interested.”
“I
am.”
“But,
we’re mixing business with pleasure.”
“If
I’m not mistaken, your profession is all about pleasure.”
She
gasped. She couldn’t think of a reason
why she should feel hurt by his comment. “You’re right. Of course.”
“Forgive
me, Angie. It’s not just about that.”
“It’s
not?” she asked after a moment. “It seems pretty awkward right now. If there
was more than sex, wouldn’t we have known that by now?”
Patrick
was silent for a moment while she looked anywhere but his tempting
presence. “I know it doesn’t seem like
it. But, you’re not as removed as you
pretend to be. I’m a cop,
Sweetheart. I read people. And there’s a lot more than surface to
you. Just as there’s more to me than
money.”
Angie grimaced. “I didn’t mean to imply-“
Angie grimaced. “I didn’t mean to imply-“
“Of
course you did. But, I understand. Let’s just put that behind us and try to
enjoy the evening. I want to know more
about you, Angie, but I’ll give you time if that’s what you need.”
Gratitude
moved through her. She reached out to
squeeze his free hand. “Thank you.” Willing to try, she turned the music down a
little. “So, you like Fireflight?”
He
smiled and nodded.
“Me
too.”
“See? Maybe we have some things in common after
all.”
“We’re
both stubborn?” she quipped.
Patrick
laughed, and her heart felt much lighter all of a sudden. “There is that,” he agreed.
Angie relaxed.
When
the car slowed, Patrick parked near a two hour parking sign. They exited the car and he took her hand as
they crossed the street. Angie couldn’t
dismiss that strange flutter of nerves that returned. She thought it might be some kind of
exhilaration.
When
they stepped up to the restaurant, she could tell it was housed in one of the
old brick buildings in Beacon Hill. Ristorante Toscano was outlined in shiny black
paint, and the word “Toscano” was large, drawing customers in. The letters were painted yellow and there
were two lovely symbols on each side of the word. They reminded Angie of a fleur-de-lis. Once inside, the din of a busy restaurant was
evident. When Patrick gave his name,
they were seated promptly. On the way to
the table, her heels clicked on the wooden floor, creating a strange echo.
The
pleasant smell of Italian food wafted about.
The tables were cozy with white tablecloths and high-backed chairs
outfitted in leather padding. The décor
encompassed the building’s architecture, drawing on the brick of the
walls. On the ceiling were large, random
lights with an antique color and scrolled ironwork that offered an intimacy to
the atmosphere. In the middle of the
restaurant a glass case sat, housing all types of wine. Behind Angie’s seat on the wall was a
circular mirror ringed in black with gold decorative accents. It was all quite impressive.
A
waiter filled their water glasses as they perused the menu. “Would you like
some wine with your meal?”
Patrick’s
gaze went to her.
Angie
smiled. “Of course.”
He
returned her smile. “The lady has
spoken. We will have a bottle of your
Rosato Scalabrone.”
“Very
good, Sir.” The waiter left.
“You
seem to know your wine,” she commented.
“I
like it well enough. This is a good
restaurant too.”
She
had to bite back the urge to ask if he’d been here with a girlfriend. “Good.”
Soon,
their wine glasses were filled and after sipping, they ordered. They asked for
bruschetta for an appetizer and ordered Pappa al Pomodoro, or a tomato bread
soup. Angie ordered wild mushroom risotto while Patrick took a chance on the
sea scallops. He also ordered broccoli
on the side for them to share.
It
was a pleasant meal. During their soup
course, she worked up the nerve to ask about Patrick’s romantic past.
He
smiled. “I’ve only dated a few
women. Some in college, one a couple of
years back.”
“That
sounds serious.”
“Hmm. Well, it seemed like it for awhile. The problem was she didn’t respect my job, or
that I would want it.”
She
nodded. “Clearly you like being a
detective.”
“Oh,
I do. It’s not always exciting. A lot of it is paperwork.”
“Then
what is it that compels you to do it?”
He
sighed. “You’ll laugh.”
“No,
I won’t. It’s important to you. I understand that.”
Patrick
nodded. “I like the puzzle, figuring out what happened. Justice doesn’t hurt
either.”
“Oh.” It crossed her mind that she
might be his current puzzle he was working on, but she brushed it aside. He had asked her out, but it was no more than
a dalliance. They were simply enjoying
each other for now. “Well, I’m glad you
like your job. So many people are
unhappy in their professions.”
“Including you?”
Angie sighed. “It’s not always easy.”
There was a weird moment of silence.
“If you weren’t working where you
are now, what would you want to do? Another kind of dancing?”
She shook her head. “It’s fun
sometimes, but it mostly pays the bills, like you said. No, I might do art.”
“Art?”
Angie nodded. “That was my hobby
when I was growing up. I was always
sketching or painting. I…” she drifted
off, aware that she was saying too much.
“Do you still do that?”
She shook her head.
“Well, why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t see any point. The colors aren’t there anymore.”
When he blinked, she laughed. “That
probably sounds crazy.”
“No, it doesn’t. But, if you don’t follow your passion, you
won’t be happy.”
She appreciated the sentiment, but
it wasn’t realistic right now for her.
“Angie, would you do something for
me?”
“What?”
“If you’re ever in situation that
seems dangerous, something you can’t handle, would you call me?”
“I have pepper spray,” she
protested.
“That won’t help in every case.”
She knew he was right. “All right.”
Patrick dug in his wallet and handed
her his business card. “That lower one? That’s my cell phone. You call me any
time, night or day, and I promise I’ll answer.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. It
really meant a lot that he was willing to protect her. Once more, she had to
struggle to get her breath back.
“So, what about you?”
“Hmm?” she wondered
distractedly. She took a sip of wine.
“Have you dated much?”
Angie shook her head. “I’m
twenty-seven, and I haven’t had a long term relationship. When I was in school,
I dated some guys. It didn’t really go anywhere. I don’t think they were
looking for permanence.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. It’s okay. I’m over it.”
He lifted a brow like he didn’t
believe her. “So…you were in college.”
“I was. Not anymore.”
“I see.”
But, he couldn’t. No one would
understand why she dropped out. She’d simply had no choice.
The rest of their food arrived,
breaking the awkward moment. Angie’s risotto was to die for, and she even
snagged a couple of Patrick’s scallops.
She had to admit everything was cooked to perfection. After Patrick
paid, they left the restaurant. The
night was mild enough that she didn’t need a coat, and she could see the stars
up in the night sky. There was something
very romantic about it all. The sounds
of an Italian opera song streamed out through the open doors of the restaurant.
Patrick took her in his arms, drew
her close to his chest. They swayed to
the beautiful music for awhile until he touched his lips to hers. Tongues
danced lightly and she felt a little lightheaded with the sensation. When he
drew away, he smiled. Words weren’t
necessary, it seemed. He took her hand
and led her back to the car.
The car started and she was treated
to more Fireflight. She smiled at him.
For dessert, Patrick took her for
ice cream at the Ben & Jerry’s on Park Plaza. She went for chocolate fudge
brownie for she loved chocolate. Patrick ordered cherry Garcia. They licked at the cones in silence as
families with rambunctious children poured in around them. At one point, Patrick took a napkin and wiped
her chin, where some ice cream had dripped.
She could only laugh. That
awkwardness had been chased away somehow.
Afterwards,
they went to a theater nearby, where they saw an action movie. During the
particularly intense scenes, Patrick held her hand. More than anything, she wanted to curl up
against him. Did they have that kind of relationship? She wasn’t sure. She
didn’t have the experience to know that. She just knew that, despite her
attempts to remain professional with him, she was failing. She was starting to like him a lot. She couldn’t count how many times he’d made
her laugh tonight, whether it was when he was teasing her about something or
telling her about his mishaps as a rookie with the department.
Patrick
chose that moment to squeeze her hand.
She looked at him. His bright
blue eyes cut through her.
Dear
God, she thought. She was in a lot of
trouble.
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