This is a short story about the time Vincent finally gains the courage to ask Catherine out. Like anyone, I imagine he'd be a little nervous. Enjoy!
Vincent paced back and forth in his bedroom. If anyone could see him, they may think he had lost his mind a little. He was talking and gesturing to himself. His hair was sticking up in multiple directions from the constant tugging by his hands. The black t-shirt he was wearing was dangerously wrinkled and he wasn't wearing any pants.
"Cat..." he began then shook his head. "No, no. I should say Catherine."
He paced more, ran a hand through his already messy brown hair and tried to make up an entire conversation in his mind. He'd never been this nervous. The conversation was only in his mind, but his palms were sweaty and his heart was racing. When she actually came by later, he was going to stutter like he did when he first asked a girl out years ago. If he got the words right maybe he wouldn't sound like too much of an idiot. She wouldn't wince and gently let him down.
Vincent stopped pacing and stopped in front of the mirror hung from the wall by a rusty nail. He could do this. He wasn't a nervous thirteen year old boy asking a girl whose name he couldn't remember to the school dance.
He and Catherine had been circling around one another for two years. Despite what his nerves were telling him, he knew she cared for him as more than a friend. There had been moments...moments he wished he had done something about. Putting things off just made him more nervous.
"Catherine," he began, "I know I'm not always the most...open person." And that was all he had.
He wanted to invite Catherine to dinner. Make it clear it would just be the two of them. That he wanted dinner to be a date.
"Catherine have dinner with me." No no, that sounded too much like a demand.
He tried again. "Catherine, will you please have dinner with me tomorrow night?" That sounded better. He didn't sound like he was commanding her to come to dinner with him.
Taking a deep breath, he started again. "Catherine, I can't stand aside any longer and pretend I'm feeling nothing when I'm with you. That I'm not jealous of every man who shows interest in you. That those moments you touch your hand to my cheek I don't want to pull you into my arms. You make me feel alive...like I have a future that involves more than hiding from Muirfield."
This was turning into a monologue. He wasn't proposing marriage, though his heart did leap at the thought. He could imagine Catherine in a beautiful wedding gown, a bouquet of red roses clasped in her hands, walking down the aisle toward him. It was an image seared in his mind these past two years.
"Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?" He asked the mirror. "Just the two of us. I'll cook."
Behind him, he suddenly heard his name. He whipped around and there she stood. Catherine. Tears were in her eyes, on the verge of spilling over.
"Cat..." he began but she cut him off, nodding her head as the tears spilled over onto her cheeks.
"Vincent," she said, her voice slightly wabbly. "I'd love to have dinner with you." She came up to him and cupped his cheek with her hand, as a bright grin spread across her face. "I thought I'd have to end up asking you soon."