When he tells people about his memory palace, he often gets the same reaction: bewilderment.
It amuses him, seeing the confused looks on peoples' faces. Memory Palace sounds like some sort of card game, but it isn't one. It's the castle he's built inside his head, used to store anything and everything he needs to remember for future reference. He's like an elephant; he rarely forgets anything.
He'd committed Teresa's address to his memory palace as well as the house she lived in, so it isn't difficult for him to find her place in the arrays of houses on the familiar street. Her house is more cottage-sized, the yellow paint outdated. It's homey, perfect for her and Theo, he supposes.
Anxiety swirls in his gut as he gets out of his car— an old, teal Citroen that's more of a contraption than a car— and heads to her porch, raising his fist to knock on the door. His heart begins to race and he starts to overthink everything. Is this a good idea? Should he be going on a date with another woman? Is he really ready for this?
But then he forces himself to relax and inhale a breath, letting it out through his nose. It's just a date. It's not like he's asking her to marry him or anything. It's a simple date, just to see where it takes them.
So he knocks.
He smooths out his attire before the door opens. He's wearing a plain white button-up with blue jeans, his blonde hair slicked back rather than sticking up in its unruly curls. He shaved the stubble he had this morning, his face now fresh and soft, and he can only hope she appreciates the effort he put into his appearance.
The door whips open and his eyes fall upon Teresa. She smiles when she sees him, her dark hair curled around her shoulders and a touch of lipgloss on her small, plump lips.
He swallows hard, his eyes raking over her, taking in her appearance. She looks radiant, clad in a white sundress that reaches her knees, black flats on her feet. An angel is the perfect description of her, sent straight out of heaven.
"Hi," she greets first, appreciating him with her eyes just as he did her. "You look nice."
He clears his throat and musters up the strength to voice words. "Thank you. You look...you look beautiful."
She beams at him. "Just let me grab my purse and say bye to Theo and then we can go."
He nods and she disappears back into the house. The door is left open and if he strains his ears long enough, he can hear her say "bye, I love you" to Theo.
When she reappears in his line of sight, he steps back and lets her shut and lock the door, her purse slung over on shoulder. Then they walk down the porch steps and towards his car, to which she tries to hide a chuckle at but fails.
Her laugh makes him crack a smile. "Is something funny?" He questions in a teasing tone.
"I don't want to be rude," she says, still trying hard to contain a fit of giggles behind her hand.
"Oh, well now you must tell me what's on your mind," he grins.
"It's just...your car," her smile widens and he can see tiny wrinkles form at the sides of her ears. The sight is endearing.
"Elaborate please."
She looks at him, biting her lip. "I didn't want to say anything the other night because you were being kind and taking us home, but I should probably give you my most honest opinion. Your car looks...odd."
He places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Odd? My dear, tons of people would kill to have my car. It never goes out of style."
She laughs again, the sound like a melody to his ears. "Sure, if you say so."
"You'll learn to love this car, I assure you," he says as he opens the door for her politely. She slides in with a shake of her head and he shuts the door, walking around to get into the driver's seat.
"It's something," she nods.
"It plays wonderful tunes as well," he informs her as he switches on the radio. Jazz starts to hum from the speakers and he glances at her, gauging her reaction to the music.
"Chet Baker," she says, glancing back at him with a rueful smile. "Good taste."
He raises his eyebrows at her. "You like Jazz?"
She shrugs. "My mother used to play it all the time. I learned to enjoy it."
"Your mother had excellent taste, then."
He starts the car and drives, glancing at her every now and then just to watch her expression. Her eyes are soft, her head resting against her seat as she taps her fingers along to the music, albeit subtly, as if she doesn't want him to notice. He suspects she's thinking about her mother who's passed away some time ago, relishing in the memories and the happy times they had together.
The words spill from his mouth before he can stop them. "Is your necklace a gift from your mother?"
Teresa immediately stops tapping, her hand flying up to the cross necklace around her neck. She fiddles with it for a moment, her eyes finding his side profile. "Yes, how'd you know that?"
"I'm a good guesser," he replies. It isn't far from the truth. As a professional conman you had to be good at guessing. It adds to the effect.
She falls silent, and he can see she's contemplating whether or not to tell him about her mother. They're still strangers, this being their first and perhaps only date depending on how it goes, so it's understandable why she's apprehensive. He doesn't want her to think he's pushing her for anything, so he quickly rushes to speak.
"You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to. I was just making small-talk."
"She gave it to me a few months before she passed away," Teresa says softly, looking down at her necklace. "It's the only thing I have left of her."
She doesn't offer any more information and he doesn't pry. Five minutes later they arrive at their destination: an Italian restaurant with tables outside and bright lights hovering above them.
"I'm not underdressed, am I?" She asks nervously as they exit the car and make their way to the restaurant, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress.
"Not at all," he promises, opening the door for her. "It's nothing fancy, I promise."
She relaxes at that. The two of them stop at the host desk up front and a tall woman with a raven pixie cut smiles at them. "Hello, do you have a reservation?"
Teresa shoots Jane a questioning look but he ignores her and nods politely. "Yes, it should be under Patrick Jane."
The woman searches him up. "Reservation for seven o'clock, yes?"
"That'd be correct."
"And would you like an inside table or an outside table?"
Jane looks to Teresa. "Up to you, my dear."
"It's warm out tonight," Teresa says shyly. "If it isn't an issue— "
"Outside table it is," Jane declares. The woman with the pixie cut nods and directs them to a vacant table outside, the warm breeze wrapping them up in a heated blanket.
Once they're seated, the woman says, "someone will be out to take your order shortly."
Jane nods and as soon as the woman is out of earshot, Teresa frowns at him. "You told me this place wasn't fancy!"
He waves away her words. "Fancy, schmancy. It was just a reservation."
"This place seems expensive," she mumbles. "I'll just get a salad or something."
He gapes at her. "Absolutely not! I'm taking you out, it's my treat. Don't worry about expenses. Get whatever you want. I insist."
"I'll pay my half, then," she says stubbornly, but he just shakes his head at her.
"Teresa, please. Money is not an issue with me. I want you to get what you want."
She slouches a little in her seat, hanging her head. "I'm just not used to this fancy stuff, is all. I usually go for fast-food. Theo loves McDonald's."
He chuckles. "Most kids do. But you seem like a woman who rarely treats herself, so let me do it for you, yes?"
She looks dubious. "Are you sure?"
"One-hundred percent."
She cracks a tiny smile, exposing the dimple in her right cheek. "Okay."
He clasps his hands together. "It's settled, then."
The waiter comes around just a few seconds later, handing them menus before pulling out a small pad of paper and a pen. "What can I get you guys started for drinks?"
"Do you guys have any tea?" Jane asks him with a tilt of his head, his sea green eyes curious. Teresa finds his expression cute and hides her smile behind her menu. It isn't like her to be so smitten with a man within just a few days of meeting him, but he's different. Different than a lot of guys she's met and especially different from a certain someone she'd rather not think about.
As the waiter rattles off the different teas the restaurant has, her mind wanders back to Theo. She'd left him with her best friends that she's known since what feels like forever, Grace and Wayne Rigsby. They have children of their own so they know how to handle Theo even with his shy and distant personality. Thinking about him makes an ache settle in her chest. He used to be a happy little boy, so full of life and happiness, but now he's afraid of people and social interaction altogether.
And it's all his fault.
She hadn't noticed the waiter asking her preference on a drink until Jane's voice penetrates her senses. "Teresa?"
She blinks, then looks up at the waiter who's smiling patiently at her. "Oh. Um, just a water for me please."
He nods and stalks off, and she feels Jane's eyes on her as she resumes her reading of the menu.
"Theo seems like a wonderful kid," he says, grasping her attention immediately.
Her eyes shoot up from the menu. "How'd you know I was thinking about Theo?"
"Well, I figure all good mothers would be thinking about their kids while on a date," he replies with a slight shrug. "It's just motherly nature."
She sighs. "Sorry. I feel like I leave him a lot. It's because of my job."
"What do you do?" He lifts a finger before she can answer. "Wait, let me guess. Lawyer? No— police officer. Am I right?"
She gapes at him, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Okay, are you psychic or something?'
He gives her a playful grin. "No such thing as psychics, my dear. I simply pay attention."
"Do I look like a police officer?"
"You've got the stance," he nods. "You just have that air about you. And you must have a job that requires a lot of your time if you're having to leave Theo a lot."
"You're smart," she comments just as their waiter brings back their drinks. He's ready to take their order and she orders whatever she sees first on the menu, her attention still focused on the man across from her.
As the waiter leaves again, Jane arches an eyebrow at her. "You don't even like lasagna, do you?"
Her face flushes. "Stop reading me!"
"My apologies," he says, but his tone isn't at all apologetic, and she can't help the smile that lights up her face.
"You're really something, Patrick Jane.