Chapter Eight

It's all in his hands, he's the man.

- Serj Tankian

Stepping into her heels, Erin heard the car pull into the driveway. She took another passing glance at the mirror hanging in the hallway. The eye drops seemed to have no effect concealing the fact she had been crying. She sighed. He was going to see through it, but that couldn't be helped now. The chime of the doorbell echoed through the quiet house signaling her date's arrival. He could wait. She reasoned. She swiped another layer of lipstick across her mouth before opening the door.

There he stood, dressed to kill. In his hand he held of all things, a pot of orchids. Stubborn thoughts invaded her mind. Lord help her, this was blackmail it was not a real date.

"I see you took my advice." Dave's eyes traveled down the length of her body for a second time, but his gaze seemed to be taking its time as he drank her in. There was no mistaking the way his eyes paused on her breasts for a full second as he took in the way the pink material clung to her recently acquired curves. She looked fantastic. His hand itched to grab hers and spin her around, just to watch that dress flair up and award him a view of her perfect calves. "And it seems I chose the right color."

The charcoal gray suit coat set against his complexion would have made a lesser woman swoon. It didn't help her theory that the stripes on his tie matched her dress. "What a coincidence..."

A strange silence settled over them he stood on the porch with her in the foyer. Two competent, well read adults with years of shared history were reduced to a cliched awkward silence.

The irony was almost too much to bear. Before Dave held out his hand. "I brought you something." He looked down at his watch. "We should go, we have reservations," he explained.

Erin turned and set the pot on the table. "I'll just get my purse."

"It's funny," Dave said as he held open the car door. "Seeing you with...a.. that." He motioned to the soft pink clutch that hung from her shoulder. "I imagined it more like a briefcase."

"Nope, sorry to disappoint." She smoothed the back of her dress and climbed inside the car. "Keys and lipstick won't fill a briefcase."

Erin fastened her seat belt then reached for the radio dial. Dave stopped her hand.

"Whoa! My car, my call on the music."

"Excuse me," Erin threw back at him in her best 'don't mess with me' tone, "I'm your guest-albeit a guest who was coerced into a date. I get radio station rights," she jabbed a thumb at her chest. Dave considered a response, but quickly squashed it. She could be armed, he warned himself. Instead, he turned the key. "If you choose The Beatles or rap, you are paying for dinner."

"Paul McCartney?"

"No. Sinatra."

"Nancy?"

"No. Frank."

"Barry Manilow," Erin threw back. As she clicked through the stations. She clicked the search feature and Dean Martin's 'Everybody Love's Somebody Sometime' flooded the small space.

"Oh that's just wrong!" She muttered under her breath.

Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody' cut through the chorus. "Are you serious!" Erin exclaimed, choking on laughter.

"This car was leased," he said evasively turning the dial.

"Bullshit. We both know you drove it right off the lot."

The Carpenters played over the rock opera. "Do you want to change it? I'm fine if you are."

"This is good." Conversation halted by the melodious sound of the song. Keeping his eyes on the road, Dave guided the car down the long streets of Dale City toward downtown. Neither spoke as though to do so would ruin the moment. Pulling the car under the canopy outside the restaurant, he put the engine in park and stepped out. Walking around to the passenger door, he touched the handle only to be stopped.

"Don't."

"I was just going to help you."

"I can do it myself."

"Erin-" Dave was interrupted by a tall man in a white outfit. Oblivious to the underlying current running between the pair, he stepped over and pulled up the handle.

"Thank you," Erin said as the valet held open her door. Straightening her dress, she gave the young man a smile.

"Why is it okay for him to help you, but not me?" Dave asked, as they entered the restaurant. The smell of freshly baked bread drifted from the kitchens and Erin was suddenly ravenous. How long had it been since she had eaten? From the sound of her stomach, it had been hours.

"That's his job," she replied evenly. "Besides, you held the door."

"Not the car door."

"It wasn't as heavy."

"That's not the point, Erin. You've had a rough day I'm offering to help," he said, holding out her chair. She followed his lead a jolt of panic invaded her chest when she realized no one had shown them to a table.

"Dave..." She didn't know where to start, and she sure didn't want to fight.

"If you want, I can go outside and get the valet and let him do this," his eyes twinkled with mischief.

"That's not what I mean. You can't walk into a crowded restaurant and sit down at the table of your choosing..."

"Long time no see, Dave." An older man with an apron slung over his shoulder came over and clapped Dave amicably on the back "I was starting to think you forgot about us!"

"Criminals finally decided to cut me a break." Dave shook the man's hand. "What's the special of the day?"

"Anything you want, just ask. Who is your date?"

"Erin Strauss, meet Max Price." Dave introduced.

"You always did have good taste, Davy." Max leaned in and shook Erin's hand and she noticed the specks of flour and marinara sauce on his apron.

"He has terrible taste, and I'm his boss," she corrected.

Max's eyebrows raised. So she said, but he would bite his tongue. "Ah, a workplace meeting, I see. Well I hope you weren't thinking of giving him a raise."

"Only if it involves my foot," Erin replied sweetly, but there was no denying her underlying tone. Max laughed loudly.

"She's a keeper, that's for sure! So sit and order, I'll have it out to you. Good seeing you, Davy."

"He's friendly," Erin said, once Max was out of hearing range. She picked up the menu and glanced at it quickly. The sudden urge to have a steak filled her.

"We were in boot-camp together, but his knees gave out and they sent him home."

"Are you ready to order?" the waitress asked, her pen poised above what appeared to be a computer tablet.

"Erin?" Dave prompted.

"Prime rib, medium rare, Baked potato, loaded. Salad, ranch," she recited quickly.

Dave nodded. "Make it two." He handed the menus to the waitress. "You made a good choice."

But Erin wasn't listening. She twisted her fingers around the stem of her water glass, wondering what the friendly restauranteur and David's lifelong friend thought of her. What did he mean by 'Dave always had good taste'? How many other women had shared this same experience?

"You should eat," Dave's voice cut through her thoughts as he passed her the bread basket. Erin took a roll and broke off a piece. Mechanically she chewed and looked down at her watch.

"Trying to plan your escape?"

"Wondering what is taking them so long." A moment later their salads were set down. Eagerly, Dave dug into his with gusto. Realizing her own insecurity had killed her appetite, Erin stabbed at the lettuce with apathy.

"What's going on with you?" Dave asked.

"Dave..." Again she didn't know how to start without sounding like a pathetic and jealous teenager.

He leaned in as close as the candles on the table would allow, "I'm listening."

"How many women have you brought here?"

"Max is an accomplished chef and a good man, but he doesn't know me half as well as he thinks. I've never brought a date here."

The corners of her lips turned up in a half-smile, "What about your boss?"

"She's different."

A glass of scotch appeared in front of Dave before Erin could reply.

"I didn't order this," Dave said, addressing the waitress.

"Compliments of the Chef. He sent this as well," the server answered as she placed a glass of red wine in front of Erin.

"Please thank him and tell him that I don't drink," she deflected out of habit. But she could almost imagine the taste of the full-bodied wine on her tongue and the warm feeling it would invoke. She reached out to touch the stem and caught Dave's look.

"I'm sorry..." the waitress's voice trembled.

"Take it back." Dave ordered more briskly than he intended and hand back the scotch.

The young woman reached over to remove the wine glass, "My sincerest apologies..." She was cut off by a jolt from behind as she was pushed against the table. Trying to regain her balance, her fingers lost hold of the wine glass. Too late to catch it, the contents spilled onto Erin's lap. A large gasp filled the room as all eyes turned toward the couple.

Erin looked down in horror, the rich full-bodied wine she'd imagined was all over her dress and she wanted to be sick. Dave jumped from his seat and hurried to her side, "Are you alright?"

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, "I'd like the check."

"I—I'm so sorry, Ma'am...The waitress stammered- I'll get that cleaned up right away."

Dave threw the waitress a cold stare that said 'get a move on it'.

"And bring the check."