After canoeing Barbara Jean wanted to go out to dinner at a romantic restaurant with Brock, but Cheyenne jumped in quickly, saying that the five of them should spend time together, since that's what this trip was about. Barbara Jean agreed and so Reba found herself once again the first in the hotel lobby, dressed in an emerald green silk dress since Barbara Jean had insisted they go to the fancy restaurant anyway. Cheyenne had loaned her the dress and Reba was proud that she was able to wear her beautiful daughter's dress. Reba stood facing the hall this time; she wanted to see the expression on Brock's face when he saw her.
She didn't have to wait long. Only a few minutes after Reba, the other four adults walked into the lobby, and Barbara Jean squealed and told Reba she looked pretty. Cheyenne and Van agreed, but Reba hardly heard because she was too busy watching Brock, whose step had faltered when he saw her. Reba took a moment to appreciate Brock's well-cut charcoal suit while she watched Brock's eyes travel up and down her body, tracing its lines and curves before meeting her gaze with lust-darkened intensity. He always had liked to see her all dressed up. Reba felt her pulse start to race and she licked her lips involutarily and saw Brock mirror her action, causing her to step toward him.
Suddenly Reba felt Cheyenne grab her arm, pinning her mother with a warning look, "Come on mom, we have a reservation." Cheyenne directed Reba toward the van and muttered, "In public. Please try not to jump dad while Barbara Jean is actually standing right in front of you."
Reba flushed and looked at her daughter shamefully, "Sorry, honey. The moment got away from me."
"Just don't let it happen again," Cheyenne warned playfully as they reach the van.
"Don't let what happen again?" Barbara Jean poked her head out of the back of the van to ask.
Cheyenne faltered and Reba thought quickly, "Don't let myself get caught without a dress so I have to borrow one of Cheyenne's. She's very attached to her clothes, you know."
Barbara Jean laughed, "Yeah, she sure is. Take shotgun, Reba, Brock doesn't know where the restaurant is. I left directions on the seat."
Reba wondered at Barbara Jean's acceptance of Brock's trust in her navigational skills as she got into the front seat; sometimes even Barbara Jean treated them like they were still married. She picked up the directions and read them quickly before looking at Brock, catching him trying to look down her dress. Normally Reba would have brushed it off or hit him, but not tonight. Tonight Reba was trying to win him back. So she waited until he looked at her guiltily before giving him the naughty grin she knew he loved. "See something you like," she murmured quietly enough for her voice not to carry over the conversation in the back.
"Yeah," Brock replied huskily, "Yeah I do."
Reba smiled again and gave Brock the next direction, pleased at his reaction. She was surprised he was so honest, but thought it boded well. She only broke the comfortably charged silence between them to give directions the rest of the way, and made sure she was directly in front of Brock when they entered the restaurant. She hoped for and was glad to feel his warm hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the restaurant like he did when they were dating and married, like she was precious.
The matrie'd led them to a large circular table with five chairs and Reba sat down, pleasantly surprised when Brock sat on her right, subtly moving their chairs closer together. Cheyenne exchanged a glance with Van and they quickly moved to sit on either side of Brock and Reba, forcing Barbara Jean to sit between them. When Barbara Jean looked like she was going to protest Cheyenne quickly explained, "We want to make sure we all talk to each other and don't pair off," and Reba had to give her points for quick thinking. Barbara Jean nodded reluctantly and picked up her menu.
Reba used her left hand to open her menu and let her right hand fall under the tablecloth, her fingers ghosting over Brock's arm while her eyes stayed trained on her menu. Out of the corner of her eye Reba saw Brock jump a little and his eyes shoot to her face, but he quickly relaxed and moved his hand to capture hers, intertwining their fingers and resting their hands on his thigh. Reba rubbed small circles on Brock's hand with her thumb, remembering that that always turned him on. Brock shifted in his seat and Reba let her eyes meet his, seeing his intrigue and confusion.
"Have you decided what to get yet, Reba?" Barbara Jean's eyes were locked on Reba and Brock like she was trying to figure out if something strange was going on.
Reba glanced at the menu, "I'm thinking about trying the baked salmon with spicy salsa, I think I want something hot," she said, shifting her fingers and tracing her thumbnail teasingly over Brock's sensitive palm, making him spray the water he'd been sipping all over the table, including on Van and Barbara Jean, who made faces. Reba laughed and released his hand so he could clean up, "Something wrong, Brock?"
Brock flushed, "No. Nothing's wrong here, just went down the wrong pipe."
Barbara Jean glared, "The wrong pipe, huh?"
Brock nodded and breathed a sigh of relief when the waiter came to take their orders. "I'd like the tri-tip with garlic mashed potatoes and my wife would like the baked-," he started to motion to Reba before catching himself and lamely motioning to Barbara Jean, "-Excuse me." Brock stood and walked toward the restrooms.
Reba was shocked that he'd referred to her as his wife before stopping himself. They'd always had a tradition of him ordering for her, but he hadn't done it since the separation. She saw the equally shocked faces around the table and leaned to her left, dropping her voice to the barest whisper, "Van, go stop Brock from drowning himself in the sink."
"Right," Van said before raising his voice so the waiter could hear him. "I'll take the same, excuse me." And with that he stood and went after Brock, looking every inch the man he'd become.
Cheyenne smiled proudly, looking after her husband for a moment before turning her attention to the waiter, "I'd like the halibut please, with steamed asparagus. What about you, Barbara Jean?"
Barbara Jean nodded absently, "Whatever you're having. What the heck just happened?"
The waiter looked at Reba desperately, anxious to get away from their table, "For you, miss?"
Reba smiled and pulled a twenty dollar bill out of her wallet, knowing Brock would treat them to dinner, and pressing it into the waiter's hand. He looked new and a little stunned by the scene they'd made, "I'll take the baked salmon special, and that's for calling me miss. Also, if you can bring a round of beers and one ginger ale that would be great." Then Reba gave him her most charming smile and was glad to see him relax a little before hurrying away.
"Why a round, mom? You know I can't drink," Cheyenne questioned.
Reba smiled wryly, "I think your father's going to want two."
"And again," Barbara Jean broke in, "What the heck just happened?"
Reba rolled her eyes, "Nothing happened. Brock obviously forgot who was sitting next to him and made a mistake, and now he's embarassed as all get-out."
"A mistake?" Barbara Jean was not amused, "I was sitting right across from him and he started to order what you wanted. How could he have forgotten who was next to him? No, Reba, he called you his wife."
"Well," Reba said with a laugh, "It's better than if it had been Van!"
Barbara Jean glared, "You know as well as I do that it wouldn't have happened if it were Van. It happened because it was you."
"Barbara Jean," Reba sighed, "Brock and I were married for twenty years. Some things are just habit. The last time Brock and I were both this dressed up at a restaurant we were married, so he slipped back in time a little, that's all. It's not like you've never forgotten you were married. In fact, I saw you check 'single' on one of your silly product questionaires before fixing your mistake just last week."
"Fine," Barbara Jean relented, "But why was he so freaked out?"
"He just didn't want you to get the wrong idea, like you did," Cheyenne jumped in. "And he's fine; he's even coming back to the table. So hush, both of you."
A few seconds later Van and Brock returned and Brock glanced at Reba, "So, how much did you tip that waiter to stop hyperventilating?"
"Twenty bucks," the waiter said from behind him, chuckling as Brock jumped. "And she had me bring beer. Smart woman."
"That she is," Brock agreed with a smile.
The waiter disappeared again and everyone raised their bottles, "To family," Reba proposed.
"To family," everyone toasted.
Reba took a sip of her beer and set it down, watching out of the corner of her eye as Brock drank half his. She picked up the extra beer the waiter had put next to her and set it in front of Brock, ignoring both his grateful smile and Barbara Jean's raised eyebrows to turn to Cheyenne, "So how's your work going, honey?"
Cheyenne began to tell a story about a homeless man she'd made friends with, but Reba stopped listening when she felt Brock's hand on her leg. Reba glanced at Brock, but he looked completely absored in Cheyenne's story, so she just reached down and captured his fingers with hers, once again linking them and smiling slightly as Brock squeezed her hand gently before relaxing. Brock's fingers were warm on hers and Reba was content to stay like that until the waiter came back, delivering entrees and lifting an eyebrow as he saw Brock's hand draw back from Reba's. Reba smiled at him again and he glanced over at Barbara Jean, who was trying to teach Van to stick a spoon to his nose before winking and walking away. Reba smiled to herself and reached for her beer. It was proving to be an interesting night.