Tag for "Over the Limit." When exactly had he stopped using those little black books, anyway? They'd been surprisingly dusty when he'd turned them over to Francine and her.
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Seeing Clearly
With apologies to Johnny Nash.
She's been debating the wisdom of bringing a cake with her ever since he issued the invitation, but every argument against the idea was perfectly counterbalanced by an argument in favor. Amanda's still arguing with herself as she parks and goes to Lee's door, but there's a cake plate in her hands. She'd rather be caught with it, and it be unnecessary, than to arrive without it and find out he'd wanted her to bring one. After all, he'd offered dinner. Not necessarily dessert.
Then he opens the door, and all thoughts of cake vanish when she sees how he's dressed.
"Oh," she murmurs. "I didn't realize."
Lee takes the cake from her and ushers her in. "Didn't realize what?"
She stammers, worried she'll say it wrong. They've had so many miscommunications lately. While they've managed to work their way through them, she's really not anxious to start another one.
Lee puts the cake on his dining table before reaching for Amanda's hands. "You look fantastic."
She'd debated herself about that, too. She'd still been irritated enough not to wear the black dress he'd praised a few days ago, but she hadn't quite understood what he'd meant by just the two of us, alone, a nice steak, a bottle of red wine, baked potato on the side…no shop talk for a change. So she hadn't wanted to be under-dressed, either. It had taken her a good hour to decide on a dressy pantsuit. A little nicer than office wear, but not so dressy as to be out-of-place in a steak house.
"Amanda?" asks Lee, breaking into her ruminations. He's peering at her. "What didn't you realize?"
It comes out in a rush. "You cooked."
He raises his eyebrows. "Even I don't like my steak completely raw."
"No, it's just…" she trails off, still awkward. She's not quite sure what to do with her purse, or even her hands for that matter. He still has the latter captured anyway. "Nothing. I thought a cake would be nice, but you could've asked me to bring a salad or something. You didn't have to do — whatever it is you've done." She's not quite sure what "it" is, but it definitely smells fantastic.
"Just some interesting spices I've picked up here and there," he tells her, dropping one hand so that he can pick the cake plate back up before escorting her to the kitchen. "I, ah, I think you'll like it."
Something in the tone of his voice gets Amanda's attention. Now she's the one who peers at him. His hands are comfortable and competent as they put the cake on the counter and flip the steaks he's searing, but he's not quite meeting her eyes. The expression on his face is similar to the half-smile he puts on when he's trying to lighten a tense moment, but it's not quite his usual. Something's up, something shy and uncertain and maybe even a bit awkward.
Amanda shakes her head ruefully. There's no need for that. Not here, not now. Not when he's the only person around to even notice and get embarrassed about any gaffes she might make.
"I'm sure it'll be fine, Lee. You know your way around a kitchen," she finally manages after the silence has gone on just a bit too long. It's an effort not to become fidgety and jumpy. She feels as though she's on edge, the way she used to be before they'd gotten used to working together.
"Then what is it?" he asks.
"What's what?"
"What didn't you realize?"
"Oh!" She'd completely forgotten he'd asked that question. "It's nothing."
"Hey." He'd been moving away from her, toward the bottle of wine and the glasses beside it on the counter, but now turns back toward her. He reaches for her again, stopping before he actually touches her face. "If you're thinking it, it probably needs to be said."
Amanda feels warmth rise in her cheeks. "I didn't realize you meant to stay in and make dinner."
"This? Oh," and the quality of his laugh makes her wonder if he feels as nervous as she does. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Will you at least let me help out with something?" she asks, still somewhat anxious. "Make the salad, maybe?"
Lee shakes his head. "I did that already. Besides, you're my guest, and this cake'll be more than enough thank-you. But you can pour the wine if you want."
Amanda does, hoping he doesn't notice her hands are trembling. There's an odd feel to the air tonight, a sentiment not quite acknowledged or expressed but unmistakably still present. She knows full well he had an invitation to a fancy embassy party tonight, but here he is, in jeans and an apron in his own kitchen instead. The words about his date with Leslie echo in her memory. Yeah, um, well. She won't be lonely, believe me. She's working, anyway. She's got her own invitation.
A high-society dinner party, or cooking steaks for her at his apartment. The Lee Stetson she'd met just over two years ago wouldn't have considered those two options even remotely comparable.
She hands him one of the wine glasses as he finishes putting the steaks on plates, and he takes an appreciative sip as he turns the stove burner off with a quick, practiced flick of the fingers. He's cooked in here more than she'd thought he had. When exactly had he stopped using those little black books, anyway? They'd been surprisingly dusty when he'd turned them over to Francine and her, not too long before.
Amanda shakes her head again as Lee puts his wine glass down. He pulls the potatoes out of the oven, arranging them on the plates, slicing them open to let the steam out. She sees the salad bowl on the counter now, beyond where the wine had been, and picks it up to bring it over. He accepts it with another one of those almost-smiles. He's still not quite meeting her eyes.
She gives in to her worry. "Is everything all right?"
That earns her the first expression she's been able to quickly categorize since he let her in. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"I don't know," she admits. Should she call him out about this weird vibe-or-whatever-it-is that she's feeling tonight? Or is that something she's making up in her head to account for her own nervousness?
She remembers all the missteps they've made lately, and opts for the latter. He seats her at his dinner table before bringing out their plates and wine glasses. For a while they're both quiet; the food's good and, she realizes, she is hungry. But when they're both finished and she tries to take their plates to the kitchen, he stops her.
"I told you," he says quietly. "You're a guest. Why don't you sit down?"
"Lee." Amanda has no idea what she might say next.
"Amanda. Sit down. Please?"
It's the last part that gets her. She can use her fingers to count the number of times he's ever sincerely used that word with her. Acquiescing, she settles back onto her chair as he takes the plates and returns with two smaller ones, each bearing a slice of cake. He's also got the wine bottle and tops up both their glasses before he sits down.
"This is good," she remarks, indicating the wine. "Um. What is it?"
"Freemark Abbey Merlot," he answers. "Red Barn, from 1981." Then, seeing her confusion, his first normal smile of the night appears, complete with dimples. "It's a red wine from California. Works with both chocolate cake and steak."
"Oh," she answers, mostly because she can't think of anything else to say. "It's very good."
"That it is. You know the differences between reds?"
Warmth spreads across her cheeks again.
"Hey," he replies. "It's not the sort of thing I'd expect to see at a Little League game. Merlot's lighter than Cabernet Sauvignon, and tends to be more fruity. They're sometimes blended together with a couple of others, to make what's called a Bordeaux blend."
"All right," she answers, trying and failing to memorize the French words. She knows that red wines go with steak and white wines go with seafood, and that white is served colder than red, but that's the extent of her knowledge. "I'll take your word for it."
He laughs, but it's kind. "I won't quiz you later. This cake, though…" he trails off. "It's like you made it for this particular wine. Perfectly matched."
"Which is the match? The cake or the wine?"
"Which one do you want it to be?" A twinkle comes into his eyes, and that's when Amanda realizes he's finally met her gaze.
"Oh, you," she answers, playing the game back. She's more relaxed and comfortable now herself, and the vaguely odd feeling in the air seems to have dissipated. "You can't have a match unless you have two different things to match up."
"At least two," he corrects her lightly, and now dimples appear. "But there could theoretically be more."
"I never said there wasn't. Just that you need a minimum of two. Like…oh, I don't know. Apples and caramel, maybe, or peanut butter and jelly."
"Or ham and eggs," he suggests. "Liver and onions."
"I'll take your word on that last one, too."
He tries again. "Bacon and cabbage?"
She pulls a face.
"Don't look at me like that! It's a traditional Irish dish. Well, it uses back bacon instead of side bacon. But it's a real dish, and it's good."
She's confused again. "Back bacon?"
"Oh, that's right. In the United States it's called Canadian-style bacon. Though I have no idea why since it's not called that in Canada."
She takes another sip of her wine — and he's right, it is a near-perfect match with the chocolate cake — and then leans forward. "You've traveled a lot."
At that, his laugh becomes a little more rueful. "Yeah. It's great for learning tolerance and flexibility, and I've always enjoyed sniffing out little bits of trivia here and there. But…" and now the laughter's died down. "It can also get lonely, and there comes a time when you're almost too cosmopolitan. It makes you jaded."
"Jaded? You mean like your casual attitude about parties at the Russian Embassy?" As soon as the words are out, Amanda's hand flies to her mouth. She hadn't meant to sound like that. Because she's not jealous. She's not!
He gives her a look that tells her he wasn't fooled for a second, but his words let her off the hook. "I just wanted to have a quiet night in tonight. It's pretty outside."
Amanda briefly debates whether she should let him off the hook by not pointing out that it's hard to experience outdoor weather on a night in, but only for a moment. "Yeah, it does sometimes get really nice during the fall, doesn't it? Did you want to go for a walk?"
"Maybe later," he answers. "We should let dinner settle a bit first." Standing up, he goes to a cabinet in the living room and turns on the stereo, sliding the tuner around until he finds some soft pop. "You know, that's one thing I don't know. What kind of music do you like?"
Amanda shrugs. "A little of this, a little of that. Mother likes Big Band, and the boys usually listen to whatever's most popular on WASH or Q107."
"Amanda. I asked what kind of music you like."
She's dismayed to realize she doesn't really have an answer to that question. She hasn't ever thought about music that way. "I suppose something with a good melody."
"Lyrics?"
She can't offer anything more than a shrug.
He shakes his head, but leaves the tuner where it is, coming up in front of her with his hands spread. She accepts the invitation, letting Lee lead her into a slow, easy dance. He's a good dancer, mindful of how he leads but still easy to follow. She knows that. She hadn't known what it would be like to feel his arm warm on her waist, the soft skin of his cheek against hers. They don't ever dance this close when they're out in public, at a party. The only time Amanda can remember dancing with Lee like this was the first time they'd met.
She hadn't mistaken his intentional overfamiliarity at the time; it was another one of his taunts. But he hasn't been in a taunting mood tonight. If she had to describe the way he's been acting, Amanda might have called it reflective. Or maybe thoughtful, or even introspective. None of those words are ones she'd ever thought would be in the same sentence as Lee Stetson's name.
The music shifts, to something from around the time she was in college. It's bouncy, with lyrics that make her smile as they talk about bright sunshine, and rainbows, and blue skies. While it's faster than what was on before, it's not so fast as to be undanceable. Still, Lee steps back a bit to allow for the shift in pattern. Amanda can't quite figure out why that leaves her feeling a bit unmoored, as though an anchor were pulled loose.
"What?"
Evidently her thoughts had been showing on her face. Amanda's laugh is lighter and higher than normal. "Nothing. Well, something. I was thinking in nautical terms, which is awfully ironic, isn't it?"
He chuckles, too, and then their eyes meet and lock. Somewhere in the back of her awareness, Amanda knows the music is still playing, that they might even still be dancing. But she's no longer focused on that. All she can see is the open look on his face, the way his lips part slightly, the way his eyes are shining. It's almost as though —
No, she thinks. She's mistaken. Enough with the silly romanticizing, Amanda. There's even some irritation; she'd thought she'd conquered that schoolgirl crush a good while back.
But as the song ends and a deejay's voice spills into the room, they stay there, standing still as they stare into each other's eyes. It belatedly occurs to her that Lee has always tried to present a mysterious aura, an inscrutable persona, an enigmatic facade. The key word there would be tried, though, because for some reason she's always found him ridiculously easy to read. At first, she'd been entertained every time that drove him crazy, but in the last several months that feeling has become less funny and more good-natured, less about poking fun and more about shared amusement.
At this moment, though, she can tell he's not feeling particularly playful. There's something more in his gaze. It's almost as though he's considering something, evaluating his options, trying to guess what her reactions might be. As though he's imagining the possibilities, wondering about likelihoods, figuring probabilities.
Lee Stetson is mentally trying her on as — as what? A girlfriend? A lover? A sweetheart? Whatever it is, it isn't strictly professional. Or platonic.
Tonight isn't two friends getting together for a meal and conversation. Tonight's meant to be a date.
A date. With Lee. At his request.
She gasps softly as full comprehension hits, her heart thumping and her breathing becoming erratic. But then the music comes back, and this time it's a much faster song. It's not one they can dance to, at least not like this, and their arms fall to their sides.
"What time is it?" she asks softly, reaching for any distraction she can find.
He checks his watch. "A little past nine."
"Oh." It's later than she'd thought.
"You need to get back to the house? Tuck your boys in?" The question is gentle and understanding.
She shakes her head. "They'll insist they're too old for it. But we do have to go into the office tomorrow, which means I shouldn't stay out late."
"All right." Just like that, the moment passes, and they're back to being co-workers and friends. Partners. Two people who care enough about each other to end an evening at a normal time while honestly looking forward to seeing each other again the next day.
Lee walks her out to her car, and they say good night. But a block down the street, Amanda finds herself pulling into a parking lot. She needs a minute to settle down. While she's stunned and incredulous, she knows she's exactly right. She hasn't imagined anything. Rather, she's seen him perfectly clearly.
She just doesn't have a clue about how she wants to react to that clarity.