“Remember, you promised to try.”
I could imagine Mom and her stern finger waving at me as I stared in the mirror and pinched a curl, using my mouth to open a bobby pin. “I’m going—what else do you want from me?”
“For starters, stop pretending you want to live in thefifties.”
I grabbed the ends of the handkerchief headband and tightened it. “What do you mean?”
“In the fifties women couldn’t hold most jobs, couldn’t serve as jurors, couldn’t own property, and there wasn’t even birth control. You don’t want to go back in time as a woman.”
I thought of my prized independence that I enjoyed. “You’re right, I don’t actually want the fifties.” I picked up the phone. “I want someone who acts like a gentleman.” I left the bathroom and went to close the till for the day. “Someone to open the door for me, give me a jacket when I’m cold, and to accept me for me.” I turned the small key on the old till with the faded yellow buttons, opening the cash drawer.
Mom sighed. “You can and should expect those things, but the men of the romantic movies in the fifties, and today for that matter, aren’t real.” I could hear dishes clanging in the background. “Real men are far more complicated, frustrating, and wonderful. They are real, and that’s what you want. Trust me, you want something real. And in real life it takes time to get to know a person.”
I huffed as I grabbed the money out of the drawer. “I do want something that’s real, but I want something that lasts. I want to be able to feel good in my skin when I’m with them. I want to feel like they appreciate me partly because of my idiosyncrasies, not in spite of them. I want to feel like he wants to be with all of me… Maybe that’s still too big of an ask, though.” I put the bills into the envelope and grabbed my phone off the counter.
“The more time I give it, the more potential it has to hurt when they don’t choose me.” I rubbed my forehead. I didn’t want to put myself through this again. What if after that time, I had to fight to stay true to myself?
“Not when, Em. If.”
I felt the tension build behind my chest. I put the money into the safe.
Could it be if and not when?
I walked to the back of the store and grabbed my jacket and purse, turning off the lights.
“You are uniquely beautiful. You love being independent, and you love vintage furniture, black and white movies, and so much more. You are not cookie-cutter, and neither is your date. It takes time. Be yourself and learn who he is. Then if it doesn’t work, you will know it’s because you weren’t compatible. But you won’t ever know if you don’t try.”
I took a deep breath. Mom was right, like always. “Love you, Mom.” I flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “I promise I’ll try.” My hands were already jittery with nerves.
“That’s all I ask. Love you, Emma.”
“So does this mean we’re even, then?” I gave a nervous laugh.
Mom scoffed. “That depends on how it goes tonight.”
Message received. I’m not let off the hook until I give this an honest try.
I locked the front door and double checked it was secure. “All right, I need to go, Mom.”
“Okay, bye honey, have fun.”
I dropped my phone into my purse and saw Grant walking down the sidewalk toward me.
My throat went dry at the sight of him. Cary Grant had high cheekbones, stiff side-parted hair, and tailored suits. This Grant was the opposite in a lot of ways with his black sports jacket, tapered jeans, and loose, wavy, and soft brown hair. And he was beautiful.
All right, Rosie, don’t fail me now.
He stepped up beside me and held out his arm for me. “Do you like Italian?”
My mouth instantly watered, and not only from Grant’s good looks, or how he was looking at me. “Love it.” I slid my arm through his elbow and walked beside him. Being this close, I noticed my head was even with his shoulder. He smelled like soap and leather.
“Perfect.” He led me down the street. “Let’s go to my favorite place, then.”
He looked down at me and smiled.
“Sounds great.” I smiled back, and my glossy lips didn’t even quiver.
“You are beautiful.”
