“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, he’s called Preston but no one calls him that. He was born with a mohawk of black hair, so I called him Spike the day he came home. It’s kinda stuck ever since.”
“Now that I think of it, he does look like you. He’s younger, right?”
“It’s that obvious, huh?” he says with a smirk.
“No! Sorry, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”
“I know. Yes, he’s twenty-seven. And Tara is twenty-three.”
He looks at me intently and I study his face. I’m not surprised Preston is twenty-seven, he looks his age, but Denham … I’m having a hard job placing his age. He doesn’t look old, but he’s wise and his eyes show that he isn’t a young nave twenty something.
“And how old are you, Denham?” I say quietly, softly looking up at him from under my lashes.
“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a person’s age?”
I know he’s just kidding with me from the smile in his eyes. “Well, I’m guessing you know how old I am from your little findings, so it’s only fair.”
“Yes, I do.” He smirks and then I sense a little hesitation. Maybe he’s older than I thought and he’s unsure about how I’ll feel about our age difference. “I’m thirty-four.”
I smile back at him and lean across the table to reward his answer with a kiss. It’s gentle and lingers just a fraction longer than he was expecting. I’m hoping it lets him know that there isn’t much that would deter me from getting to know him better.
“There’s quite a gap between you and Spike…”
“Yes, my mom and dad had trouble conceiving. It seems that when they resigned themselves to the fact that it wasn’t going to happen easily for them, it happened. Then four years later, Tara surprised them again.”
“It must have been fun growing up in a busy house, with other kids to play with…” I wriggle one of my hands free to pick up my glass of wine.
“Yeah it was, plenty of arguing, especially between Spike and Tara as they’re closer in age. That all stopped when Dad…” His voice softens, and his fingers loosen from around mine but I tighten my grip which makes him look up into my eyes. “My dad died…” his voice catches and it’s clear that it’s still painful for him.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “We don’t need to talk about it. This is a date, remember? Plenty of time for the serious stuff another day.” It’s clearly hard for him to talk about. I want to know everything about him. But I also know that this is our first official date and I want to remember it for all the right reasons and not the ones that could ruin the memory.
“I will tell you all about it, Ari. Just not today, okay? I want today to be about us, nothing else.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Over lunch, our conversation is light and easy. Denham makes me smile and he’s very affectionate with little touches here and there that make my whole body hum. The wine he ordered to drink with our meal is going down very well, and before I know it we’re finishing the bottle. Well, I mean, I thinkI’vefinished nearly an entire bottle. Come to think of it, Denham still has half a glass and I’m sure it’s the same half he started with.
I’m feeling fuzzy around the edges, so I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. As I straighten myself out and reapply my lipstick, I decide I’m only going to have water from here on in, hoping the fresh air will do me good when we leave. I can’t remember the last time I was tipsy like this; I’ve kept control of myself and my sensibility for so long, yet I didn’t even notice I’d let that guard slip.
When I return to the table, I see that Denham has ordered a dessert for two. Ever the gentleman, he stands before I’m seated. “Everything okay?” He frowns and holds a hand out for me to take.
I smile wide and nod. “Yes, I just…I didn’t realize how much wine I had drunk…” I look away, feeling a little ashamed.
“And that’s a problem because…?” He bends his knees until his eyes are level with mine.
“I don’t want you to think I make a habit of this,” I whisper.
“A habit of what Ari?” He laughs.
“You know…getting drunk on a first date. I mean, I’m not drunk, just a little tipsy, but it’s the first, first date I’ve been on since…well, since…”
“Arianna…” He says my voice so softly but it still stops my train of thought.
“Yes…” My voice is just as quiet only it feels small.
His lips meet mine, gently at first but then with more pressure as he moves into me. The rest of the world falls away and as far as I’m concerned we’re standing alone at the top of the EiffelTower. When Denham breaks away, reality comes screaming back to me as the rest of the diners start to cheer and whistle at our very public display.
How does he do that? He makes it feel like we’re the only people in the world. I’ve never been one for public displays of affection, mainly because Jonny used to use them to pretend to the world how happy we were. But Denham isn’t Jonny, he’s the polar opposite. I might be so embarrassed that I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. I quite like the fact that Denham isn’t afraid to show all these people how he feels toward me. It’s a genuine gesture.
