That meant a lot coming from someone who’d often attended the New York Philharmonic.
“Dinner will also be served, catered by Hepburn’s.”
“Say no more.”
His cheeks hurt from the width of his smile. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
“Yes. I haven’t had a night out in ages, and it sounds fun. What is the dress code?”
“Festive.” Whatever that meant exactly. He rolled his eyes at the lack of clarity.
“Somewhere between black-tie and garden attire?”
“Yes.” Sounded good to him, and she’d know more about these things.
“Wait, don’t you have Brody Friday night?”
The spark of joy at her acceptance dimmed. “His mom’s church is having a Christmas party for the kids, so I’ll pick him up Saturday morning.”
“I’m sorry. I know you’ll miss that time with him.”
“It’s okay. As a compromise, I’ll get him Sunday night and take him to school Monday morning. I’ll be late to work, but I have an understanding boss.”
“Oh good. I’m glad it worked out.”
“Me, too.” The joy returned with the reminder he wouldn’t lose time with his son, it was simply shifted. “I need to turn in our meal preferences. The options are parmesan crusted pork tenderloin or chicken Provencal.”
She clucked her tongue. “Tough decision.”
“I can put in one of each. That way you can choose what you’re in the mood for that night, and I’ll take the other.”
“What if we both want the same thing?”
He chuckled. “I can’t go wrong with either choice. I’ve had them both, and my stomach will be happy, regardless.”
“We’ll go with your plan. I’ve always been terrible at decision making.” She laughed nervously. “I either can’t make one or do so impulsively. There’s no happy medium. Sometimes it works out though, like moving to Nativity.”
“I’d say you’re doing all right, no matter how you make your decision.” The small clock on his computer caught his eye. “I have to get back to work, but we’ll finalize plans tonight.”
“Sounds good. Don’t stop for a drink. I picked up a tin of Smore’s Hot Cocoa for us to try.”
“Can’t wait. I’ll see you soon.”
He ended the call and sucked in a breath until his lungs couldn’t hold any more air. He had a date. Not an official one, but a date nonetheless. His mind spun with the possibilities, and he quickly compiled a list of what he’d have to do beforehand. Did men still give flowers on a first date? He didn’t care—he would. Maybe he’d be different and bring her a poinsettia. Weren’t they dangerous for cats? Scratch that idea. He’d come up with something before then.
