“It was. I mean, it was all I knew. A lot of my friends had parents who both worked, and while they had more things—you know, vacations, and more clothes—I had a super strong relationship with my mom and dad. I wouldn’t have traded that for anything.”
“I hope I get to meet your parents someday,” I tell her. “I’m looking forward to you meeting mine next week,”
She looks alarmed. “You want me to meet them?”
“I assumed you’d want to see the looks on their faces when I presented them with my calendar.”
Finley smirks. “Iwouldlike to see that, but don’t you think it’s a little too soon for me to meet them?”
“No,” I assure her. Then I tease, “We don’t have to introduce you as my fiancée.” Her cheeks turn pink, so I add, “You’re the reason I’m finally getting back at them, after all.”
She seems to relax after that. “We’re going to have to finish up your pictures tomorrow if there’s any hope of getting the calendar here on time.”
“I’ll pay to have it shipped overnight, if I have to,” I assure her.
The rest of the meal is spent in enjoyable conversation. I share some of my most embarrassing stories, like the time I walked into a street sign when I heard someone call my name;and the time I was on my first date in high school, and I tripped and fell into Bethesda Fountain in Central Park.
I learn that Finley doesn’t like hamsters or porcupines. She likes caramel syrup in her hot chocolate, but does not like actual caramel because it’s too sticky.
Our meals are delicious and we both clean our plates. For dessert we share a pear galette and a lemon tart. Finley also orders a hot chocolate.
When all our dishes have been cleared, she leans back in her chair and declares, “That was the best meal I’ve ever had. I’m stuffed.”
“It was my favorite in Elk Lake.”
“What was your favorite meal ever?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “It was a footlong hot dog, pink cotton candy, and a strawberry lemonade. I was ten and my parents took me and my sister to Coney Island.”
Finley laughs. “I think maybe your favorite meal has gotten tangled up with your favorite memory.”
“That’s possible,” I tell her. “Although I got pretty sick on Dino’s Wonder Wheel. Which was not a great memory.”
“What’s that?” she wants to know.
“It’s a gigantic Ferris wheel. The cars toward the middle slide back and forth while the whole thing spins around. It’s the oldest ride at Coney Island,” I tell her.
She looks a little green around the gills. “I’m not a huge fan of amusement parks.”
“They’re very stimulating,” I tell her.
Finley’s eyebrows knit together. “Does your sister like them?”
“She went for the food,” I tell her. “She used to wear her noise canceling headphones, and she’d bring a blanket along. That way she could sit down and throw it over her head. You know, create a sort of sensory deprivation cave?”
“I like to make a cave out of my bedcovers,” she says excitedly. “It feels like I’m in the middle of a soft hug.”
Finley is nothing short of magnificent. I love finding out about her likes and dislikes. I even find her more peculiar quirks to be charming. Reaching over, I take her hand in mine. “You’re a lot of fun to spend time with.”
She lowers her eyes to her lap before slowly returning them to my gaze. “So are you.”
“What do you say we get out of here and go sit in the main room next to the fireplace?” I ask. When I looked up the lodge online, the website header was a picture of rocking chairs in front of a roaring fire. I can’t think of a better place for us to keep the evening going.
“That sounds very romantic,” she says. She’s blushing again, which is another thing I love about Finley. You know how she’s feeling just by looking at her.
After paying the check, I ask the waiter if he would put the vase of flowers out in the lobby so we can collect them easily before we leave. I slip him an extra twenty for his kindness.
As we leave the restaurant, Finley says, “I hope there are chairs available for us.”
