She reaches past me, pulls a shirt I forgot I owned, and hands it over. “This one. You in this one, not whoever you were trying to be in the other two.” I put it on. She’s right, which she’ll happily confirm for you herself.
“God help me,” she says, and she’s smiling, and she takes my hand on the way down the stairs. She doesn’t have to. She does it anyway because tonight, we’re dating.
I made a reservation at a place I found on the web. The pictures looked nice and it has those cloth napkins and an extensive wine list. Josie takes one look at me in the button-down and shakes her head.
“Let’s go somewhere more casual,” she says. “I feel like a burger, some fries, and a cold bottle of beer.”
On our way downtown, I call and cancel my reservation. They’re very sad that Mr. Page won’t be joining them. Funny thing is I made the reservation under Westbury so I’m happy to cancel.
We end up at the grill off the square, the one that’s been on that corner forever, in a back booth with a burger for her and the same for me and a basket of onion rings between us, because as soon as she saw them on another table, the fries went out the window.
Over the burgers she tells me about her day. A bride came into the shop and cried, actual tears, because peonies are out of season, and Josie talked her down and into ranunculus and sent her home happy.
I tell her about a song I started, but I’m not really feeling it. Can’t get the chorus right.
“Do you want to sing it to me?”
“No.” I take a bite of an onion ring. “You’ll tell me that you love it even if you hate it.”
Josie lifts her shoulder. “I love everything you sing.”
“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”
“Nice deflection.”
A couple two booths over keep sneaking looks, and I wait for them to come over and ask for photos. It happens. I’m used to it. The man finally stands and walks over.
“Um, hi, excuse me. Are you Liam Page?”
I should say no since he doesn’t know and has to question whether I am. But I don’t. I nod and stick my hand out to shake his.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Oh man, my mom is going to lose her mind. She wants to call your show.”
“She should.”
“She doesn’t have any drama,” the man says. “Her life is good, so she’d just be making things up in order to talk to you.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Do you think I can get a photo? I don’t want to interrupt your dinner.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say as I stand. He goes to hand his phone to Josie, but I reach for it. “We’ll do a selfie.” Truth is that I don’t like asking Josie to take photos. Whoever has asked is already intruding on our time together, she doesn’t need to give them any more.
We take the photo and I sign his phone case, which he says he’s going to give to his mom.
“The silver fox still turns heads.” I’m never living that hashtag down. My daughter branded me online and my wife has decided it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
“Hush,” I tell her.
She steals the last onion ring off my side of the basket and teases me with it. I could take it from her but what’s the point—I’d just give it back.
We pay our tab and head out into the chilly night air. On our walk, she points out that one of the shop windows has its Halloween wreath hung crooked.
“It’s not your shop.”
“It’s making the rest of us look bad.”
I shake my head. “Call them tomorrow and ask if they need someone to come fix it. If they do, call your son. He’ll do it.”
“What if I want to watch my silver fox rock star climb a ladder?”
