Page 86 of Hard to Get

Stella chokes.

“It’s hip to snip,” I say.

She falls against the wall laughing. “Oh my God. Does that apply to men, too?”

I wince. “Uh, no. I mean. Not at this time. It could happen in the future.”

Back out on the street, I take Stella’s hand to walk up Richards a few blocks and turn at Robson. The trees have lost most of their leaves, branches now bare against the pale, overcast sky. At least the rain stopped.

We stop at the brick building with the neon sign saying, Blues Room and I open the door for Stella to enter. Inside, it’s dark and the raw sound of harmonica, bass, and male vocals swell. We take a minute to adjust our eyes. There’s a hostess stand just to the left so I move that way to request a table.

As we’re seated, the music changes to a slow, soulful rhythm. The live band is on a low stage at the far end of the room. We slip out of our jackets and both shift our chair so we can see the band. This is a good reason for me to sit closer to Stella.

She moves her shoulders to the rhythm. I’d rather watch her than the band. Don’t be a creep. Be cool.

A server brings us menus and takes our drink order. I indulge in one beer and Stella orders a glass of pinot noir. “The biggest you have,” she says.

The server grins. “You got it.”

Stella picks up her menu. “I’m starving.”

“That’s usually my line.”

“I didn’t have time for dinner,” she says a little sheepishly.

“Stella.”

She looks at me.

“You could have eaten.” I soften my tone.

One edge of her mouth lifts. “I was running late.”

“I would wait for you.” I pause, focused on her face. Saying that feels bigger than what I was responding to. I would wait for you, always. Forever. Jesus. What is happening to me?

Her eyes warm and her mouth softens. “Thank you.”

She orders a pulled pork meal which comes with cornbread, beans, and slaw.

“That sounds really good. But I did have dinner.”

“Quinoa and spinach?” she teases.

“No.” I pause. “Salmon and sweet potatoes.”

“Ah.”

“They’re both really good for you.”

“Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes. I like to cook.”

“Really? Huh. Maybe you should make me dinner one night.”

“What night?” I pull out my phone to check my schedule.

She laughs.