Knitted Hearts by Amber Kelly
Sonia
I’m a nervous wreck as I rifle through my closet. I haven’t been on a date in so long that I have no idea what to wear. I pull a dress that I wore to Braxton and Sophie’s wedding from the back. It’s a sleeveless, knee-length strawberry-pink crepe dress with a low neckline that shows just a peek of cleavage. Maybe I could pair this with a sweater. I rummage through my sweaters and find a chunky deep-wine-colored cable knit number that complements the dress; if I put it together with the dress and ballet flats, it will give it a more casual look.
I wonder where we’re going for dinner.
My eye catches the cream-colored faux fur blazer that is hanging on the back of the closet door. I purchased it a couple of months ago and haven’t worn it yet. If I pair it with the dress, I can wear my suede pumps and dress it up.
I grab both options in cover-up and footwear and lay them out on my bed. I’ll just see how Foster is dressed when he picks me up and decide which direction to go.
Then, I jump in the shower and shampoo my hair. It’s gotten so long. I usually wear it just past my shoulders, but I let it grow this summer for a change, and it’s hanging down my back now.
I pull it out with a dryer and round brush, so it lies in soft waves. I apply a little more makeup than I usually wear and spritz a dab of perfume on my wrists and behind my ears.
I slide into the dress and stand in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
I haven’t felt this good or this comfortable in my skin in a long time.
It’s funny how a pretty dress and swipe of lipstick can make you feel like an entirely new woman.
I’m putting the back on my pearl earring when the buzzer rings. I look at the clock on the nightstand, and it’s seven thirty on the dot.
He’s prompt.
I run to the stairs, and I stop at the top and force myself to walk slowly to the door. I don’t want to seem too anxious.
When I open the door, he is standing there in a pair of dark jeans that fit him oh-so well and a dark gray dress shirt. His dirty-blond hair is a tad damp, like he rushed here straight from the shower. He smells like woodsy aftershave, and his blue eyes are twinkling as he looks me over from top to toe.
“That’s a great dress,” he says as his eyes come back to mine.
“Thank you.”
“Aren’t you going to be cold?” he asks.
“I have a jacket. I was just waiting for you before I put it on. Come in, and I’ll grab it and my heels and purse. Then, I’ll be ready to go.”
He comes in and shuts the door behind him as I climb the steps that lead to my living room area.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back,” I tell him before slipping into my bedroom to slide into the pumps and grab the fur blazer and my purse.
I take one last look in the mirror and a deep breath. Then, I join him.
I lock up, and he helps me with my blazer. Then, he offers me his elbow as we round the building onto Main Street. Instead of leading me to his truck, he guides me up the sidewalk.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I made us a reservation at Bella Ciao. I hope you like pasta.”
Bella Ciao is the new Italian restaurant that opened downtown last summer. Elle and I have been dying to try it but haven’t made it there yet.
“I love it,” I tell him.
The evening is slightly chilly with a light breeze, but Foster’s significant frame blocks me from most of it. The lampposts that dot Main Street begin coming on one by one, as if guiding us down the lane. A few people are meandering on the sidewalks. Most of the shop owners are closing up for the night and heading home. A couple of kids are giggling as they chase a big brown dog around the square.
“Has downtown always been this amazing?” he asks as we stroll past the window displays.
“It has. I love it.”
“I’m starting to see the beauty of it more and more myself,” he admits.
We make our way to the corner of Main and Liberty, serenaded by the chirp of the snowy tree crickets.
Belle Ciao is a quaint stone-faced building with large, dark mahogany double doors. The sound of romantic instrumental music greets us as we walk into the stunning lobby. The aroma of sweet tomato sauce and garlic wafts through the air, and my mouth starts to water as Foster approaches the hostess station.
“This place is nice. It’s the first time I’ve been in here,” I tell him as the hostess leads us to a candlelit table tucked into a private corner.
“Me too. I’ve wanted to try it, but they aren’t doing takeout yet,” he says as he pulls a chair out for me.
I know what he means without him having to explain further. No one wants to eat in a restaurant alone, and no man wants to get dressed up and go to a romantic place with his guy friends.
“I do a lot of takeout myself these days. That or frozen dinners,” I say as the server fills our water glasses and hands us menus before excusing herself to give us time to look them over.
“I’m not much of a cook. I learned how to make two dishes really well when I was young. My granddad taught me how to make a mean five-alarm chili that will melt the bowl if you don’t eat it quick enough, and my dad taught me how to make beer can chicken. It’s basically just shoving a bunch of spices and an open can of beer into a chicken’s ass and roasting it in the oven for a couple of hours. Oh, and I grill a mean rib eye, too, but I haven’t bought a grill for the silo yet,” he admits.
“I’m impressed.”
“How about you?” he asks.
“I’m a decent cook, and I enjoy baking. Elle’s aunt Doreen and aunt Ria have had us in the kitchen since we were teens, teaching us how to make everything under the sun from scratch. It’s just easier to grab something on the way home than it is to cook for one,” I answer.
“That’s true,” he agrees.
The server returns to take our order. After making our selections, I request a glass of Chianti, and Foster gets a Woodford Reserve on the rocks.
“A bourbon man. Nice. I’m used to the men around here ordering draft beer everywhere we go.”
“I like my draft, but a good meal with a beautiful woman seems like an occasion to splurge,” he says, and I let his compliment pour over me like warm honey.
“Tell me about you,” I request.
We’ve been acquainted all these years, but I don’t know much of his backstory beyond his employment at Stoney Ridge.
“What do you want to know?” he asks.
“Anything. Everything.” I shrug.
“Let’s see. I was born and raised a few miles outside of town. My parents are Cindy and Robert Tomlin; they still live in the same house I grew up in. And you know my brother,” he begins.
“I knew all of that actually. Tell me something I don’t know.”
He thinks for a moment and then decides to open up. “Dad and Mom didn’t have the means to pay for college, and an Army recruiter came to my high school a few weeks before graduation to talk to us about the opportunities that a military career could offer. I thought it sounded like the perfect path. So, when I got out of high school, I joined the Army. I could get on-the-job training, housing, a good salary, learn skills that only the Army could teach me, and get to see the world. Plus, my dad is a veteran. He was drafted and sent to Vietnam before we were born.”
“I bet he was proud of having his son follow in his footsteps,” I say.
“Maybe. Dad’s a man of few words. Anyway, I was only a couple months out of basic training when my unit was deployed to Iraq.”
“Wow, that must have been scary,” I mutter.
“I was too young, cocky, and stupid to be scared. I was excited. I’d never been on a plane before flying to basic, and here I was, about to fly to another country halfway across the world.
“Wendy and I’d met right before I left for training. When I enlisted, she lost her mind; she was so happy. She wanted nothing more than to get married to a military man and told me so. She hoped I’d end up stationed somewhere like Italy or Hawaii. So, we got hitched by the justice of the peace four days before I shipped out. Which meant I got a slight salary hike and Wendy was fully insured with government benefits and a housing allowance while I was gone.”
“How long was that?” I ask.
“Our deployment was for eighteen months, but I only made it fourteen before my convoy ran over an IED. One of my buddies lost his life, and another lost both his legs. I was hit with shrapnel in my side and my leg.”
I gasp. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah, it was rough for a while. They sent me home, and I received a medical discharge. It took a while to heal both physically and mentality. My right leg still gives me trouble sometimes. Nothing bad, just a twinge if I’ve been on it all day or the weather is super cold,” he admits.
“I guess that derailed your plans for Italy.”
“It did. Wendy was devastated, and she wasn’t pleased about being a nurse to me either. She just wasn’t on board for all that being married to a wounded soldier entailed. We hung in there and tried. We both did. But at the end of the day, we hadn’t really known each other that well before we said I do, and once we did get to know each other, we decided that we don’t. Her dream was not to be a ranch hand’s wife in Poplar Falls, and she took every opportunity to remind me of that fact.”
“Sounds miserable,” I say.
“We fought a lot, and we’d work it out, but then we’d fight some more until, eventually, we had to face the fact that we were not each other’s forever.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“At least you figured it out faster than we did. I wasted a lot of years trying to make a square peg fit in a round hole. We’ve actually separated four different times,” he admits.
“Four? Wow, you did hang in there for a long time.”
“I think I kept hoping that if I were patient, I’d get that sweet, happy girl back, the one who wrote me loving letters about how much she missed me and couldn’t wait for us to be together and start our family. At this point, I’m pretty sure that girl never existed, but she kept trying to play the part.”
Sounds to me like she doesn’t want him, but she doesn’t want anyone else to have him either.
“So, you’re sure it’s over for good this time?”
“It’s been over since the beginning, but yes, this last try, I realized that I hadn’t just fallen out of love, but I’d also fallen out of like. I hated going home at night. I watch Myer practically skip out of the ranch every day to get home to Dallas. A man should be in a hurry to get home to see his wife. That’s the kind of marriage I want.”
“Yeah, that was my and Ricky’s problem too. Somewhere along the way he lost the thrill of coming home to me. I think I bored him. He was never interested in anything that I wanted to do, and he’d rather spend all his free time with his buddies than with me. He hated my friends, even though they tried to make him feel welcome. They didn’t care for him, but they never treated him poorly. They accepted him, and he was such a jerk to them. The worst part is, I let him get away with it. I’d just settled, but I wanted so much to make it work.”
“Then, he was a fool. You’re amazing. Your friends are amazing. Any man would be damn lucky to come home to you.”
God, not only is he handsome, but he knows who he is and what he wants. It’s refreshing to talk to a man who isn’t self-centered.
I relax and change the subject, and we chat about everything from our childhoods to our workdays.
After dinner, we share a slice of limoncello cake, which is melt in your mouth delicious, and then he pays the bill and leaves a generous tip for our server.
On our way back to my apartment, we pass Momma’s shop, and I see the glow of the light from the back.
I stop, bring my hands to the glass, and peer in. I can see her seated at the sewing machine, singing as she works.
“Momma is still working away in there,” I say as I turn back to the sidewalk.
Foster looks down at his wrist. “It’s nearly nine o’clock.”
“I know. But she loves to sew. She does it to relax, like me curling up and reading a book. I’m sure my stepdad is going to be by any minute to coax her home.”
I look back over my shoulder.
“You want to go in, don’t you?” he asks.
I’m still holding the bag with the other half of my pasta and a couple of slices of garlic bread. I bring my eyes to him.
“Yeah, I do. She probably hasn’t had supper yet. I think I’ll keep her company until she’s finished. I mean, if that’s okay with you. I’m not trying to cut our evening short,” I stutter out.
“No, please. I was just going to walk you to your door and say good night. I can do that here.”
He leans in, and I freeze. He lays a sweet kiss on my cheek before he takes a step back.
“Good night, Sonia. I had a nice time tonight. I hope you’ll let me take you out again someday.”
I smile. “I’d like that. Good night,” I reply and pull my shop keys from my bag.
He turns to head to his truck that is parked a block down.
“Hey, Foster,” I call after him.
He stops and twists to look back at me. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for being such a gentleman tonight.”
He smiles. “Well, you’re a lady. You deserve it,” he tells me.
I grin and wave as he climbs into his truck and drives away.