Since You Happened by Holly Hall
Chapter 15
Landon informs me before he leaves later that day that we haven’t yet gone on an official date. As if I didn’t know that. He says it as he walks through the door, pausing for a moment as though it has just come to him. He kisses me goodbye with his hand on the nape of my neck, halfway in my hair, before telling me we will soon have to remedy that situation. I receive a text from him just a few hours later.
MR FARRAR: Still thinking about that date. How about Friday?
I smile down at what are only words on a screen, but seem momentous compared to the conversation in which he told me his number was only to be used for “emergency purposes.” I would’ve never guessed then that we would reach this place.
Me: Friday works just fine.
I fight down the urge to add “boyfriend” onto the end of that. We agreed on no labels, but I’m half-tempted to change his contact in my phone, just to see how it looks on the screen. My doubts kick up in my head. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
MR FARRAR: I know we did this ass-backwards, but in the meantime, are you going to allow me to keep coming over to sleep with you?
Me: I don’t know, Farrar . . .
MR FARRAR: REMEMBER THE SHOWER THING??????
I laugh. Those capitals and repeated question marks are so uncharacteristic of him that I can’t help but drop the tough-girl act.
Me: I suppose I’ll allow it
It’s now Friday, and I’ve been looking forward to this day for what feels like several years. I guess I have been. I haven’t felt this excited about a prospective date in a long time. Landon told me he would pick me up at seven, and I feel like my stomach is in my throat the entire time I’m getting ready. After combing through my closet, I find a navy-blue, form-fitting sweater dress near the back that I can pair with leggings and high-heeled boots.
When I hear a knock at the door, it feels like my stomach drops from my throat back to its rightful place, doing a little cartwheel for show. I finish applying my lip gloss and toss the tube into my handbag, grabbing my keys off the entry table before I unlock the door. He’s standing in the doorway with one hand in the pocket of his dark jeans while the other holds a small bouquet of white lilies, similar to the ones from the wedding. I shut the door on him when I see the flowers.
I rest my forehead on the door for a second, taking slow breaths to calm my pounding heart, then the door begins to slowly swing inward, but I’m not the one opening it. Landon peeks his head through the crack curiously, raising his eyebrow when he sees me standing there.
“Sorry. You holding flowers . . . I almost didn’t recognize you.” I let out a nervous laugh at the sight of his puzzled expression.
“Get over here.” He fully opens the door, dropping the bouquet on the table before snaking his arm around my waist so he can pull me into him. He brushes my hair that I’ve curled into soft waves back from my face. “You look gorgeous,” he murmurs before kissing me with a smile on his lips.
“So do you.” I kiss him back before pulling away. “Let me put these in some water so we can go before you change your mind,” I tease. “Thank you for these, by the way. They’re beautiful.” He just nods with that slight half-smile I’m starting to grow so fond of, and I go into the kitchen to put the bouquet into a vase of water.
Once we’re finally outside and heading toward the car that he’s ordered, the evening breeze energizes my senses. It’s almost like the colors have become brighter, though the sun has already set, the sounds are more appealing, and the usual urban scent of the city seems to have been replaced with the smell of decaying leaves and wood smoke—all things that remind me of fall. Of course, the rush might have more to do with the man helping me into the backseat with his hand on my hip.
He makes small talk with the Uber driver, who shares stories of his craziest patrons, and the humor helps me to forget the nerves that have been flitting around in my stomach. Though I’ve been naked in front of this man countless times, this night seems infinitely more momentous. He hasn’t dated since Grace. I haven’t seriously dated since Sam. I would be more nervous, but Landon’s mood seems lighter than it’s been in all the time I’ve known him. He’s speaking so candidly with the driver, politely inquiring about his night. It just all feels right, and I don’t know yet whether that’s more scary or exciting.
When we reach the artsy RiNo district, the driver pulls alongside the curb in front of the restaurant Landon picked out. It’s an Indian place, long and narrow, with dim lighting and exotic music playing. The air inside is flavored with cardamom and curry. I’ve been hesitant to try Indian food before, as I would have no idea what to order, but I have a feeling Landon will be able to guide me through the choices.
Once we’re seated, I continue to look around at the rich décor and the other patrons, eyeing the food in front of them. When my eyes make it back to Landon, I find he’s looking back at me. “This is an interesting choice.”
He drums his fingers on his menu. “After you showed so much interest in my work, I thought it would be fun to go someplace exotic, right here in the city. I hope you don’t mind.”
I suppress a sigh. For a man who was so adamant against caring about anyone just a month ago, his restaurant selection is pretty thoughtful. Out of all the men I’ve been on dates with in the past, he’s the only one who would’ve thought of this.
“Of course not. I’m excited! You may have to help me order.”
When we receive the menus, I scan over the options, but navigating this foreign menu is like fumbling my way through a dark room. Luckily, Landon leans over and points out a few things that will give me a satisfying introduction to Indian cuisine. I decide on the chicken tandoori, and we relay our drink and food orders to the waiter when he stops by.
I find myself drumming my fingers on the table in time to the music while we wait, the beat too catchy to resist. It makes me think of Finest Hour and the way Landon wanted to tuck ourselves away in the darkness of the booth he chose instead of mingling amongst the rest of the patrons. I don’t know if his aversion to social situations or music has something to do with losing his fiancé, but I can guess. A wayward portion of my mind wonders what kind of woman that exotic vixen from the photographs was, but I quickly shut down that train of thought.
Landon is sitting back in the U-shaped booth with his arm resting across the back, behind my shoulders. With the absence of a scowl, he appears years younger than he actually is. It’s only then that I realize I don’t even know how old he is. I’ve been estimating his age this entire time.
“You know now that we’re ‘together’ it would be frowned upon to keep dodging my questions, right? Did you fully think that through?”
Landon’s eyes widen with feigned panic, and he moves like he’s about to leave the booth before returning to my side with a laugh. “First of all, you don’t have to use quotations. We are together. And yes, thoroughly. Having to share everything with someone is a big reason why it’s been so hard to try this again.”
“And you think you’re ready for that?” I ask. It’s not that I’m especially concerned about him backing out of this now, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little worried about his resistance to reveal anything personal about himself thus far. What makes me any different than the girls he’s met before? I know there has to have been at least a few who’ve tried to whittle him down to his secrets.
“I’m going to have to be,” he answers honestly, meeting my eyes.
He still seems a little unsure, but I don’t let that deter me. “Good, because I have a tough one for you. How old are you?”
His serious expression gives way to a lighter one. “You know it’s just a number, right? You’re not going to leave me before we even get started if I turn out to be forty-five?” I roll my eyes and shake my head at him. “Thirty-two. You?”
I had pegged him somewhere between twenty-eight and thirty-five. He has that look that could span a wide number of ages. “Twenty-six,” I answer.
He sits back and sighs like he’s relieved. “That was a tough one. I’m so glad to get that off my chest.” I just purse my lips at his teasing. I could make a list of questions the size of a manuscript for him, but I don’t want to overwhelm him. Besides, I’m enjoying this too much.
“Me too. Just promise me you won’t be dragging me to Bingo anytime soon.”
The waiter arrives with our drinks, and I sip my vodka soda while thinking of the copious amount of other small talk we skipped over when we first met. “Any siblings?” I finally ask.
“One. A younger brother. He’s a surveyor over in Grand Junction.”
“He didn’t inherit your dad’s artistic gene?”
Landon shakes his head, taking his straw out of his whiskey and bending it around his fingers. “No. Rob is much more analytical. What about you—any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope, just me. I always wished for a little brother, but it wasn’t in the cards. My dad always told me they didn’t have to keep trying when they’d already created something perfect on the first try.” I give him a cheeky wink.
“Daddy’s girl,” he says, as if he’s already figured me out.
“Yep. He cheered me on at my soccer games during the week, and we cheered on the Broncos together on weekends. We had some good times.”
“What are their names?”
“My parents? David and Emma.” It seems like an odd question, but hey, the ball is rolling. We’re small-talking like champs.
“I always thought you could tell a lot from a name. They sound like nice people.”
“They are the nicest. What would you tell me about my name?”
He closes one eye, as though he’s sizing me up. “That you’re a daddy’s girl with a cool mom,” he says resolutely.
I’m instantly skeptical. “No way.”
“When a girl is named something that’s traditionally a male name, it usually means they’re close to their dad and have a mom easygoing enough to name her little girl after a guy.”
His theory is pretty spot on. “Okay, I have no problem admitting you’re right, but they didn’t just name me Blake for the hell of it. I was named after my dad’s childhood best friend who passed away in a motorcycle wreck.”
He tilts his head at me. “Well, it’s even better that it’s meaningful.”
“I agree.”
Our conversation is cut short by the arrival of the waiter. We’re served steaming plates piled high with food that smells nothing short of amazing, and I’m practically salivating while spreading a napkin on my lap. Once I’ve taken my first bite, I nod with a low moan. “You did not mislead me, Farrar. This is incredible.” He smiles around a bite of food and winks, and the questions come to a halt while we dig in.
By the end of our meal, I feel stuffed to the brim, and I’ve found out a little more about Landon’s business. This month, his charity of choice is one that helps provide meals to those who are ill and have trouble preparing or affording food for themselves. He told me about a woman the organization connected him with who is living with terminal cancer and has no immediate family to assist her while she’s home.
When he’s speaking about anything but himself, his words flow freely, unbound by apprehension. It was such a transparent moment that I just sat, transfixed, watching as he detailed the impact the organization has made on the life of that woman and so many others. Buried beneath that guarded exterior is a man with a large and giving heart, and the more he speaks, the more I feel what remains of my own walls deteriorating.
Landon handles the bill and we leave the restaurant, stepping out into the cool evening and grabbing a car home. On the way up to my apartment, he pulls me against his side, and the difference in our heights allows me to fit nicely beneath his arm. During the elevator ride, we take advantage of the solitude to make out, tasting of curry and whiskey and vodka, all intermingled to create an intoxicating mix. The ascent may only last four floors, but we’re panting by the end of it, and there’s no question whether or not he’s staying the night. Which is why I’m confused when he hangs back once we reach my door.
I pull my keys from the lock and push the door open, pausing when he doesn’t follow. “Having second thoughts?”
He tucks his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “I haven’t ever done a first date like this before, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be polite to invite myself in.”
I lean my head against the doorframe, using his hesitation to drink him in from head to toe. There’s something about a plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms that makes my head go fuzzy. He lifts one eyebrow when he realizes I’m staring.
“Would you like to come in, Landon?” I breathe.
He catches my tone and nods slowly, drawing closer. “I would love to come in.”