"Nothing. It’s the Germans thing. Yeah, I hate them." I become unstuck and walk forward, sitting in my seat as he closes the door behind me. Once he folds his huge body into the tiny car, he turns to look at me.
"You do not. Let’s try this again. What's wrong, Jesse?"
"I just wasn't expecting you to have such a nice car that's all."
He chuckles, "I've wanted a BMW since I was a pimple-faced kid. I finally saved up enough money over the years, put down a hefty down payment, and bought it about six months ago. Now, I know it was more than that back there, but I'm really hungry so I'm going to let you work it out on your own. If you want to talk, I'm right here, okay?"
"Okay." I smile back at him as he starts the car and speeds out of my apartment complex.
On the ride to the restaurant we make small talk, and I start to relax again. He's just a regular guy, it's not like he's loaded or anything. He's a detective, they don't make millions. I just have to remind myself of that. Well, that is until he pulls up in front of Langley's Restaurant.
"Oh my God, we are not eating at Langley's!" I screech.
"Why not?" he asks startled.
"This place is crazy expensive!" I continue to scream at a decibel that should have dogs running in my direction.
"Alright, spill it Jess. First you freak about my car, and now about the restaurant. You have some sort of hang up on money?"
"No." I stare down into my lap, embarrassed by my outburst. "I'm sorry. That was really rude of me."
"Don't stop there, tell me what has you all worked up."
"I...um, I... can we just go eat?"
"Absolutely, as soon as you talk to me. I mean, it will take a few minutes for me to unload all the briefcases of cash I have in the trunk, but as soon as I do that we can go inside." He winks at me. I know he is just trying to lighten the mood. That's what Brett does, he makes jokes. Most of the time I like that about him, but tonight his humor isn't helping.
"When you make fun of me, it really makes me want to open up to you all the more," I say sarcastically, causing his smile to quickly fade.
"I wasn't making fun of you. I threatened to punch my best friend in the face for picking on you. I told you I would never make fun of you, and I meant it. I was just teasing to get you to talk to me. I meant nothing by it, and I'm sorry if you took it that way."
Crap. We are fifteen minutes into our first date and I'm already acting like a fool. I either tell him the truth, or allow him to think that I'm a wacko. I'm not sure which is worse.
"Money and expensive things make me uncomfortable. I didn't grow up with money. We weren't destitute or anything, but we definitely didn't have much. My dad took off when I was a kid. My mom raised me and my brother, Eric, all on her own. She was a paralegal at a law firm, so she made enough money to keep the bills paid, but it didn't leave a whole lot left over for fun things or luxuries. I went to public school in a very rich area of Chicago. If you weren't wearing expensive name brands or driving a brand new car, you were looked down on. My mom always felt the need to spend money she didn't have to make sure we had things, yet she wore the same shoes to work for years. I always felt guilty about that and I guess it stuck with me over the years."
I take a deep breath, feeling more awkward now that I've poured my heart out to him than I did when he just thought I was weird. He reaches over, soothing my worries by lifting my hand and planting a brief kiss on my palm before setting it down on his thigh, and covering it with his own.
"Okay, completely understandable. Now, let me tell you a few things about myself. Both my parents are teachers, so I didn't exactly grow up in Beverly Hills. It sounds like we probably had it a little better than you did since they both worked, but I have two older sisters who weren't like you. They didn't feel one bit of guilt asking for nice things. My dad would pick up extra jobs coaching soccer after school to make extra money. He taught me that if you want something, you bust your ass to get it.
I started cutting grass at thirteen to make my own spending money. By the time I was eighteen, I had a small empire. Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but that's the way it felt back in those days. I hired two kids to work with me so we could get more done. We stayed busy, because we were cheap and worked hard. Eventually, we were cutting every yard in our neighborhood.