Driving to Tyler's hotel, part of me wishes that I could have been picked up like a real date, but the restaurant is close to the hotel, I didn't want to make him drive more than he has to. He might have said no alcohol, but if two sangrias screwed him up so much last night, then we need to make doubly sure.
I text him when I get to the parking lot, and he replies right away, saying he'll be right down. I sit in the lobby and wait, a bit of nervousness coming back to me as I see the looks from the few men who walk through the lobby. The one man gets elbowed by his wife, or at least I think it's his wife. God I must look like a slut or something. Oh God, no I can't . . .
The elevator dings, and I reach for my purse, ready to run out, but I look back, stopping when Tyler walks out. I thought he looked nice before, but he looks heart-stopping in a black outfit that I at first mistake for a tuxedo before I see the red tie and realize it's just a well cut suit. "Tyler?"
Tyler sees me and stops, his eyes widening as he sees me. "April? You look . . . amazing.”
I can't help it, I blush. I stop, unable to flee as he comes closer. "Thank you," I whisper, "and you . . . where did you get that suit?"
Tyler looks down and laughs. "You won't believe me if I told you."
"No, really, where? It looks like a thousand-dollar suit."
Tyler nods. “Originally it probably was. But that was when whoever bought it the first time paid for it. It's a Hart Schaffner suit that I found at the Hollywood Goodwill."
"No way." Goodwill? Really?
Tyler nods and gives me a megawatt smile. "Yeah, a little known secret for the poor but wanting to be trendy or fashionable in Los Angeles. Check the Beverly Hills or Hollywood Goodwills. A lot of the A-listers, or the studios even, will donate clothes really quickly if they are not part of a famous costume set or something. I got it for a hundred bucks, and spent another fifty getting it tailored to my body."
"Well, if you said you were a secret agent, I wouldn't doubt you at all," I reply, smiling. "You look . . . well, if I can use the word, dashing."
"Mmm, remember that for the team," Tyler says with a light laugh. "Dashing Tyler Paulson. That'll sell some t-shirts."
Tyler goes to ask another question when my cellphone rings. I wince and pull it out, my wince turning into a frown when I see the number. It's the hospital. "Excuse me a moment, Tyler. I need to take this."
"Of course. How about I pull my car around, and I can meet you back here in a second?" Tyler offers, giving me my privacy. I nod gratefully and take the call.
"Hello, this is April Gray."
"Miss Gray, this is Dr. Fontaine from hospice. I hate to call you so late, but there's been an incident with your mother."
Mom? Oh no. "What happened?"
"She had a bit of a panic attack and pushed a nurse," Dr. Fontaine said. "There were no injuries, but she was upset for a while. We had to sedate her."
I sigh, nodding. That's the third time in the past two months. Mom's really starting to have problems. I think we're looking at the transition from mid-stage to late-stage Alzheimer's now. "I understand, Doctor. I'll try to visit this weekend.”
"We'd appreciate it, Miss Gray. Your father tries, but with his condition, he's often weakened too."
"I know. Thank you, Doctor. I'll do my best to get up there. Goodbye."
Out front, Tyler's face is concerned when I sit down. "Is everything okay?"
I shrug. "Personal. Nothing you need to worry about."
Tyler studies my face for a moment, then shuts off his engine. "Are you sure? I mean, this date . . . it can wait, you know."
"No you can't," I reply kindly. "You start practice tomorrow, and you're going to be going all out until the first three weeks are done. That's the preseason, you know. Besides, there's nothing that can be done about my problem right now, and there is something that can be done about enjoying dinner. It's okay, really."
Tyler nods and starts his engine again, driving the short distance to the restaurant. In almost any other shoe I would have walked, but the stilettos mean I’m glad he drives the short kilometer or so. Parking, he comes around and offers me his arm like a gentleman, and I’m walking on clouds as we enter the restaurant, even with the news I’d just gotten. Yet again, eyeballs click as Tyler walks in, the hostess biting her lip when he gives her his name in his rich tenor.
But I notice something too, as we walk . . . some of the men are looking at me. I'm surprised, and Tyler notices. "What is it?"
"I'm not used to men looking at me," I whisper as we reach our table. "It's weird. Do I look strange or something?"
"They're looking because you’re the prettiest woman in here,” Tyler replies with a warm chuckle. He holds my chair for me, and helps me in before going around to his seat. "I'm a fortunate man tonight."
"You flatter," I reply, blushing, but Tyler shakes his head.
“I’m serious.”