It wasn’t as if I had the world at my fingertips, just a few places where there weren’t any people. I led her away from the dining hall, where all the other counselors were hanging out, to a staff dining area off the kitchen. Gary and I had set it up earlier with a black tablecloth and a tall, white candle.
Tiffany opened her eyes when we stepped inside. “Oh my God,” she said. “This is so romantic.”
I pulled out a chair for her, then cupped my hand around the candle and lit the wick with my Zippo.
“You went through all this for me?” she asked.
I sat across from her. “You wanted me to prove it. I am.”
She studied me. “You really are old-fashioned, aren’t you? For a minute, I was worried you didn’t like me.”
“I like you.” At least, I was coming to appreciate things about her. She was adventurous and bold. No girls I knew were as unapologetic about their sexuality. And, she was beautiful. I hated myself for thinking it, but it was true. All the counselors knew it. I’d shut down some of the guys talking about her, had heard some jealous snipes from the other girls.
“I like you, too,” she said, sounding surprised. It occurred to me that she might also like other guys. I’d never had trouble getting women, but maybe I couldn’t hang on to a girl like Tiffany as long as I wanted. And then what? I’d go back to being alone, trying to keep the past at bay. Drinking, smoking, using my hands to build things for other people. It wasn’t a bad life. I slept with who I wanted. I didn’t have to watch my mouth or not light my cigs.
“Are you seeing anyone else?” I asked.
She darted her eyes over the table. “Are you?”
“Nope. Are you?” I asked again.
“Well . . . not really. I didn’t think you’d care if I did, though.”
Bucky came strolling out and made no secret about looking Tiff over. “Dinner’s about ready. I asked him what you like in your spaghetti but he didn’t know. How’s a man not know what his girl likes?”
Dick. I had a feeling he’d been waiting to call me out like that ever since I’d asked him for seconds the day before. I owed him for making us dinner, but if I didn’t I’d have told him to fuck off.
“Meatballs, I guess?” Tiffany said with a smile to egg him on. “What else is there?”
“Anything you want, gorgeous. Mushrooms, eggplant, roasted pepper, chicken . . .”
“You mind calling her by her name?” I asked. “We’re on a date here.”
Tiffany’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll take some wine if you have it,” she said to him. “Otherwise, whatever you made is fine.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Bucky sucked his teeth and returned to the kitchen.
“You’re . . .” She shook her head. “Not like anyone I’ve dated.”
“Same for you.”
“Is that a good thing?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Tiff. Most girls, I tell them something once and they listen, not three times. Even if Bucky flies to Italy and brings us back a bottle, I already told you, we’re not drinking wine.”
I prepared for her to argue, but instead she heaved a sigh. “I know. I’m just nervous.”
“No you’re not.”
She smiled, looking up at me from under her lashes. “Yes I am. Usually when I’m alone with a guy, we’re either drinking or smoking or there are people in the other room. It feels weird to just be out here in the middle of nowhere on a real date.”
Huh. That was something we pretty much had in common. When I brought a girl home, it was probably after a drink or four at my local spot. “Bad weird?”
“No . . .” She picked at nothing on the tablecloth. “Just different. Why’d you ask if I was seeing anyone else?”
For a conversation like this, I needed a fucking cigarette. I guessed that’s what Tiffany was talking about, getting too intense without something to take the edge off. “Maybe it’s too early for that.”
“Yeah.” She unfolded her napkin into her lap. “Maybe.”
“When I’m with a girl, she won’t be sleeping with anyone else. Understand?”
“No. You don’t want me for yourself, but you don’t want me with anyone else?”
My stomach grumbled. “I guess. I mean . . . it sounds fucked up. What do you want?”
“I haven’t been in a serious relationship since high school. And even then, it was . . .” She shrugged.
It wasn’t really an answer, but she didn’t say anything else, just twirled a saltshaker on the table.
Maybe she really was nervous. I put my hand over hers to stop her fidgeting, and I think it surprised us both a little. She flipped her palm up and flexed her fingers, lacing them with mine. Tiffany sat in front of me, but she wasn’t quite the brazen girl I’d seen until now.
“Your hands are rough,” she said. “Is that from work?”
“Pretty much. It’s definitely not from baseball.”