“What bad news?” I asked.
“Made plans last weekend with a buddy of mine. Goin’ to Deck’s tonight to catch the game. Which means I can’t take you out to dinner.”
I didn’t know we were going out to dinner. Even so, this news was fairly devastating since now I did know but we weren’t going so that was a huge bummer.
“Deck?” I queried.
“The cameras?” Chace for some reason queried back.
“Uh…” I mumbled, uncertain of my response to that and his lips tipped up.
“He’s my buddy who had the cameras. He’s a private detective, amongst other things. Lives in Chantelle. He helped me install ‘em Friday night.”
I felt my brows go up. “Amongst other things?”
“Actually, he isn’t a private detective. He just tells people he is. What he really is is a little scary. I ignore what he does because I’m a cop and if I didn’t I’d probably have to arrest him. We’re tight, have been since high school. He moved back this way about two years ago. Before that, by his account, he lived about everywhere. Since I think he’s not exaggerating but downplaying it, I figure he’s lived about everywhere and except for getting an audience with the Pope, done about everything.”
This Deck sounded interesting.
I didn’t share that. I just muttered, “Oh.”
“I’d cancel but Deck can be a dick when you cancel. He also doesn’t invite the boys over unless he intends to go all out. His own homemade beer that’s really f**kin’ good. Mexican layer dip and brownies that he makes that are even better. No joke. The man is six foot four, two hundred twenty pounds of muscled bulk and he makes dip and brownies. It’s a spread. And it’s a hassle puttin’ up with his attitude, you don’t show. So, I’m gonna show. But I’ll call you before you go to bed. I’ll make a reservation at The Rooster. We’ll go there tomorrow night. Can you be ready by six thirty?”
No, I couldn’t be ready to go to The Rooster at six thirty.
The library closed at six. Shutting everything down didn’t take forever but I wasn’t out until at least a quarter after. That meant I was home just moments before six thirty.
The Rooster was my favorite restaurant ever. It was a fancy steak joint in the mountains about a half an hour away. The views were amazing. The steaks melted in your mouth. The prices were astronomical but you’d sell your kidney without blinking just to trail your finger in their tri-peppercorn sauce and lick it clean.
I’d eaten there five times, all special occasions, and I’d never had anything that I didn’t consider the best I ever had. This was saying something since Denver had some amazing eateries and I partook copiously while living there when I was at Denver University and going back for my Master’s.
It was also one of the only places close by where you could dress up. Even in Denver, jeans were acceptable practically everywhere and considered formal attire in some circles depending on your top and footwear. But in Denver, women, and men, found their occasions to run the gamut of gorgeous apparel.
In the mountains, this was few and far between and in our area, The Rooster was one of the only places you could get by with going for the gusto.
On my first going out on a date well… date with Chace, I wanted to go for the gusto.
But I couldn’t go for the gusto if he was showing up on my doorstep about a nanosecond after I got home from work.
So no way I could be ready by six thirty.
I still said, “Yes.”
Chace didn’t reply. He just studied me.
Then he demonstrated yet again he could read my mind.
“How about this, can you be ready at seven thirty?”
That was way better.
“Yes,” I whispered on a small smile.
He grinned before he looked away, lifted his coffee cup but said to the lid before he took a sip, “Lookin’ forward to the show you got planned, baby.”
Panic instantly oozed from my every pore.
I liked my clothes. They were nice. Good quality. I thought they suited me. I had a few good getups for when I went back to Denver to meet friends or my family had special occasions that called for a little effort. And when I made an effort, I didn’t mind making a statement. Though, only a minor one.