“Of course, sir. It will be a beautiful sunset.”
“Do you have candles?”
“I do.”
“Thanks, Crisanto.”
I take a quick shower while I’m waiting, then change into jeans and a T-shirt. I’m tidying the lounge when Crisanto and Belhina arrive with a cart laden with flowers, china, and a charcuterie board I didn’t even ask for. They take it all outside and get to work transforming my veranda into a scene fromBeauty and the Beast. All that’s missing is a clock singing “Be Our Guest.”
The old me would have cringed at myself for putting so much obvious effort into a date. My style of courting women was to let booze and chemistry do allthe work. But one thing I’ve learned in recovery is that sincerity is healthy. That it’s okay to be a bit vulnerable about the things you want.
And if you go after it armed with effort rather than chemical courage, your odds of fostering connection are stronger.
I’m not looking for a drinking buddy, or a fuck buddy.
Eventually, I’m looking for a lover.
A partner.
I’m not ready for that yet.
What I want with Hope is something light and sexy and, above all, temporary.
But being earnest with her, however fleetingly, feels like good practice for becoming the type of man I want to be.
Hope knocks at the door at seven sharp which, as a chronically punctual person, I appreciate. She’s wearing a long, gauzy, Grecian-style white dress and her face is totally bare. She’s radiant.
“Wow,” I say.
“Sorry, I didn’t have it in me to dress up.”
“This isn’t dressed up? You look gorgeous.”
“Must be the kelp.”
“Come in,” I say, stepping aside.
“I’m shocked you’re letting me back in here after last night.”
“Stockholm syndrome. Um—” I grab the vase of flowers off the wet bar. “I got you these.”
“Felix!” she exclaims. “You don’t have to butter me up.”
“Right. Well then technically Crisanto got them for you.”
“I guess I’ll go have dinner with Crisanto then.” She turns around like she’s going to leave.
“No, wait. It was my idea. Also, I thought we could eat outside. That all right?”
I gesture at the open veranda doors. Dusk is beginning to fall, and the candlelit table looks quite nice, even if the vibe is more “Club Med ad” than would normally be my style.
“You, Felix Segrave, are a gentleman and a scholar.”
“Minus the scholar bit.”
We walk outside. I have beverages chilling in an ice bucket.
“Want a sparkling water? Or some champagne?” I had Crisanto bring a bottle of fizz.
