ChapterEleven
“So, what time is that young man coming for you?” Alice asked, looking at the clock on the living room wall and back at Marg, who sat across from her, watching the television as she waited for Ben to arrive.
“He’s not late, Mom. You don’t have to check the time every five seconds.”
“I didn’t say he was,” Alice said with a raised brow before focusing her attention back on the piece she was crocheting. Marg watched her hand move with a dexterity that reminded her so much of her grandmother’s skill. “Your sister called.”
“Who, Julia?”
Alice looked at her from the corner of her eye. "Obviously, it is Julia. Who else would I have been talking to?"
“I do have two other sisters,” Marg stated.
“Yes, you do,” Alice replied with a tight smile. “That is enough for you now, I presume.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Marg folded her arms across her chest and leaned forward as she furrowed her brows.
Alice didn’t answer but instead turned her attention to her crocheting.
Marg opened her mouth to press the issue when the doorbell rang.
“That should be Ben. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” was all her mother said.
Marg left the living room and walked down the hall toward the front door. She stopped at the mirror in the foyer to check her appearance. Her hair was still in the high ponytail she’d put it in, the loose curls cascading down her back and over her shoulders. Her makeup which was some foundation, eyeliner, and a light gloss on her lips, was still in place, and the blush to her cheeks was done to highlight their fullness whenever she smiled. Her light pink baby doll dress hugged her chest before flaring off and stopping a few centimeters below her knees. She pulled on the lacy puffed sleeves, righting their appearance. A satisfied grin lifted her lips, and she walked to the front door and opened it.
“Wow. You look…You look amazing,” Ben complimented when he could pick his jaw up from the ground. Marg blushed under his appreciative gaze.
“Thank you. You clean up nicely yourself,” she said shyly as she admired his neatly groomed brown hair, which was curly and had been pushed back to keep it out of his face save for a few stray hairs that hung over his forehead. Over a pair of black plaid pants, he wore a black turtleneck that covered his broad shoulders and chest and narrowed at his thin waist. He wore slip-on loafers. He looked really good.
“This is for you,” he said, extending a single red rose toward her. Marg took it and brought it up to her nose as she lightly inhaled its perfumed scent.
“Thank you,” she replied, looking at him from under her lashes.
Ben visibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the effort. “This is for your mother,” he said, presenting her with a bouquet of pink peonies.
Marg took them from him, then she lifted up on her heels and planted a soft kiss against his lips. “Thank you,” Marg repeated. Ben simply smiled his award-winning smile, which caused her heart to flutter as the butterflies in her chest teetered over each other. “I’ll give them to her when I get back. She’s busy now.”
The two left her house and drove into town to the Rouge, one of Oak Harbor’s top restaurants. It was so fancy that it had a week waiting list. It was even worse around the time summer holidays when visitors’ numbers were high.
“How did you get a reservation here?” Marg asked, looking around the establishment in awe after their waitress had seated them to go get their wine order.
“The owner is a good friend of mine. Plus, it helps that I helped him to get this lot to build his restaurant.”
“You never cease to amaze me,” Marg said, looking at him with admiration.
It was Ben’s turn to blush as the redness crept up his neck and rested on his cheeks. “Being with you makes me want to give you nothing but the best.” He smiled as he took her hand in his.
Marg beamed brightly as the warmth from his palm radiated up her arm, leaving goose bumps in their path. Just then, the waiter arrived with their wine, and Marg took the time to admire the restaurant’s interior. The white-covered tables were evenly radially spaced throughout the space, leaving enough space for those who were brave enough to venture on the dancefloor. Low-hanging pendant lights were scattered along the ceiling, the low-intensity lights creating a warm glow and the feeling of a romantic movie.
“Ben.”
Marg looked up to see a man dressed in a chef’s outfit heading for them with a bright smile.
“Leon, it’s good to see you again,” Ben said, rising from his seat to grasp the man’s extended hand in a handshake.
“Likewise, my friend,” Leon returned before looking over at Marg. “And you must be the lovely Marg Lewis that he can’t seem to shut up about.”
