steve and kelly go on a dinner date

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 ...Kelly found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Emails and conference calls competed with the jittery realization that she would be spending the evening with Steve. She had been looking forward to it all week with a tingly anticipation – or since early Tuesday morning when Steve had invited her to dinner on the stairwell landing…after their unexpected and wonderful kiss –

Her phone buzzing on her desk startled her. 

She picked it up and saw that it was a text from Steve, and that it was 4:47. The afternoon had raced by; she felt a frisson.

She picked up her phone and clicked to read Steve’s text:

i’m heading out now see you at 7

The frisson ran through her again.

She clicked to respond:

see you then

She considered adding something – can’t wait or looking forward to it – but then just clicked to send. 

She realized there was a whole set of social skills required for the nuanced signalling and interpretation and response between men and women that she had once had a fairly decent command of, but that had lain dormant for decades. 

She closed the lid on her laptop and prepared to leave the office for home. 

Kelly watched Chloe seated at their kitchen table, with her laptop open and some papers from school spread around her. She was finishing up her homework as she waited for the sound of the car horn – her father picking her up for his weekend with her. Kelly hoped Chloe would be happy and wouldn’t feel, again, neglected by her father’s attention on his new baby girl. She considered another pep talk with Chloe, reminding her that her father still loved her and encouraging her to participate in her baby step-sister’s care, but they’d talked about it several times and Chloe seemed okay with it all. But Kelly couldn’t help feeling anxious – and a little guilty because she was going out on a date – really a date? As the minutes ticked by bringing the moment of Steve’s arrival to pick her up, the reality that she was going out on a date for the first time in 20 years tingled her tummy. 

But was it really a date, date? Or, just two work friends hanging out?

The ambiguity had been increasing as she had left work to pick up Chloe, and it was starting to drive her a little crazy. 

Watching Chloe, she began to wonder if maybe she should casually mention something about her plans for the evening, to test Chloe’s reaction.

How do you feel about Mommy going out with – with a friend, honey?

But, her husband’s – her ex-husband’s -- car horn sounded, and Chloe began to gather her things from the table. 

And, shortly another man’s car would pull into her driveway…

Chloe gave her a big hug then walked out of the kitchen to the front door.

“Bye Mommy. See you on Monday.”

“Bye, sweetie, have a nice weekend. ‘Love you.”

“Thanks Mommy, love you too.”

And Kelly heard the door open and close. 

She glanced at her watch and felt another tingle in her belly; she needed to get ready for her evening out – whatever it was. 

The doorbell jolted Kelly from her ambivalence about what to wear. She looked at her watch. It was 7:00 on the dot. Of course, Steve had to be punctual. She started to panic. Standing in her bra and thong, she had looked again and again at the outfits on her bed, looking at each one in turn, holding it up to her in the mirror, seeing herself in each one, what would he think of her in this one, or that one, or that one. At the sound of the doorbell, she dropped the dress she was holding onto the bed then stepped into her closet and started rifling maniacally through her clothes. God, she had to decide, and she had to throw the outfit on and – the doorbell rang again, and she glanced at her wrist watch: 7:02. Crap, he had waited a polite two minutes before ringing the doorbell again, perhaps thinking she hadn’t heard it – with no idea that she had gone into a frenzy – and so had rung again. Crap, crap, crap she thought and grabbed the jade makeup robe, adjusting her demeanour as she skidded down the stairs from panicky adolescent, to elegant lady, merely taking her own time to be ready. 

She arrived at the front door, glanced down at her legs – the robe was really short – she tugged the garment down and covered about a centimeter more, rolled her eyes, shook her head, put on a brilliant smile, and opened the door. 

“Steve, you’re early.” 

He looked at his watch confirming he was right on time.

“Sorry, I guess I am.”

Driving through Bloor West Village, Steve had glanced, for the fiftieth time, at the clock on the media console: 6:38 – he had relaxed a little; he would arrive on time. 

He had no expectations for the evening – or rather, he didn’t know what to expect. Asking Kelly to dinner had been almost as spontaneous as kissing her had been. 

He closed his eyes for one second and conjured the image of kissing her on the stairway landing. It had been a wonderful, an amazing, a phenomenal kiss. That had really happened. He’d kissed her; she’d let him kiss her. He’d suggested dinner; she’d agreed.

But what had she agreed to? There was no doubt in his mind what he had proposed: a romantic evening to get to know each other, to strengthen their connection and…

The attraction he had felt for her 20 years ago when he first saw her and first talked to her – and first kissed her as it had turned out – had been reawakened and was as strong as it had been then – no, way stronger. He had gotten to know her since then and what he had glimpsed in her then – her beauty and intelligence and character – were not just a first impression – it was who she was. 

But, did she see it that way? They had worked incredibly hard together on a difficult task and it had gone well. Were they celebrating that? Hanging out after a long week? Work friends chilling?

He remembered what Mike had told him: he had asked Kelly out and she told him she had a strict rule about never dating anyone at work – and felt a pang of guilt that this good guy who was fast becoming his friend, and who was head over heels for Kelly, who probably be hurt if he knew Steve was on his way to pick her up for dinner. 

But, maybe he was feeling guilty for nothing, if he and Kelly were just work friends hanging out. And, he’d be okay with that. 

He had no ambivalence about what he felt: he was very attracted to her, he respected her intellect and work ethic, he enjoyed her company - he wanted her. But, if he was in the friend zone, he’d be content with that. He just really liked being with her. And he had to face the facts: Kelly really was completely out of his league. He sighed. 

He glanced down at the bouquet of orchids on the passenger seat beside him. It had seemed like a good idea when he was in the florist shop but giving them to her would make it unmistakeable how he saw this evening. If she didn’t see it the same way, would he just make it awkward, would he be putting her in an uncomfortable position? He didn’t want to ruin the evening before it had even begun.

He turned onto her street and heard his phone cheerfully announce You have arrived. He looked at the house that his google map app had brought him to as he slowed down and parked at the curb out front. It was a large, stately, stone home. She’d earned it.

He glanced again at the orchids. What was he going to do? Toss them in the street?

He sighed then picked them up, swung the door open and headed up the driveway.

At the door, he took a deep breath; he buttoned his jacket; he squared his shoulders. He searched for the doorbell. He squinted in the dim light. There it was. Okay, he’d found it, so there was no reason not to press the button. Did she really want him to be there? He could turn around and – Jesus Christ, push the fucking button, and he pushed it and waited, holding his breath. He put a smile on his face, casual, easy, just a guy she works with stopping by like they’d talked about – and no answer. Shit, she’d forgotten – or she’d changed her mind and was out somewhere else - or she was inside hoping he’d go away. He turned around. He saw his car at the curb. He could leave now – he should leave now – and go to Snug Harbour and have a cheeseburger and a beer, and – Goddamit, he turned back around and pushed the doorbell button again feeling like an idiot --

The door opened 30 seconds after the second ring. 

His knees went weak. 

Kelly stood before him, smiling – that smile - in what looked like a kimono, made of silk, a deep green colour with oriental figures sewn through-out that was – wow – that was kind of short, and her legs – man, those legs. Don’t look at her legs, don’t, look at her legs, don’t look at her legs – her legs were muscular and shapely and in perfect proportion to her body. His visual journey progressed from her legs upwards to her hips, filling out the turquoise fabric, up to her slender waist where the silk belt was cinched tight, to the swell of her bosom, where the folds of the kimono dovetailed then parted in the depth, the mystery, of her breasts, then to her neck and her smile and her eyes and jet black hair - 

“Steve, you’re early.”

He looked at his watch: 6:32. 

“Sorry, I guess I am.”

He handed her the flowers, searching his mind for some off-hand, ironic remark to render their meaning ambiguous --

“Oh Steve, you didn’t have to do that. They’re beautiful; orchids – my favourite.” 

She took the flowers from him and kissed him on the cheek. 

Feeling a little more confident, he said, “Actually, they’re rare orchids that only bloom for 3 hours every hundred years – at least, that’s what the gas station attendant said.”

Kelly laughed. She could see the florist’s seal on the wrapping. “I’m pretty sure these didn’t come from a gas station, Steve, but even if they had, it was still sweet of you to bring them to me.” 

So far, so good, he thought, breathing a little easier.

She held them to her nose. The fragrance had a slight note of honey. 

“Mmmm. They smell wonderful. I’ll put them in water.” 

The flowers had distracted her; she became aware that she was entertaining her date in her dressing gown. “Actually, maybe I better go upstairs first, and…”

“Oh right.” Steve stepped forward and reached for the bouquet. “I’ll hold onto these until you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Steve. Please go into the living room and sit down,” she gestured through an opening off the vestibule.

He’d seen a shoe rack beside the door, filled with shoes and remembered from his dealings with Asian people that they never wore shoes inside the house – which, as he considered it, made perfect sense. He started to slip his off. 

“Oh, you don’t need to do that Steve.”

“Of course, I do,” he said, now in stocking feet. “I don’t want to track dirt into your beautiful home.”

She smiled her thanks and trotted up the stairs as Steve headed into the living room. He checked himself from staring at the delightful site of her climbing the stairs in that skimpy robe – he only took a quick glance – only twice. He sat on the couch, holding the flowers, pleased with himself for buying them after all. 

Back in her bedroom, Kelly breathed a sigh of relief. She’d bought some time – but she couldn’t keep Steve waiting forever. As to what Steve would have been thinking, seeing her at the door in her skimpy robe, she filed that for later. 

Okay, she thought, I’m not negotiating world peace; I’m just picking out an outfit. 

Should she wear a suit? Keep a veneer of professionalism? But did she want this to be a business dinner? Okay, maybe she could wear a skirt suit to soften her image a little. 

“Arrrgh,” she said out loud. Steve had asked her to dinner – he’d asked her out on a date. Hadn’t he? Yes, yes, he had. He had brought her flowers – beautiful orchids. He didn’t want to meet with her, he wanted to…she closed her eyes tight. She couldn’t even think about that right now. But that kiss on the stairwell landing…

“Just pick a damn outfit,” she scolded herself out loud. A date outfit. 

She went into her closet and her eyes were immediately drawn to the teal cheongsam she’d worn to the Charity Ball. She felt a slight regret that she’d worn it then because he’d loved her in it and tonight would be so much better. Could she wear it again? Of course not – what was she thinking? Then she saw her little black dress and felt immediate relief. Thank god for the LBD, she thought. It was perfect for tonight. She lifted it off the hanger bar and marched out of the closet and into the bedroom. It was black chartreuse, came mid-thigh with a deep cutaway neckline, baring her shoulders and upper chest, with a similar line of the fabric in back. But, she needed a strapless bra so snapped off the one she was wearing and rummaged for what she needed in her lingerie drawer. And she knew exactly which shoes to wear, and it didn’t need anything around her neck, but a big chunky bracelet would be good, and there – she had her outfit. How hard was that? she thought. 

She walked – she made herself unhurried – down the stairs, carrying her shoes. 

When Steve saw her legs appear on the staircase from his vantage point in the living room, he sprang to his feet. She smiled at him as her face came into view, and she walked into the living room and up to him where he stood. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Steve,” she said.

As he had when he saw her at the Charity Ball, his throat felt dry and he had to swallow before he tried to speak. 

“It was worth the wait.”

She smiled. They were three feet apart and she felt this was a perfect moment for him to kiss her, and sensed he wanted to, but he held the orchids out to her. 

But she saw him look up and around – and realized he felt uncomfortable in her house. Her intuition told her that he was aware that he was in the house she’d shared with another man, her husband. She knew men were territorial and she understood that he felt like an intruder here. 

“I’ll put these in water, Steve, and then we can be on our way.”

As she took them she caught their beautiful scent again and breathed deeply then smiled at him. 

As she turned to walk to the kitchen to find a vase, she could see him from her peripheral vision walk from the living room to the vestibule and sensed his relief to be leaving. 

When she came to the vestibule with the flowers arranged in a glass vase which she placed on the side table by the front door, he was standing by the door with his shoes on, not impatient, but clearly ready to leave. 

“All set?” he asked.

“Yes – finally,” she said, and leaned to slip her shoes on – having to grab his arm to keep her balance. Dressed, accessorised and shod she stood fully upright and said, “Shall we go?” 

It was a balmy spring evening. It had been a very long – and eventful – week, and Kelly felt fatigue tugging her eyes; but that was countered by the butterflies she felt as she and Steve walked down her driveway toward his car – and whatever the evening would bring. She couldn’t help feeling a little strange; leaving the home she had shared with her family at one time, the odd familiarity of her neighbourhood, her beautiful Japanese maple tree with budding leaves; catching a scent of Steve at her side, and the click of her heels in the heavy air created a sense of surreality. Steve had kissed her in the early morning on Wednesday; it had been a wonderful kiss, and a wonderful moment. She had felt relief and gratitude for his incredible support through the night and later that morning a powerful feeling of triumph at fulfilling Robert’s bullshit demand – with Steve’s help she had brought the wizard the witch’s broom. She turned to look at Steve and he smiled down at her; she smiled back at him. A moment ago, she felt anxiety but now she had a tingly anticipation of whatever might come. 

Steve accompanied her to the passenger side of his car and opened the door for her as she sat and swung her legs in. It was an amazing car, a very sleek looking, silver sports car. She didn’t know too much about cars and had no idea what kind this was. He rounded the car and slid in beside her and the car pulled smoothly away from the curb without making a sound. The sun-roof was open to the balmy air.

“This is an awesome car, Steve. What is it?”

“It’s a Tesla Roadster,” he said. 

“Tesla? I’ve heard of it. It’s electric isn’t it?” That was why it was so quiet, she thought. 

“Yes, all electric. It’s fast and has a sweet, supple ride. I love it, actually. It’s the first really nice car I’ve ever owned. Most of my life I had second hand, practical cars. And then, I was in a position to buy pretty much whatever car I wanted. I chose the Tesla because it was invented by a really smart guy who knew nothing about cars, and everyone said it would never work. But, he thought it up and did it. And the fact that it’s a smoking hot car kind of played into my decision.” 

He looked over and smiled at her. She enjoyed his obvious pleasure in owning it. Then a concern occurred to her.

“But, what if the battery runs out?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “The car’s pretty light. You should have no trouble pushing it while I steer.”

She laughed. “How about you push, and I steer?”

“We’ll work something out,” he said. “But, don’t worry; the battery has a full charge. We’ll get there and back again.”

Back again, she thought. What then?

She lifted her butt a bit and tugged the hem of her dress then crossed her legs, feeling her thong tight between her cheeks. She restrained her smile when Steve – no doubt believing he was being perfectly discrete – glanced down and gave a lingering look at her legs. 

“Where’s ‘there’?” she asked.

His eyes returned to the road. “Do you know Le Select on Wellington?”

“I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard it’s really nice.”

“I think, you’ll like it.” 

Steve was a very good driver, smoothly navigating the city traffic. Sitting low to the ground, under a dusky sky, watching the brightening lights of the city streets go by, enveloped in the quiet power of this fabulous car in the control of Steve’s competent hands, was exhilarating to Kelly. She leaned back in her seat and tilted her head to look up at the sky through the open roof and savoured the exquisite helplessness of being taken, of not having to know or care where they were going or how to get there. 

Friday evening rush hour traffic had eased up and the drive down Windermere then along the Queensway to King, Spadina and Wellington only took about twenty minutes.

Steve turned onto Wellington and made a quick right turn down a lane between two buildings into a small parking lot, not visible from the street. He came around to her side and opened the door. She swung her legs out and Steve took her hand and helped her to her feet. She kept hold of his hand as she steadied herself on her heels. 

“Do you want to see something amazing?” he said.

“Okay, sure,” she said. She was feeling open to any possibility. Still holding her hand, he guided her around and pointed behind her. On the back brick wall of one of the two buildings they’d driven between, Kelly saw a huge, perfectly executed reproduction of Paul Gauguin’s Two Tahitian Women with Mango Blossoms. She had taken an elective course in Impressionist art at university and adored this painting. Seeing it here, in this completely improbable place, on the back wall of a drab brick building, produced by an anonymous street artist, was absolutely magical. 

“Oh my…” She turned to Steve. “How great is that?” She turned back to the Tahitian women. “I love this painting.”

“Me too,” Steve said. “I have a reproduction in my home office. The original was a little out of my price range.” 

She saw him gazing at it with a longing expression. “Sometimes, I think Gauguin had the right idea: leave so-called civilization behind and fuck off to Tahiti. I have to admit, the idea’s crossed my mind more than once.”

“Okay, but could you wait until after dinner? I’m kind of hungry.”

They both laughed, then started down the alley between the buildings to the entrance to the restaurant. 

As they walked the short distance along the sidewalk to the front of Le Select, Kelly savoured the dark wood exterior, crowned with an ornate cornice, with moldings and awnings framing the second story windows and a large striped awning shading the front courtyard, surrounded by lush greenery and nearly full with al fresco diners. 

Steve held the door for her, and she entered a long hallway leading to another door which opened to the maître‘d lectern, where a very trim, blond woman, about her age stood. The woman smiled warmly at Steve and stepped out from behind the podium, took both his hands in hers and kissed him on both cheeks in the continental fashion. 

“Steve, it’s been a while. It’s great to see you.” 

Kelly could see that the ebullient greeting had made him bashful.

“Same here,” he said. He turned to Kelly and said, “Kelly, this is Alison. She runs things around here.”

Alison offered Kelly her hand and gave her a knowing wink. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kelly. Welcome to Le Select. Any friend of Steve’s…”

“Thank you,” Kelly said. “I love your restaurant.” 

She looked around at the tin ceiling, the tile floors, wood paneling, the gorgeous marble bar over on the right, the walls covered in reproductions of French commercial art. 

“It’s like stepping into a Parisian bistro.”

Alison beamed. “That’s the effect we’re aiming for. I spent many happy years in Paris, and I wanted to reproduce what I loved about it here.”

Steve said, “And the food’s not too bad, either.”

“I can’t wait,” Kelly said. 

Alison picked up a couple of menus and led the way. “Follow me,” she said over her shoulder. 

Kelly marvelled at Alison’s trim figure from behind. In her tight black capris and white blouse, she looked like a teenager. Alison led them down the left aisle to the back of the restaurant and pulled a small oval table back from a crescent shaped leather banquette. Kelly slid in and Steve followed, seating himself about two feet from her, which placed him at a comfortable angle to her on the cleverly designed curved bench, which Kelly acknowledged was ideal for intimate conversation. She wondered if Steve had specifically asked to reserve this table. Once they were settled, Alison slid the table back in place. She looked at Kelly and winked again. “Fabienne will be along shortly. Enjoy your evening,” and she was gone, back to the entrance to greet the steady arrival of other diners. 

Looking all around, Kelly said, “Steve, I love this place.”

“I thought you’d like it.” 

She turned to him and smiled.

“Steve!” 

Kelly looked up to see a pretty olive-skinned woman, with dark curly hair, mid-twenties, who could have been North African, Middle-Eastern or southern European striding toward their table. Her tight black mini-skirt offered a chic and cheeky contrast to the conservative long-sleeved white blouse she wore buttoned to just below her breasts, subtly revealing a black rose tattoo on the inside curve of her left breast. Steve stood and offered his hand which the woman took and then leaned in and kissed him on each cheek. “I haven’t seen you here in ages.” Kelly noticed the trace of an accent. 

Again, she saw Steve smile sheepishly. Her annoyance at the other woman’s brazenness – did she even see Kelly sitting there? -- was mitigated considerably by the sweetness of Steve’s bashfulness. 

“I’ve been away a fair bit, Fabienne,” Steve said – Kelly didn’t know why he seemed to think he owed the waitress an explanation. “Kelly, this is Fabienne.”

Fabienne turned and smiled warmly at Kelly and offered her hand. Kelly began to rise and Fabienne said, “Don’t get up, please,” and they shook hands with Kelly in mid-air, then Kelly sat back down. 

“I’m very happy to meet you, Kelly,” Fabienne said. “Welcome to Le Select.” 

“Thank you, Fabienne.” Fabienne gave Kelly the same kind of knowing smile that Alison had, as though they were all in cahoots, plotting Steve’s happiness. Kelly began to feel a little remorseful at her automatic defensiveness a moment ago. Steve evidently came here a lot and was a valued customer, and the women seemed to have a kind of maternal interest in him, apparently knowledgeable about the emotional distress he’d been under the last few years – of which, she’d had only hints. She understood their tender instincts toward him and intended to discover the reason. 

“Can I start you off with something to drink?” Fabienne said. “Johnny Black rocks for you, sir?” she said with a raised eyebrow and Steve nodded, and she picked up the wine and cocktail menu and handed it to Kelly, who smiled and perused it. 

“I can enthusiastically recommend the Chocolate Martini, Kelly,” Fabienne said, and leaned over Kelly and pointed to it on the menu. Kelly caught a whiff of Fabienne’s floral but by no means cloying, perfume. Chocolate Martini: it was a definite girlie drink, Kelly thought, and MJ and Judy would tease her, but it sounded so good. 

“Deal,” Kelly said.

Fabienne smiled and said, “Coming up,” and headed back toward the bar. 

Kelly looked at Steve and found him smiling at her.

“What?” she said.

“I guarantee you that cocktail was invented by a man,” he said. “Chocolate and alcohol. Candy’s dandy but liquor’s quicker.” He pointed to the cocktail on the menu with a sly grin. “This little beauty gives you both.”

“Hmm, you’re probably right. The sweetness masks the taste of the alcohol – and a man’s true intentions…”

Steve laughed. “You’ve figured us out; we men can’t get away with anything.”

“Don’t you know that by now?” 

This was fun. She looked around the restaurant, seeing Fabienne at the bar. “They certainly like you here,” she said, with a slightly arched eyebrow.

“Well, I’ve gotten to know them a bit. I lived not far from here for a while after I…after I moved out of my house.” 

She saw Steve look down at the table and far beyond it to a distant memory, for a moment, then he looked back up at her smiling. “Also, I’m a good tipper.”

She didn’t doubt that. His nature, as she was getting to know him, suggested a generous spirit. 

Fabienne returned with the drinks on a tray and placed them in front of them. “Do you need more time with the menu?”

“Gosh, I haven’t even looked at it,” Kelly said, picking it up.

“Please take your time and let me know if you have any questions.” Fabienne smiled at them and stepped away to see to her other tables. 

Steve picked up his glass. “To the end of a long, crappy week.”

Kelly giggled and picked up her glass. “Thank god,” she said and clinked her glass with Steve’s. She started to take a sip from her glass, but it was so rich and sweet and chocolaty she tipped it up and took a mouthful, savouring it in her mouth before swallowing, and then felt radiant warmth and mild rapture. 

“Mmm,” she said, smiling at Steve as the appreciation of his hotness – which she would normally submerge – drifted lazily into her consciousness. An image of him in his tux at the Charity Ball entered into a friendly competition with the sight of him here, in his beautiful, gray suit and 5 o’clock shadow. 

Steve smiled back at her. “Good?” 

“Wonderful,” she said. She offered her glass to him. “Here, taste.”

He looked skeptically at her glass. “It might give me diabetes,” he said.

She laughed. “Oh, come on,” she said. “I won’t tell any of your male friends. Just try it, silly man.”

He covered her hand in his and transferred the glass, then raised it and took a tentative sip. 

“Nice,” he said, “chocolatey,” and handed it back, then picked up his own glass and took a generous taste of the amber liquid. 

“Mmm,” he said, echoing and teasing her.

She laughed. “That can’t possibly taste as good as this.”

He offered his glass to her. This time, she covered his hand in hers as she took the glass from him. She sniffed it. It had a very strong, but pleasant aroma. She’d tasted straight liquor before and never understood the appeal. She took a little sip and her face puckered. 

“Wow, that’s really strong,” she said, shaking her head a little as she handed back his glass. 

“Well,” he said. “It’s an acquired taste.” 

He took another sip. “I’ve acquired it.” 

She took another taste – maybe more of a gulp – of her chocolate martini and again felt its warmth and sense of well-being spreading through her body. 

Kelly had slid just a little down the banquette, causing the hem of her dress to rise so she did a quick rump lift and holding her hem, slid back. She looked at Steve and found him staring at her legs. He saw her catch him looking and he suddenly became fascinated with everything else in the restaurant, which made her smile; she enjoyed his admiration, but enjoyed his guilty awkwardness more, and was tempted to chastise him just for fun, but watching him return to pointedly meet her eyes with elaborate casualness was just as good. She was having a wonderful time. 

The ambient clatter and buzz of the restaurant diminished in a momentary lull, which was the exact moment when Kelly’s stomach grumbled loudly. 

Embarrassed, she giggled and placed her hand on her tummy. 

Steve picked up a menu and handed it to her. “You’re not going to start gnawing on my arm, are you?”

She laughed. “I’ve usually eaten dinner by now.”

“I don’t want to get between you and your dinner.” He teasingly withdrew his arm away from her a little, as he picked up his menu. 

Restraining giggles, she perused the menu. “What’s good? Do you recommend anything?”

Deadpan, Steve said, “Umm, maybe we should order one of everything.”

Giggles burst out and she made a fist and hit his arm playfully. 

“I should warn you, I have a big appetite.”

“No worries, my credit’s good here. Honestly, everything on the menu’s great.”

She began to appraise the menu and lingered over the onion soup which she loved; no, that would do a number on her breath. The thought made her anticipate his kiss and she tingled a little – he would almost certainly kiss her, wouldn’t he? She picked up her glass and felt another wave of chocolaty bliss. She returned to the menu. It all looked so good: there were salads with kale and pistachios and ricotta cheese; and one with assorted greens with fennel, beet, kale and red watercress and honey mustard vinaigrette; and a warm Québec goat cheese on frisée lettuce with walnut and a mixed beet salad – she’d have that to start. There was wonderful looking beef, and chicken and lamb and fish dishes; the Friday plat du jour was seared fillet of pickerel with a red wine sauce, lardons, and Chanterelles, which she recalled was some kind of fragrant mushroom. Mmm. Her family often had steamed pickerel when they went to Chinese restaurants, served whole, which had a wonderful, delicate flavour and texture. She wanted to try it prepared in this French interpretation. She set her menu down. 

Steve looked over from his menu. “Decided?” he asked. 

She smiled and nodded. “Everything looks good. It was hard to choose.” 

He set his menu down.

“What are you having,” she asked. 

“The pave de boeuf,” he said. 

She picked up her menu. The pave de boeuf was an 8-ounce centre cut filet, with green peppercorn sauce with Brandy and cream. Served with frites. Mmm. 

“That looks good,” she said. She had a moment of anxiety thinking she was ordering a starter and he might not be. “Are you having a salad?” she asked. 

“I try to go easy on the vitamins, but I might have the kale and pistachio salad.”

“Oooh, I thought about having that, but I decided on the frisée lettuce and goat cheese.”

He smiled. “You can help yourself to mine.”

“Perfect,” she said.

Fabienne arrived and placed a basket of warm bread on the table. The glorious aroma taunted Kelly’s nostrils and she resisted the temptation to grab the bread with both hands and devour it. 

“Any questions about the menu?” Fabienne asked Kelly – Steve had evidently mastered it long since. 

“No, I’m good, thanks,” she said. “Everything looks wonderful.”

“What can I bring you?” Fabienne said, with no pen and pad, Kelly noted, prepared to commit their order to memory. 

“I’ll have the Salade de Betterave au Chevre and the Filet de Sandre.”

“Great choices,” Fabienne said. “Steve?”

“The Borecole au Fromage de Bufflonne and the Pave de Boeuf, medium rare, please.”

“Excellent. And we have a beautiful medium bodied pinot noir that would go very well with both your fish and beef.”

Steve looked at Kelly with a raised eyebrow. She smiled and nodded.

“That sounds great, Fabienne. We’ll have a half litre of that.”

Steve picked the menu back up. “What are the oysters tonight?”

“We have some beautiful, fresh Kumamotos.”

Steve looked at Kelly. “Do you like oysters, Kelly?”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had them, but she loved oysters. 

“Sure, I’d love some.”

“We’ll take a dozen, Fabienne.”

“Awesome,” Fabienne said. Then she raised an eyebrow. “And you know what they say about oysters,” she winked at Kelly.

Playing dumb, Steve said, “What do they say?”

Fabienne laughed. “They’re aphrodisiacs!”

Deadpan, Steve said, “In that case, we’ll take three dozen.”

Both women laughed. 

“Oh, Fabienne, could you also bring us a shot glass of vodka and a teaspoon?” Steve said.

“Absolutely,” she said, with evident comprehension, but Kelly looked puzzled. 

“You’ll see,” Steve said, mysteriously. 

“Coming up,” Fabienne said, and left them.

Kelly glanced down surreptitiously at her menu on the table, before Fabienne picked them up. Oysters were $29 a dozen. 

Steve picked up the bread basket and offered it to Kelly who took one small piece of the warm baguette and placed it on the small bread plate on her left. Steve gave her an ironic look and tore off half of the loaf and set it down on her plate. She laughed. “I’m trying to give you the impression I’m dainty.”

“I know you’re hungry,” he said. “We should eat it while it’s still warm.” He picked up the remaining half and set the empty basket on the table. 

She took a bite of the bread: it was warm, chewy and exquisite. 

The logistics of dinner were taken care of: they were settled in, with food and wine ordered, cocktails in hand. There was a brief silence that threatened to become awkward until Steve said, “I’ve been looking forward to this all week – or since early Wednesday morning.”

At his reference to their moment on the stairway landing, the image of Steve, holding her hand on his heart, then kissing her, materialized in her mind, giving her a little shiver of excitement. 

“Have you?” Kelly said. “Me too,” and she meant it, although it might have been more precise to say that she had been thinking about it with all of anticipation, anxiety, mounting excitement and doubt; but now that they were here, together, in this charming place, seated not quite beside one another, but at a rather ideal angle for courtship on the curved banquette, she felt a pleasant contentment, made tingly at the edges at the sight of his smiling face and warm blue-gray eyes that seemed oblivious to everything in the world but her. 

Fabienne arrived with the carafe of wine and two glasses on a tray. She set a glass in front of each of them, then held the carafe and raised an eyebrow. 

Steve gestured to Kelly with a wave of his hand. “You do the honours, Kelly. My palette barely has a junior high school education.”

The two women exchanged amused glances and Fabienne poured a mouthful into Kelly’s glass. 

Kelly picked up her glass. The wine had a beautiful colour. She held it to her nose: she got berries, and cherries, and a bit of vanilla. She took a generous taste, held it in her mouth a moment, and swallowed. The chocolate from her martini joined in for a wonderful finish. 

“Mmm, I love it,” she said. 

Fabienne smiled. “Excellent.” One hand behind her back, she topped up Kelly’s glass then poured out a glass for Steve. “I’ll be right back with your oysters,” she said and withdrew. 

Remembering how he had teased the server at the Charity Ball, Kelly gave Steve a playful look. “And, you’ll be very happy to know that it contains alcohol.”

Steve laughed. “We’re in luck,” he said, and they clinked glasses and drank. 

In the brief time she’d known him, she had shared a great deal with Steve, including some very intense moments, but all – or almost all – was work related. It occurred to her, that she really didn’t know very much about him beyond the weekday toil they had in common. She knew he was divorced, with two children that clearly meant a great deal to him. He was an interesting man, and a kind man, with an easy-going manner masking an almost frightening intensity, whose life experience occasionally and briefly surfaced, in sometimes wise, often wry or sardonic observations and anecdotes, but he was largely a mystery to her. This was her chance to discover him. Men were the most challenging of all puzzles; she eased into it. 

“I have a pretty good idea how you spend Monday to Friday, Steve, at least the days, but what about outside work? What do you like to do?”

“I’m happy to tell you,” he said. “But, my life is so painfully dull, by the time I’ve finished, you’ll be so bored you may well lose your will to live.”

She laughed. “I very much doubt that. Come on, tell me.”

“Well, let’s see,” he began, giving it some thought. “I like to be outside whenever possible. I like to ride my bike or go hiking. Or just chill on my deck, reading, listening to my iPod. And I work out four or five times a week, which is a great way to blow off stress.”

She recalled surprising him – and herself – in his office, stripped to the waist and soaking wet. The memory made her tingly. He worked out, that was for sure. 

“And I love sailing. I’m kind of restless; sailing calms me. When I’m out there, and the breeze is up, hours can go by and I don’t even realize it.” 

He looked off, and she could tell he was imagining it. “When you see the hazy shore in the distance, you’re literally leaving your problems behind. I’ve always been drawn to great bodies of water. That’s probably why I live in the Beaches.” 

As a teenager, Kelly had a friend whose family owned a sailboat, and they had been kind enough to invite her to sail with them a few times in the summer. She had had no idea what all the ropes and lines were for but remembered it as a lot of fun. 

Fabienne arrived with a metal tray, filled with ice, with the shucked oysters arranged around small dishes of shredded horseradish, lemons and seafood sauce, which she placed between them, as well as a small plate in front of each of them. Behind her, the bartendress, wearing tight black slacks, a white blouse and black bowtie with wild spiky and colourful hair, carried a tray with a shot glass filled with vodka, and the teaspoon Steve had ordered, and set them on the table. 

“Let the fun begin,” Fabienne said, and the two women left talking and chuckling discretely. The bartendress burst out laughing and Kelly suspected Fabienne had told her what Steve had said in response to her remark about oysters and aphrodisiacs. She was getting to like his dry sense of humour. 

Steve picked up a lemon wedge and squeezed it all around the oysters, then picked up another and did the same. Then, he picked up an oyster and added shredded horseradish and seafood sauce, then dipped the teaspoon in the shot glass of vodka and drizzled it on top of the oyster and handed it to Kelly. 

She tipped the shell into her mouth and the oyster slipped in. It was slimy – in a good way – and creamy and fruity. She slurped the residue of horseradish, seafood sauce and vodka from the shell and let the taste and mouth feel of the oyster and the citrus tang, horseradish heat and vodka bite roil in her mouth, chomping slightly to release all the flavours, then let the magnificent mess slide down her throat. She resolved in that moment not to let a year – or was it ten years – elapse again before she indulged herself in this rare pleasure. 

Steve picked up another shell and prepared it in the same way. 

“Have you ever had a bloody Ceaser?” he asked.

She had, and it dawned on her suddenly that the flavours she had just eaten were exactly what were in a Bloody Ceaser. 

“Yes, I have. I think I’ve just eaten one,” Kelly said.

“Cheers,” Steve said and raised the shell like a glass and slurped it down. 

The oysters were dealt with in short order. The shot glass still had a little less than half of the vodka remaining. Kelly pointed at it.

“What are we going to do with that?” she asked. 

Steve made a church and steeple with his hands and held them to his lips with a solemn expression as he regarded the glass. Then he reached for the glass and downed its contents.

To his solemn expression he added in a solemn voice, “There are people all around the world who don’t have enough vodka to drink. Vodka is a terrible thing to waste,” and plopped the glass on the table. 

Kelly laughed and said, “I’m glad to see you have a social conscience.”

Fabienne arrived and placed their salads in front of them and collected the oyster tray and plates. She picked up the shot glass and placed it upside down on the tray. 

“This appears to have done its duty.” She winked at Kelly. 

They each thanked her; she smiled and stepped away. 

Kelly stabbed her fork into the Salade de Betterave au Chevre and tasted the frisee lettuce, its slight bitterness softened by the goat cheese. The walnuts gave it a satisfying crunch and the beets contributed a soft, slightly sour sweetness. 

She looked at Steve wolfing his salad down and gave him the benefit of the doubt that he was appreciating the flavour. He looked up with his mouth full, and slid his plate over, and mumbled through his chomping for her to try it. He used his fork to spear the various elements – some of the kale, ricotta, baby leeks – and scooped up some pistachios and handed his fork to her. Smiling, she took his fork and savoured the crisp kale and sweet leeks - and the subtle intimacy of the gesture. She took his fork and reciprocated by loading it from her plate and handing it back. 

She decided to tease him a little. “So, which one do you prefer?”

He stopped chewing, his expression showing he hadn’t expected to supply a commentary on the salads. He swallowed, and said, “Well, they both have lettuce, and…um…”

She laughed. “Your mother will be happy you’re getting some vegetables.”

She enjoyed watching him eat; seeing him satisfied. She picked up the thread of their conversation.

“So, do you own a sailboat?”

“I do,” he said. “I keep it at the Toronto Island Marina. It’s kind of like having a floating cottage – and way quicker to get to than driving north on the 400 every Friday night.”

His salad was finished; he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I love the Toronto Islands. It’s like being in the country, with trees and great beaches – and then you look up over the trees and you can see the CN Tower. It’s kind of cool.”

She swallowed the last bite of her salad. “I can’t remember the last time I went to the Islands. Probably when my daughter – Chloe – was a little girl. She loved the amusement park.”

“My kids loved it too – my daughter still does. There’s actually way more to the Islands – a couple of restaurants – one really great one – yacht clubs, the marina, a place to rent canoes and kayaks, beaches, a couple of bars, a seven-kilometre path – great for walking or cycling. There’s always something to do there. That’s where I hang out on summer weekends.”

She took a sip of her wine. She pictured Steve on a sailboat; then an image of her husband on the golf course intruded, uninvited, and made her say, “So, you don’t spend your weekends playing golf?” 

The wraith of her deceased marriage hovered nearby; she willed it away. 

Steve smiled and sipped his wine. “Well, from time to time, I used to drag my sorry ass and my clubs around a golf course, but to call what I did there, ‘playing golf’ would be charitable. I’ve been trying to play that goddam game for about 20 years and I have yet to break 100. To be half-way good at the game, you have to be really committed: you have to play 2 or even 3 times a week.” 

She watched him stare off again, remembering. “I worked such long hours, and travelled so much when my kids were small, that the last thing I wanted to do was to spend 6 hours every summer Saturday or Sunday – or both – on the golf course. He turned back and met her eyes. 

“Besides, a good day for golf is a better day to sail or ride my bike or hike.” 

A mental image of Steve, with his kids, on a sail boat, smiling at them, warmed her – but, the image was elbowed out of her mind by one of her and Chloe, at home by themselves seemingly every nice, summer weekend, while her husband disappeared early in the mornings and breezed in by dinner time – sometimes not until later – spending the day – their family time - on that damn golf course. Resentment rose like bile and she blurted out, “My husband would much rather spend all weekend with his buddies playing golf and drinking beer than spend a little time with his daughter and in the winter, it was hockey, or poker night”—she made herself stop. Her cheeks warmed, and she felt really dumb. Steve’s expression was kindly and open – which only made it worse.

“I’m sorry, Steve. You don’t want to hear about that.” 

She shifted awkwardly in her seat and looked around and away from him. “I’m not very good at this. I spent 17 years with the same man…I never expected to be on a date at 40.”

Steve smiled, “I thought you were 41”—kidding her. 

She laughed, feeling a little better. “Right, I was trying to forget.”

“You know, Kelly, there’s no script, or format for this. We’re just here to have a little wine, some great food, and enjoy each other’s company.”

She appreciated his understanding and relaxed a little. She realized how sensitive talking about ex’s could be in a situation like this. She was learning as she went along. But, since she’d brought it up, she decided to probe a little. 

“Okay, to even things out, is there something about your ex-wife that bothered you?”

His face changed as if a dark cloud had passed over it. 

“Probably,” he said, and it was clear that’s all there was going to be.

She knew a Pandora’s Box when she saw one. Wow, she thought, there’s some serious pain going on in there. She changed the subject. 

“I like to work out too,” she said. “I love running – although I have trouble keeping to a schedule with work.” 

The shadow had passed, and he was listening to her again with a friendly interest. 

“I like to run three or four times a week, but I’m lucky if I get two runs in. Do you like to run, Steve?”

“Only if someone’s chasing me.”

She laughed. “So, I could get you to run if I chased you?”

“For a little.” He gave her an impish smile. “Then I’d let you catch me.” 

That made her laugh – and tingle, and her cheeks warmed as she realized that the outcome of this evening presented an array of choices, that it would be up to her to decide, and that the time for her decision wasn’t far off.

Fabienne sailed past, picking up their salad plates.

Knowing that he could see her blushing made her cheeks feel hotter. She sensed he was trying to dial it back a little when he said, “What else do you like to do in your free time?”

“I love yoga, when I can.” 

Knowing the answer would likely be ‘no’, she asked, “Have you ever done yoga?”

“I have it almost every morning, as part of a healthy breakfast.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. She clarified unnecessarily, playing along. “Yoga, not yogurt.” 

“Oh right, I’ve been meaning to try that – but I’m afraid I might start levitating and whack my head on the ceiling. And besides, I find the pants really bunch up in the butt.”

She laughed out loud picturing him stuffed into yoga pants. She enjoyed having him kid her. She loved it, actually.

“Okay, so yoga’s off the list.”

Fabienne arrived at their table and placed their plates in front of them, then picked up the carafe and topped up their glasses. She smiled at them. “Enjoy,” she said and moved on. 

Kelly savoured both the sight and the aroma of her plate: the pickerel was seared golden and crispy; the lardons were cubed and sizzling and lay over the fish mixed with the sliced chanterelles. The steam rising from her plate filled her nostrils. She sliced and gathered a forkful with all three ingredients; the combination of her hunger and the incredible flavour complex was blissful. She thought of the stir fry she typically threw together for dinner; there was no comparison to this. 

“Mmm, this is so good,” Kelly said.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Steve said. “Mine’s good too.”

Kelly couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten something prepared and presented with this much artfulness and expertise. Mother’s guilt jabbed her as she reflected on the simple fare she typically tossed in the wok for Chloe at the end of a day. Maybe she could make a little more of an effort, she thought.

Thinking of food gave her an angle to probe a little more.

“Do you like to cook, Steve?”

He swallowed a bite of steak, and said, “Um, actually, not really. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like to do it; I’m just not very good at it. The truth is, until the last few years, I never really had to.” 

He looked a little guilty. “I guess that’s not a very evolved thing to admit.”

“Well, all you need to do is watch the Food Channel,” Kelly said encouragingly. “You’ll be an expert in no time.” 

“I suppose that’s true,” Steve said, noncommittally, which made her smile. She realized that wasn’t going to happen in a million years. 

“Watching the Food Channel is one of my guilty pleasures.” Kelly said. Even if I know I’ll never make what’s being shown, I love watching it being prepared.”

Steve was nodding. “It’s amazing how popular cooking shows have become, to the point where they have their own channel.” He took a sip of the pinot. “And who knew there was so much competition and drama.”

“I know,” Kelly said. “The drama’s part of the fun.”

Steve looked thoughtful for a moment. “I remember when I was young, I’d come home from school, and my mother would usually be watching a really popular cooking show – long before there was a whole channel devoted to it – called the Galloping Gourmet. The chef was an English guy, and he charmed the ladies in the studio audience, and at home, like my mom, with his accent and stories as he showed them how to make beef bourguignon with béarnaise sauce and cherries jubilee.” Steve smiled at the memory. “At the end of the show, after everything was prepared he set a table for two on the stage and walked down and took one of the ladies in the audience by the hand and led her to the table to share the sumptuous meal he’d just made. The ladies adored him.” 

He took another sip of wine. “Now cooking shows are all about ‘LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY FUCKING SOUFFLE!’”

Kelly burst out laughing. “I know, right?” 

She briefly caught the eye of a woman at a nearby table and detected what seemed like envy. The woman sat with a man busily scarfing down his food. The woman probably thought Kelly was having a much better time than she was; she’s probably right, Kelly thought, not without sympathy. She took a sip of her wine and looked at Steve who was slicing his steak and still smiling from his reminiscence. She took advantage of his averted attention to study his features: she loved his smile lines - she loved his smile; his hair was short on the sides and longer on top, a little tousled but less so than the male fashion of the day; she could see the stubble forming on his cheeks and jaw after the long day, and liked how it looked on him – but imagined it would be very scratchy against her face – and had a sudden realization that she might feel his face against hers that night, soon – and he looked up from his plate and met her eyes with his own, a warm blue and gray, and he smiled at her before he put his fork in his mouth. She felt caught out and knew he knew she’d been staring at him. Trying to be casual, she loaded up her fork with the different elements from her plate and offered her fork to him.

“You should try this, Steve. It’s delicious.” 

He took her fork, and upped the tempo of his chewing and swallowed, then followed it with Kelly’s forkful. 

“Mmm. What kind of fish is this?”

“Pickerel. It’s good isn’t it? In Chinese restaurants, they steam it, then serve it whole on a platter at the table; the waiter slices it lengthwise, then removes the whole skeleton and sets it aside.” 

She giggled, a little self-conscious about her peoples’ table etiquette. “Then, everybody digs in.”

“That sounds good. Whenever I dine out with Chinese people, here or in China, or Hong Kong or Taiwan, I’m always amazed at how much food gets ordered – but it all gets eaten.”

Kelly laughed. “We tend to have big appetites.”

Steve’s brow knit, and he indicated her plate. “Is that going to be enough for you?”

Kelly looked down at her plate, now almost empty. The truth was, she was used to bigger portions – but there was no way on earth she was going to admit that. 

“Of course, it’s just right.”

Steve took Kelly’s fork and sliced a big piece of his filet mignon and lathered on some peppercorn sauce and handed it to her. “Here, try some of mine. It’s amazing.”

Kelly lifted the fork to her mouth. The beef was incredibly tender; she bit down on a whole peppercorn and felt its fire on her tongue; she swallowed and took a sip of wine for a perfect finish. She hadn’t enjoyed food this much in as long as she could remember. 

She looked at Steve who was smiling at her. 

“How was it?” he asked. 

“Absolutely delicious.” She smiled back at him. “Thank you for taking me here, Steve. It’s…perfect.” 

“I had a feeling you’d like it.” 

Her wine glass was nearly empty; Steve picked up the carafe and added more. Smiling her thanks, she picked up the glass and took a sip, then regarded him over the rim. So far, she had found out a little about what he liked to do in his spare time – and that he’d had a marriage breakdown too painful to discuss, which had left her in a cul-de-sac. She chose a different road to discover the man behind the beautiful suit and blue-gray eyes. 

“I looked you up on Linkedin,” she began. “You’ve had a very interesting career trajectory.” 

Steve smiled wistfully. “It’s been interesting, that’s for sure.”

It was clear he wouldn’t elaborate without more prodding. “What made you leave a promising career with a global technology company to take a flyer on a start up?”

Steve smiled, like a mischievous little boy. “Honestly?”

She nodded.

“I could never stand anyone telling me what to do.”

Kelly laughed. “Seriously?”

Steve laughed along with her, but a little sheepishly because it was the truth. 

“It’s stupid, I know. I spent ten years working for other people, but a couple of guys I knew in business school had this idea – I don’t want to boast, but it was a half-formed idea – and I kind of saw the potential that they hadn’t seen – they were too close to it, I guess – and, anyway, it turned out to be not too bad once we got it going.”

Not too bad, she thought. The company that Steve and his university friends had started was a spectacular technology success story. They had done an IPO for hundreds of millions of dollars. The company was eventually acquired by a major, established hi-tech company – actually, it was a competitor to Pyrotech – but it’s initial products still influenced their categories today more than fifteen years later. 

“You’re hardly boasting, Steve. You – and your friends – created a whole new…a whole new way of going out and dealing with the world. You changed how people …do things.”

Steve smiled bashfully. “Well…we thought so… at the time.” 

She looked at his face and could see he was genuinely humble; this was not false modesty. He looked off. She could see he was thinking, reminiscing; there was more to come, so she waited, listening.

He turned back to her. “Back then, all I wanted to do was make a ton of money. I thought money was the goal, the end-game.” 

He pursed his lips. “Well, I made a ton of money.” 

He leaned forward, placing an elbow on the table. 

“I tell you this, not to impress you, because I don’t think that matters to you, Kelly – and you wouldn’t need me, or any man, for financial security; you take care of that yourself. 

“I’ve come to realize that money has no intrinsic value, but it can buy you the only thing that does, which is time. The greatest thing about wealth isn’t the stuff it can buy you; the greatest thing is it lets you choose to only ever be where you want to be.”

In spite of the room full of people, she felt as though the two of them, seated not quite side by side and not quite facing each other on the crescent shaped banquette, were the only people there. He was starting to open up to her, and she decided to draw him out by teasing him a little. 

“Hmm, so, since you’ve chosen to be at Pyrotech, if you can be anywhere you want to be, you must want to be there.”

He laughed. “I want to be here, with you.” 

He looked directly in her eyes. “In fact, there’s nowhere on earth, I’d rather be at this moment.” 

She liked that, a lot. 

He seemed to hesitate, then, “The truth is I need to be at Pyrotech.”

She knew he was at the point of revealing something deeply personal and she was eager to know, but she sat still and quiet, giving him her full attention, waiting patiently for him to tell it when he was ready.

Steve picked up his wine glass and drank the last mouthful. 

“I had a pretty good run of luck – for almost fifteen years. I went from one successful start up to another, each of them grew rapidly and exited either with an IPO or an acquisition – then my luck ran out.”

He picked up the carafe and was about to pour it in his glass, then, remembering his manners, he reached over and offered the carafe to Kelly, who smiled and shook her head, placing her hand over her glass. She’d had enough for now; and she sensed he needed it more than she did. He tipped the carafe and topped up his glass, picked it up and took a generous taste.

“A few of my original partners and I, approached Petr Dusek with what we thought was a killer idea and he agreed. He put in most of the seed capital, and later, the majority of the Series A financing round. We started developing it, and it went well – at first. Then, we got bogged down, butting heads over minor details, started missing milestones and our burn rate was double the plan…it all started to take a well-worn path downhill – we had defections from key people, morale was shitty – actually not unlike what we’re facing now in Pyrotech. Finally, a couple of us stepped up and took charge, did a major re-organization, held people to commitments, and we eventually produced a pretty good working prototype – but we’d run out of cash. The principals, we could get by without a paycheque, but the engineers reasonably expected to be paid - they could take their skillsets anywhere. So, we went to Petr with a business case for bridge financing – six months, that’s all we needed, and we would have been market ready. But, Petr said, ‘no’. He’s completely unemotional about his investments - which, I guess, is why he’s a billionaire. He doesn’t get involved in the day to day, but when a project’s off the rails, he cuts his losses.”

Would Petr cut his losses at Pyrotech? Kelly thought. She listened. Steve looked down for a moment, then met her eyes. 

“I couldn’t stand the idea of…of failing. I put some more of my personal capital in, and we went on for a few more months…but even if I’d put in every cent I had, the clock would have run out: the company would have been still-born, and I would have lost everything.”

He held his glass by the stem and stared at the wine as he swirled it.

He smiled philosophically and looked up at her. “Without Petr’s support, the company imploded; we didn’t even have everything patented. It’s hard to keep a secret in this industry and the concept was widely known by then, and it was inevitable that another company would develop and launch it. And, as you probably know, another company did.” 

He punctuated this last with a big swallow from his glass. 

He was reliving and sharing a painful memory; she could have offered comforting words, but platitudes weren’t going to salve this wound. She listened.

“It’s kind of a truism that if you’re going to be an entrepreneur you need to become best friends with failure. You’re going to have to try and fail, try and fail, over and over again, until you finally find the gold at the end of the rainbow. 

“But, I hadn’t ever failed before. I had no idea just how much it sucked. I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter, that I had money, I could do whatever I wanted, I didn’t need to work or get into another business. I tried that for a while – I had a lot of fun sailing and travelling the world and contributing to charitable causes I believed in – but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had unfinished business, that I needed to find something…something I could really dig into and make a difference and – and succeed. I realized about myself that I’m not motivated by money, but by fear of failure.”

Kelly listened, riveted. 

“The last person in the world I expected to hear from again was Petr Dusek. When he called me and told me about Pyrotech, and asked me to join, I couldn’t believe it; I couldn’t believe he still had confidence in me.”

He gave a little laugh, remembering. “Petr asked me, ‘do you know how many times I’ve failed?’. I said, ‘how many?’ He said, ‘I have no idea, I never think about it.’”

Kelly smiled. This was fascinating for her. Petr Dusek was a legend in the technology sector. He was the principal shareholder of Pyrotechnique. She’d never met him, only heard about him, and she was intrigued by hearing about Steve’s personal relationship with him. 

“That made me feel a lot better – and he’d given me a shot at redemption. I’d only heard rumours about Athena – and rumblings about the problems, but I was ready to dive in. After I came on board and was disclosed on the project, and started to learn everything about it, I couldn’t believe how fantastic it was – and just how daunting it was going to be to complete it and launch it on time.”

He paused, then opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again.

Kelly looked at him. “Tell me.”

He smiled and shook his head. “It’s kind of fitting that the project code name – Athena – is from ancient Greek mythology. The ancient Greeks loved irony: for me Athena could be an even bigger failure than the one I was trying to redeem myself from.”

It was obvious to Kelly, that this was deeply personal for him and she loved the fact that he trusted her enough to share it with her. She wished she could find a way to reassure him. 

“Regardless of what happens with Athena, Steve, you stepped up and took on a huge challenge. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

He looked at the table and sighed. “The truth is, if Athena crashes and burns, my credibility and reputation in the industry will take a swan dive into the toilet. In the technology sector, two strikes and you’re out.”

She placed her hand over his. “We won’t let that happen.” 

Steve smiled at her, grateful for her encouragement. 

“Hey, your team’s going to have a great time marketing Athena,” Steve said.

“Oh my god, will we ever. The small group of people who know the details of Athena are going bonkers, they can’t wait.” 

Her voice took on an edge. “And thanks to Robert Bokitis, we have our launch plan ready – way ahead of schedule.” 

Her voice softened. “Actually, thanks to you.” 

Steve’s smile was humble – genuinely. That was one of the things she loved about him: he seemed to have almost no ego; so unlike so many of the men she knew, especially executives. Their egos filled the air around them like bad cologne. Her husband was a bit like that. Kelly shook her head to banish him from the table where he’d crept back. 

“My marketing team has the fun part. We couldn’t do our thing without your people in product development doing the heavy lifting,” she said. 

Steve nodded. “The people on my team are among the best I’ve ever worked with. Honestly, it’s a privilege. I’ve pretty much decided that Niki is my heir apparent. And there’re some phenomenal young people full of potential – if they stay. Michelle Robinson could be right behind Niki.”

Kelly thought about the MC where Michelle had presented – tried to present – the user interface for Athena. “I felt so bad for Michelle at the MC,” Kelly said. “Robert can be such a bastard.” 

An image of Steve, closing the door to the board room after Michelle had left, and spinning around, his face flushed with rage, his eyes boring into Robert…this easy-going, gentle man carried a dangerous passion deep inside, that was awakened at an adversary’s peril. 

Steve’s face clouded over. “Yes, he can. Be a bastard.”

Kelly regretted bringing him up and altered course.

“You know, Steve, Athena is an absolute marketer’s dream: it’s in a well-established category, but it’s going to transform the category and change everyone’s expectations. It’s not going to depend on marketing; it’s going to sell itself.”

Steve held her eyes, listening and nodding slightly. 

“I think all that’s true,” he said, “but, don’t underestimate the importance of your team’s marketing support for Athena, especially at launch. After all, Athena’s not a necessity for most people - they have to want it.” 

He smiled playfully. “The best marketing is seduction, isn’t it? People don’t need any help with what they need; that takes care of itself. They need help with what they want; overcoming their second thoughts, like ‘do I really need this?’ when, of course, they don’t need tablets and sports cars and Italian leather shoes, but they do want them. Marketing helps people get what they want. The reality is that most people can survive without most of what they have - but reality’s no fun. Marketing is…reality’s seductress.” 

Kelly laughed. “I never looked at it that way. I’ve never thought of myself as a seductress.”

Steve gave her a mischievous grin. “No one, man or woman, was ever seduced that didn’t want to be.”

Steve’s impish expression turned grim. “I think we’d be able to launch on time, but not unless Linda – I mean – Robert, agrees to let me bring in the people I need. The critical thing now is testing, especially the use case simulations. We can’t get that done without people.”

Kelly considered Robert. “He seems like such a deeply unhappy man.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Steve said with bitter irony. 

“I don’t know why Robert can’t get past the short-term focus on profit and see the people you need to hire for Athena, as the – the investment we need to survive – much less prosper,” Kelly said. She shook her head. “You’d almost think he was trying to make us fail.”

Kelly straightened up and smiled. “Okay, no more work talk.”

“I’m in.”

Kelly was slowly discovering Steve. When he’d arrived at her home, he was like an outline in a child’s colouring book. Little by little, as he talked, and she listened, the colours were filling in. 

“Do you have family, here in Toronto, Steve?”

“My mother and my older sister both live here. My parents come from Ottawa. I was born there but we moved here when I was a baby.”

He hadn’t mentioned his father, which meant his parents were divorced and his father lived in another city, or…

“I lost my dad three years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. That must have been hard.” 

He nodded, and she could see in his face that it had been. She thought of her own parents. Her father’s health was declining – and it was a trial for her mother trying to deal with his stubbornness as he continually strayed from his diet, drank whisky and cognac against his doctor’s orders, missed his medication, and – worst of all – snuck outside to smoke. 

She loved her father and couldn’t bear the thought of losing him; she could imagine how hard it had been for Steve to lose his. He had become quiet; she wanted to hear about it, to let him tell her how he felt, but knew his feelings would be fragile. She watched him smile, knowing he was remembering him.

“My dad was an old school gentleman.”

Kelly smiled and listened.

“When I was a teenager, and starting to, um, notice girls, the only thing my dad ever said to me was, ‘Stevie, I never want to hear that you haven’t behaved as a gentleman’.”

She watched as he smiled and looked off over her shoulder at a grainy image of that long-ago conversation. 

“My dad…I guess you could say that he spoke with an economy of words - but a wealth of meaning. What he’d said to me is probably what his father had said to him. When he was a young man, living in Ottawa – which was kind of a small town then -- everyone – neighbours -- the community – knew everyone, and if you stepped out of line, everyone knew. That must have been a powerful incentive to stay out of trouble – or at least be discrete about it.” 

He shook his head. “Now, when you’re indiscrete, you tweet about it.”

Kelly smiled. “So, did your dad ever hear that you hadn’t behaved as a gentleman?” 

“Well…he never heard about it.”

She laughed. “I can’t imagine you being a bad boy.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “When it comes to learning how to behave with girls, boys are like cattle: we wander aimlessly, and it isn’t until we walk into an electrified fence that we’re jolted into understanding limits.” His tone became ironic. “On the long, jagged, rocky road to manhood, most boys have to learn the hard way how to be gentlemen: or to be blunt, they need to get their faces slapped a few times before they understand boundaries.”

She gave him some amused side-eye. “So, did you get your face slapped?”

He laughed. “Well, maybe…once…or possibly twice.”

“Hmm - hey, didn’t you pinch my bum?”

“Um, yeah, I think I did. I was kinda hoping you’d forgotten.”

She gave him another sidelong smile. “So, you were a bad boy. Maybe I should have slapped you.”

“You had every right to.” He was completely serious. 

Kelly thought about it for a moment. “I think girls, at that age, tolerate a little hand wandering because they know intuitively that boys are finding their way. Most of them grow up and become responsible husbands and fathers – they become men – most of them.”

He nodded. He regarded her quietly for a few moments. “You may think I’m just saying this to flatter you…but…I remember that time vividly. In the twenty-five minutes from the time I first saw you to the time I left the party, I went from interest to…infatuation. Not just because you were pretty – the campus was full of pretty girls. But you…I don’t know… you affected me.” 

Fabienne arrived beside their table at that moment, to clear their plates. 

“How is everything?” she asked, and as they each looked from one another to her, she became aware she’d interrupted, broken a kind of spell.

This was the time in her drill, to promote the desserts, coffee and digestifs. She smiled, took their plates and faded, catching Kelly’s eye and winking discretely as she did so. 

The moments before had been intensifying. Fabienne’s arrival had the effect of making them each a little self-conscious and aware of being in a public place and being drawn into a private moment of truth. They sat back and smiled, each empathizing for the other’s discomfiture. 

Not wanting Steve to close up, Kelly picked up on his conversation about his father.

“I bet your father was very proud of you.”

She saw a momentary grimace pass across his face like a shadow. 

“Yes, he was, I think.” He smiled but his eyes winced. 

After a moment, Steve smiled again, and this time the wince was gone.

“He lived a good life, and he enjoyed his life – especially after he retired.”

Kelly listened, smiling to encourage him. 

“When my dad retired, he and my mother used to spend their winters in Portugal, in Lisbon and on the Algarve coast. I remember my dad telling me a story about how he used to go to a little café in the morning, not far from their hotel in Lisbon, for a cup of coffee and to pick up a newspaper. One morning, he was walking along, and he heard ‘Senor, Senor!’, and he turned to see a young woman – a streetwalker, or – well, I guess, she was a prostitute. She approached him and made some kind of proposition.” 

He smiled at the memory of the story. “A lot of men would have ignored her, or told her to get lost, but it would have been unthinkable for my father to speak disrespectfully to a woman – any woman. So, he said, ‘You know, my dear, I’m really much too old for you’, and he carried on to the café and had his coffee and read his International Herald Tribune. On his way back to the hotel, he heard ‘Senor, Senor!’, and he turned to look –- and the young woman was standing beside a middle-aged woman –- possibly her aunt or mother – pointing to her, both of them smiling and waving. My dad smiled and waved back and hurried along, back to his hotel.” 

Steve laughed, and Kelly joined him. It was a wonderful story, and it was so sweet hearing Steve tell it; his love and admiration for his father came through in every word. And as she was beginning to know him, it was clear how much his father’s influence had shaped the man Steve had become. 

“I’m sorry I never got the chance to meet him, Steve.”

“Me, too.” He said wistfully. “He would have been crazy about you. He loved intelligent, accomplished women. His mother couldn’t cook – she burned everything; but she was a suffragette, and wrote a column for a local newspaper, and she bought and sold property at a time when women weren’t thought to know how. His sisters were university educated. My mother was his intellectual equal. You would have fit right in.”

Steve fell silent and his eyes drifted down to the table, seeing there the memories which were all he had left of his father. After a few moments, his eyes met hers and she watched as he smiled the awkward smile that a man uses to camouflage the battle he’s fighting to keep his emotions hidden, in the untrue belief that letting them flow freely would make him seem weak. His father had been gone for almost three years, but it was obvious to her that his heart was still broken. Her own heart ached as she saw his eyes glisten and saw his brave little smile. 

Not wishing to worsen his self-consciousness, she busied herself rearranging the position of her wine glass, raising her napkin unnecessarily from her lap to her lips. She knew he’d been hit with the hard, sucker punch that loss delivers at random, and he was visibly trying to hold it at bay. She felt compassion and helplessness for his sadness and for the struggle he felt obligated to endure to hide it. After a few moments, when she met his eyes again, he was perfectly composed. How did they do that? 

If Steve had been a woman, Kelly would hold her hand while she cried; she would listen, and maybe cry too, and hug her and give her a tissue, and when the hurt subsided, they’d laugh a little and both would feel better; each would feel less alone; they would feel connected. 

But Steve was a man. 

“I’m ready for a recharge, how about you?” He was holding the carafe over her glass, still half-filled, eyebrows raised in polite query. She glanced up at him: if he’d been in emotional turmoil a few moments ago, you’d never know it know it now. She felt mild amazement at how forcefully men could contain their emotions; and a little sadness that they so badly felt they needed to. 

“Sure, thanks,” she said, smiling at him.

He poured a splash in her glass, obviously knowing from her half-filled glass that she really didn’t need a refill but making the gesture out of politeness and to smooth over the uncomfortable moment he probably felt responsible for and to restore the easy mood before it. He poured a healthy dollop into his own glass and immediately gulped it down. He smiled at her as if nothing at all had happened. 

She nevertheless reached over and covered his hand with hers and gave a little squeeze, to try to tell him that it’s okay – okay to feel sad, okay to show it when he was with her. 

In his smile, she thought she could see that he understood and was grateful.

His momentary display of emotion made her remember, with a twinge of unease, when she had lost it on the stairwell landing. And Steve had been there, right there, when she stood alone needing someone, by listening, holding her, and assuming a share of her burden as he encircled her in the comfort and strength of his arms; without judgement, or condescension or ridicule. She knew, by everything that had happened since, that his respect for her had not diminished. She wished she could make him understand that she would be there for him if he ever needed her in exactly the same way. 

From the memory of his embrace on the landing, her mind wandered to later that night – or that morning – when they had met there again; she could see again his hand, covering hers on his heart, visibly throbbing to the rhythm of his pounding heart. Her own heart had thrilled as his had thumped under her palm; she could palpably feel his yearning for her. And then, when he kissed her…

She looked up to see him smiling at her, as though he were reading her mind, and her cheeks warmed. She reached for her glass and almost knocked it over, spilling a splotch onto the table cloth as she grasped it and brought it to her lips. 

She thought again of the decision she would have to make later – soon – when dinner was over, and they left the restaurant. She felt butterflies of anxiety – and anticipation. What would it be like with him? An image of him standing, soaking wet and shirtless in his office materialized and she saw herself walk up to him, place her hands on his bare chest, and felt his bare arms around her, his hands on her lower back, pulling her off balance as he pulled her in and up against him, feeling his mouth on hers, tilting her head back as his hand squeezed her bottom and pressed her hard against him, feeling him through his damp pants gently grind against her and tingling down there…

“What about your family, Kelly?” 

She’d been looking at him but had been seeing him in a very different place as her mind had wandered, and at the sound of his voice his face came into focus, bumping the office fantasy to a corner of her mind, but the tingling lingered...She blinked and straightened her posture and processed what he’d said.

She cleared her throat. “My family?”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” he asked. The needle had skipped but was back in the first date groove. 

In another moment she had fully transitioned from the reverie of feeling his body and his hands on her; she was back in her seat and he was in his, untouched within arm’s reach. 

“One of each”, she said. “An older brother and a younger sister.” 

“Hmm, a middle child.”

“I am. And because I’m the eldest girl, I got the brunt of the strictness from our parents.” 

She saw him smiling encouragingly, so she continued.

“Boys are treated like princes in a Chinese family, so my older brother basically did whatever he wanted, with my father indulging him and Mommy – my mom – waiting on him hand and foot.” 

She saw Steve smile at the diminutive she used for her mother. She’d always called her mother, “Mommy” – and hoped her daughter would always do the same with her – but she felt a little self-conscious saying it in front of Steve. She thought he must think it childish coming from a grown woman, but he didn’t smirk or comment. 

“So, were you a rebellious teenager?”

She grinned. “Well, I tried to be. But, the wildest thing I ever did was have a boyfriend in high school – which my father had forbidden me to do.”

Steve feigned shock. “Oh my.”

She shook her head wistfully. “I wonder where he is now.”

Looking at her and without irony, Steve said, “Somewhere suffering a broken heart.”

“No,” she said, laughing, made self-conscious by his guilelessness. “I’m sure he’s not. I’m sure he’s forgotten all about me, long ago.”

Still without irony, Steve said, “It’s not possible to forget you, Kelly.” 

She was warming and becoming a little flustered. She reached again for her wine glass. 

She wasn’t looking at him, but she nevertheless knew he sensed her discomfiture, confirming it by asking, more generically, “Tell me more about your family, Kelly. So, after your wild days in high school, what was it like when you left home to go to university?”

She swallowed the sip of wine she’d taken and thought, for the first time in years, about the day her family had driven her to London, Ontario, to move her into the women’s university residence that was to be her new home, and her eyes stung at the memory of hugging her mother, the two of them sobbing, in what was for a Chinese family a rare expression of unconcealed, raw, true emotion. She took another sip of her wine.

“I haven’t thought of that in years,” she said. “I was the first child to leave home. My brother’s older, but he went to U of T so lived at home.”

“Easier for his mother to wait on him hand and foot,” Steve said kidding her. She liked that he’d been listening. 

“Everything was fine on the drive to university and while we were unpacking, but when it came time to leave my mother and I, and my little sister bawled our eyes out. I remember feeling homesick and they hadn’t even left.”

“How was your father in all this?”

Kelly smiled remembering. “Well, he cleared his throat a lot.”

“I’ll be he did.”

“And my brother wasn’t even in my room – he was roaming the halls checking out the girls,” she said, in a tone both peevish and indulgent. Steve said nothing, but she could see he was interested so she went on. “But, I’m glad I went away to university; it made me grow up and become independent. Chinese girls usually don’t leave home until they’re married.” 

“That seems reasonable to me. I don’t want my daughter to leave home – ever.”

Kelly smiled. “What about you? What was it like to leave home?”

Steve looked thoughtful. “Well, to tell you the truth, I remember being so anxious to grow up and become a man, that I didn’t really feel much”—he searched for the words—“heartache.” He looked off a little. “I really wasn’t very sensitive to what it meant for my parents…years later my mother told me that when my dad was carrying a box to the car, he said to her, ‘I remember the day I carried him home for the first time; and now he’s moving away.’”

“Ohhh, that must have been hard - on both of them.”

“I’m sure it was; she had tears in her eyes when she told me.”

The nostalgia made them quiet for a moment. They smiled comfortably at one another. 

“I hope someday I can meet your mother, she sounds great,” Kelly said, a little tentatively. It was a gentle probe, a subtle test of commitment. He didn’t avert his gaze, or mumble or change the subject: he met her eyes and said, “I hope so too. She’d love you.” 

Meeting parents, even at this age – at any age – was a major relationship milestone. She, not even certain herself that there would come a point where she would want to take that step, nevertheless had something to put in her back pocket. 

Fabienne arrived at their table. “How was everything?”

“Great,” Steve said.

“Lovely,” Kelly agreed.

“May I bring you anything else?”

Steve looked at Kelly with raised eyebrows. She smiled and shook her head.

“No, that’s everything, thanks Fabienne. Just the cheque please,” Steve said. 

Butterflies invaded Kelly’s stomach. They would shortly get up from the table and leave the restaurant. What she going to do? What did he intend to do? Would he kiss her at her door? Did he want to kiss her? Should she invite him in? What if he asked her to come home with him? What would MJ do? Maybe she should text her – what was she thinking? Of course, she couldn’t reveal she was on a date with Steve. She needed to calm down.

“I have to use the ladies room.” 

Steve stood at his end of the curved bench when she slid out and stood at hers. 

Steve pointed to the staircase in the middle of the room. “It’s down the stairs, then turn right, past the kitchen.”

Panic made her smile feel like a grimace; she turned and headed toward the stairs. 

With her dress hiked up and her undies around her ankles, hovering just above the toilet seat while she peed, she thought, if only Steve could see her now, what a sexy image this would be. She giggled.

As she washed her hands, she examined her face in the mirror, moving her head to catch the light. She subjected her body to scrutiny. An image of her and Steve, naked in bed, flashed into her mind. Was she ready for that? To show herself that way to Steve, to any man? With her husband, nakedness was familiar – it was mundane. It had been so long since it mattered, since she was actually looked at – actually seen – by a man. She began to feel shy and very self-conscious. As she leaned over to rinse her hands, the neckline of her dress opened revealing her bra and breasts; she instinctively drew one of her wet hands up to cover herself. 

As she dried her hands, a smartly dressed woman Kelly guessed to be in her sixties, joined her at the counter to wash her hands. She met Kelly’s eyes in the mirror and smiled. 

Kelly smiled back and said, “Are you enjoying your evening?”

“Very much. And you?”

“Yes, I’m having a wonderful time.”

The woman said, “I couldn’t help notice you and your gentleman friend. You make a striking couple.”

Kelly smiled. “Thank you.”

The woman sighed. “I’d give anything to have a man look at me again, the way that young man looks at you.” 

Steve slid out from the banquette and stood as Kelly returned from the ladies’ room. Her panic had abated, in fact, now she was feeling a warm and tingly anticipation of what might come – intensified at the sight of him standing, like the gentleman he was, smiling at her, tall and lean, his gray suit perfectly fitted, the jacket open giving a slightly tousled effect to his otherwise perfect grooming.

As they sat, Fabienne returned with the check on a dish and placed it on the table in front of Steve – and Kelly felt butterflies again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said, and moved away.

Steve reached for it.

On an impulse, Kelly reached to take the check from him. “I can pay for my share.” 

He held it out of reach. “This is on me, Kelly.”

“Steve, it’s not 1950. I can afford to pay my way.”

“I know. That it’s not 1950, and that you can afford to pay your own way. But, putting aside chivalry, I invited you. It would just be plain bad manners to split the cheque.”

“But, I don’t want you to feel you have to.”

“I don’t feel that. I’ll tell you what: if you invite me to dinner, then you can pick up the check.” He smiled cheekily.

“Okay, then,” she said, playing along. “Would you care to have dinner with me?”

“Thank you, but I’ve already had dinner.” 

Okay, she thought; she walked right into that and laughed and rolled her eyes. 

“Would you care to have dinner with me next week, then?”

“I’d love to,” Steve said. 

“Oh, you know what?” Kelly pursed her lips. “Next week is my turn to have Chloe for the weekend.”

“No worries,” said Steve, “another time.”

Kelly frowned and considered the situation.

“She’s 13. She wants to be a big girl. She’d probably be alright home alone…I could get my parents to stop by to check on her…”

Steve shook his head, serious. 

“No, she needs her time with you – you need your time with her.”

“I really would like to – to see you again”.

“There’s nothing I’d like better too, but, Kelly, as long as we’re…we’re friends, I never want you to feel torn between me and Chloe. She always comes first, every single time.”

She felt relief as though a vague conflict yet to happen had been settled in advance. 

“I suppose there’s lots you can do on a Friday night, anyway.”

“Well, yes,” he said, with the ironic tone she was becoming familiar with. “I have been planning on re-arranging my sock drawer. I can finally get around to that.”

She laughed. “I’m sure you can easily find something more exciting to do,” subtly probing the defenses of his private life and intentions.

“Honestly? I’m a very dull guy. If I weren’t here with you, I’d probably be reading, or watching the Daily Shows I recorded on my PVR this week. I’m not really a club guy, even when I was single – I mean before getting married - it wasn’t really my thing.”

She was liking the sound of this and listened. 

“It’s Iike, I just don’t seem to know…how to act – how to put on the, kind of, club attitude. I just feel like an imposter. I can’t keep a straight face. I’ve never been good at pick-up lines. ‘Hey baby, let me show you my etchings’, or ‘why don’t you show me your etchings’. What the hell are etchings?” 

She laughed. He was kind of a goofball. A very likable goofball. 

They sat in a comfortable silence. The wine had settled on Kelly like a warm blanket. Steve was casually looking around the room; Kelly watched him, savouring the look of him just as she had the food and wine. The anticipation – and uncertainty – welled up and resolved into a shiver along her back. Steve looked at her and smiled shyly, which was so hot she hoped her expression back wasn’t a leer. 

Fabienne came to their table and processed Steve’s credit card through a terminal. 

She handed back his card and said, “Thank you. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” and tossed a quick, meaningful look at Kelly, then smiled and left them.

Fabienne apparently had clear expectations of what was to come even if Kelly didn’t. 

Steve looked at Kelly and raised his eyebrows. “Ready?”

Was she? For a fragmentary moment she’d interpreted his question as ready for…but, of course, he meant was she ready to leave. 

“Yes, sure – are you? Ready?” 

Her fluster made his raised eyebrows furrow slightly in puzzlement – then amusement, as though he had again read her mind. 

He smiled at her – friendly, not mocking. “Yes.”

They stood, and he raised his arm in an expansive ‘after you’ gesture. She smiled, turned and began walking the narrow aisle between the row of booths on one side and tables on the other toward the front of the restaurant with Steve behind her; her awareness of Steve behind her made her ass-conscious and awkwardness stiffened and wobbled her gait; she willed nonchalance and more or less recovered her poise. As they passed the maître d’ lectern, she saw Alison wink behind her at Steve; she then asked Kelly how their dinner was. 

“Everything was wonderful, thanks Alison,” Kelly said.

Alison then winked at her. 

“Come and see us again soon,” Alison said to the two of them. 

Steve pulled open the door to the hallway leading to the front door and Kelly stepped through. Walking down the corridor made Kelly even more acutely aware that a moment of truth was fast approaching – it waited on the other side of the door they were walking toward. Would Steve casually walk to the car, drive her home, say “see you on Monday”? Would he kiss her goodnight? Would he –

She felt his grip on her upper arm and felt herself pulled back and around toward him as his other hand slipped around her waist and gathered her in. Her body came forward as though obeying a command, causing her head to tilt and look up to see him smiling playfully, meeting and holding her eyes for a moment then leaning in to kiss her. His lips touched hers tentatively, teasing, a few light pecks, then pressed and probed with increasing passion. She felt excitement – and relief: that settles that, she thought and parted her lips, happily acquiescing to his kisses. 

The sound of chattering and laughter intruded into the hallway as a group of young women entered, heels clicking, from the front door. Kelly drew back, with Steve still holding her. She looked back over her shoulder as one of the women said, “Hey, get a room,” and the others laughed. Smiling and sheepish, Steve released Kelly and moved to let the women pass, inhaling as he did, a redolent rivalry of musky, expensive scents. As they slinked by, heels clacking, the one who had spoken, now beyond and behind Steve, looked back at Kelly and gave her a huge wink and a thumbs up. Kelly smiled at her.

When the inner door had closed behind the young women, and they were alone again in the hallway, Steve took Kelly’s hand and looked into her eyes.

“Well, speaking of rooms, I know of a pretty nice room…. it’s at my house...”

She had been thinking of him that way in ebbs and flows all throughout the evening, remembering him dripping wet and bare-chested in his office, imagining what his body would feel like, remembering the feel of his heart thumping under her hand on the stairwell landing…she had felt close to him, had listened to his private and personal thoughts and memories. She had felt connected, had seen inside his mind and soul, and now she felt as though his heart were on display to her. She wanted him. 

She made up her mind. 

“Okay.” 

They walked around behind the building, to the parking lot in back. It was a beautiful, clear night but it had gotten chilly. Kelly hugged her bare arms and a moment later, Steve slipped off his jacket and settled it on her shoulders and she smiled her thanks. His chivalry and kindness were a natural part of him. It made her think of his father setting an example which Steve had clearly followed. 

As Steve opened the car door for her, she turned again to stare in awe at the Gauguin reproduced on the brick back wall of the building beside Le Select.

“Hidden back here, the artist didn’t seem to care about recognition, it was all about the work. I can only imagine how much work went into that, and the artist made it here, where you’d only see it if you stumbled across it,” she said.

Steve nodded. “I feel lucky I happened to stumble across it. Sometimes you discover something great where you least expect to.”

Kelly looked at him, he was gazing at the art work. She wondered if he was only referring to the painting, or was he suggesting that they had found one another in unlikely circumstances. She hoped so.

Eastbound on the Gardiner Expressway, heading to the Beach and Steve’s home, Kelly felt the same pleasant helplessness of being a passenger in his car, of being conveyed, just as she’d felt on the way to the restaurant. She lay back in the seat, looking out the window to the right where the crescent moon was high and reflected on the water of the lake; the anticipation of what was to come sent a frisson through her body, accompanied by the lingering pleasantness of the wine. 

They drove in a companionable silence. Steve glanced at her from time to time and smiled. She was nervous, but it didn’t manifest itself in skittish small talk. She knew where she was going. 

BOOM 97 was on the radio – like her, Steve was evidently a fan of the 80’s music they had both listened to in their coming of age – and One 2 One’s “Angel in My Pocket” came on, filling her with anticipation as its intro built then launched into the up-tempo, danceable melody and the restrained joy in the lyrics of finding someone wonderful then the happiness bursting into the chorus filled with hope that it would last forever. She lay back in her seat with her eyes half closed, drifting back to 1986, when she believed love did last forever. 

I caught an angel
In my pocket
Got an angel;
He's forever mine

Her head lolled over on the backrest of the seat and she smiled as she looked at his face in profile. He was at ease behind the wheel, gazing ahead, occasionally glancing down at the instrument panel. She so wished she could know what he was thinking. Did he see this night as the beginning of something? Or a completion of something. He was a man who could have any number of women in this seat, casually transporting them from a very pleasant, expensive – and romantic – dinner to his big empty house on the beach, to complete the evening, the last gratification following the cocktails and oysters and main plates and wine. She wondered how many women had sat in her place. Was she just one more?

It was too late to turn back; she knew where she was headed, and she wanted to go there. She shut her eyes against what might come after. But, in the darkened theatre of her imagination, in spite of her efforts to look away, images of Steve in the office, catching her eye in the board room during the Management Committee meetings, of Steve in the coffee line in the company café, of Steve chatting with a group of Pyrotech employees near the third floor bullpen, all floated into her mind bringing a combination of pleasantness and alarm. What was she doing? Steve was her colleague, her peer at her place of work. If she let him take her to his bed, what would he think of her? How would it be with him in the fluorescent light of day in the office? Her want of him throbbed and moistened her down there, and her misgivings held on by their fingertips, at risk of being pushed away by her mounting desire. She looked again out the window to her right, at the slender curve of the moon and willed the censorious images of Monday morning away. 

To clear her mind, she looked straight ahead trying to orient herself; she wasn’t familiar with this part of Toronto. They were following Lakeshore Blvd as it curved to the left, until they came to a red light at Queen Street. This much she knew: they were in the Beach, or the Beaches; there had been some controversy among residents about the official name of the neighborhood. 

They turned right onto Queen Street. Kelly couldn’t remember the last time she had been in this part of Toronto. As they drove, she surveyed the shops and boutiques, cafes, pubs, bars and coffee shops that lined the street. There were no big box stores. The area had a pleasant, local neighbourhood feel. She could see the attraction the beaches held for Steve. 

“Great neighbourhood,” she said.

“I love it here,” Steve said, shifting his gaze to her from the road for a moment and smiling. “I used to come here to hang out on the beach with my friends from high school. I always thought it would be cool to live here.”

His expression turned wistful. “Now I do.”

Steve pointed out his window. “Do you ever go to Lick’s?”

“Sure,” Kelly said. “Great burgers. There’s one at Spadina and Bloor that Judy and MJ and I sometimes go to.”

“Well, the one on Queen was the original. I’ve been going there for 25 years. It’s an institution. There’s a rumour that it’s going to shut down and a condo’s going up in it’s place.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Kelly felt a genuine sense of regret, as though vicariously feeling the imminent nostalgia that residents here would soon feel. 

“Yeah, I’ll be sorry to see it go. But, everything changes.”

He was right about that, she thought. 

They drove for several more blocks.

“I live at the east end of the beach,” Steve explained. “It’s quieter.”

They turned right, down a residential street. Kelly could see the lake at the bottom of the street, and the reflection of the moon on the silver water. The houses on either side were old and stately with porches and second floor balconies on many of them. It was obvious how much work had been done to many houses to renovate them and sculpt and beautify the landscaping. She liked it here. 

Just as they neared the end of the street and the beach, Steve turned right onto a narrow alley. He clicked a garage door opener clipped to the sun visor and swung left, into a driveway and into the garage at the back of his home. His house was one of several that were tall and narrow in a short row, clustered together.

As she heard the garage door closing behind her, Kelly had a jolt of realization: We’re here, she thought. There’s no turning back now. She would shortly be in Steve’s bed. There really was no turning back. 

Was there?

She looked at Steve, who smiled at her.

He opened his door, and raised his eyebrows, as though asking if she were having second thoughts. She opened her door, swung her legs out and stood – in spite of her second thoughts. 

They met at the front of the car. Steve moved to the door and unlocked it, then stood aside for her to enter his home.

Kelly stepped into a long hallway, with doors and openings on either side. She could see at the opposite end what looked to be the front door, which made her smile as she realized that many Chinese people wouldn’t want to live here.

Stepping into the hallway beside her and seeing her smile, Steve, curious, raised his eyebrows in query.

“You’ll laugh at me, if I tell you what I was thinking.”

“No, I won’t, tell me.”

“You will.”

“I won’t, promise.”

She hesitated, then said, “Well, Chinese people are very superstitious.”

She saw him listening politely.

She pointed down the hall, “They don’t like having a front door and back door facing each other. They think that their money will come in one door and go out the other one.”

He burst out laughing.

“Heeey! You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

He reigned it in. “Sorry, I thought you were kidding but now I’m guessing you were serious.”

“I was,” she said, a little pouty. “I told you, we’re superstitious.”

“Well, you know, Chinese people may be right. My money comes in, then goes out -- in alimony to my ex-wife – but I think it uses the same door.”

It was Kelly’s turn to laugh. 

Steve said, “When she comes to the front door, I run out the back door.”

Kelly thought of how Steve had closed up tight when she had asked about his ex-wife during dinner. She didn’t much want to hear him refer to her at this moment, but at least he was making a joke. 

He lightly took her elbow and they walked down the hall. 

They passed a few closed doors, which probably led to a basement and a laundry room. As they reached the foyer by the front door, Kelly looked to her right into a good-sized room that Steve had furnished as a library, with one wall lined with bookshelves, almost completely filled, and with comfortable looking leather chairs and a sofa, and a fireplace. On the left, was a staircase leading to the second floor, where she guessed the kitchen and main living room must be.

She rounded up the staircase, with Steve behind her. She became ass-conscious again, but it was kind of a turn on. She imagined Steve watching as she swivelled her hips mounting the stairs, teasing him, locking his full attention on her, arousing him, making him impatient, wanting her - and her misgivings abated considerably. She felt herself becoming wetter with each step. 

At the top the stairs, she paused. Another staircase continued to the next level, but she turned to look leftward at what was on this level. To her right was a large kitchen that opened onto a huge living room to her left. She saw a big, comfortable espresso coloured leather couch that faced a large LCD TV on the opposite wall. At the left end of the living room were a set of French doors, that must open onto a balcony which would be above the front door and have a view of the lake. She saw an edge of the moon through the beveled glass doors. 

Her pausing caused Steve to bump into her from behind. It became clear to her that he was resolutely headed to the next staircase that must lead to bedrooms.

“Sorry,” he said. She turned to look at him and could see his eagerness but colliding with her seemed to snap him out of it, to remind him of his manners.

“Umm, would you like anything, Kelly? Would you like something to drink?”

She smiled at him. “No, I’m fine, thanks.” 

What she wanted, he was about to give her. At least, she thought it was what she wanted. A light throbbing down there indicated how much she wanted him, but an unbidden flash of Steve, seated a few places down from her at the table in the boardroom, stiffened her, and held her in place. Was she really doing this? 

“How many floors are there,” she asked, to be saying something. 

“Actually, there are four. The next level is—is where the bedrooms are. And the top floor has a spare bedroom, and my office, and it leads to the deck on the roof.”

They stood on the landing between the second and third floors, between the kitchen and living room, and the bedrooms. They stood in indecision, between a cordial, professional, work relationship, and naked, passionate intimacy. Their eyes met; Steve seemed to sense her ambivalence and opened his mouth to speak which made her suddenly very annoyed with herself: she was a forty-year-old woman – forty-one – she knew what she was agreeing to when she agreed to come here. She hadn’t had a penis inside her for over three years and she wanted one, tonight, now, she wanted Steve’s penis inside her, to hell with might come after.

She took hold of his hand and pulled him along as she turned around and started up the stairs to the third level, where the bedrooms were. 

At the top of these stairs, there was a half open door to the left, and one to the right. She turned to face him as he stepped onto the third floor behind her. She raised her eyebrows. He pointed to the left and she marched through the doorway and into a huge bedroom that occupied half of the floor. In the dim light, she could see that straight ahead was a king-sized bed. To the right was an open door leading to a bathroom and a closed one that would be a closet. 

To the left was another set of French doors. Another balcony, she thought. She reflected on all that she had seen of his house as she had swept through it.

“You have a beautiful home, Steve.” 

“Thanks,” he said. 

She turned to the sound of his voice, and saw him standing just inside the bedroom doorway, smiling shyly. She wanted him, heart, soul and…

“I’ve gotten used to living here.” 

He ran his fingers through his hair, over his ear, sheepishly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I paid for this. It was beyond insane.” 

“I can imagine.”

“It’s a pretty nice house.” He started to walk toward the French doors. “But, this is what I paid for.” 

He opened one of the French doors and smiled an invitation at her. 

She approached him and passed through the open door onto the balcony she had expected to be there. 

She stood and looked all around her. She placed her hands on the railing, enchanted by the dark emptiness of the beach, the clear, bright, luminous crescent moon and its dancing reflection on the waves below, the sound of the surf and the moist, palpable smell of the water.  

She sensed Steve come up beside her. He slipped his arm around her waist and she stood back from the railing and turned to him. She placed her hands on his face and drew him down and kissed him and felt his arms close around her, tightening, until she was pressed against him. His squeezing her spread a pleasurable warmth through her body and limbs. Her kissing became hungrier, more urgent. She felt his hand on her butt cheek, kneading and squeezing and his fingers slipped between her legs from behind, rubbing her vulva under her dress through her panties and she ground herself against him and felt his hardness and wanted it. 

She pushed him away and grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the open French door, back into the bedroom, toward the bed. At the bed’s edge, he pulled her around and placed his one hand on her butt and the other on the small of her back and wrenched her almost off her feet to come hard against him and they kissed, pressing their mouths together gently biting and gnawing one another with their lips, tongues plunging into each other’s mouths. 

Steve’s fingers fumbled at the zipper of her dress and she reached behind and gently batted his hand away and drew the zipper down as Steve’s thumbs hooked into the shoulder straps and peeled her dress down, revealing her skimpy black bra, then her tummy, then her black undies and tugged her dress down around her hips, and she stood back and wiggled it to drop at her feet and stepped out of it. 

Steve had discarded his jacket onto the floor and she flicked open the buttons on his shirt one by one then yanked his shirt out of his pants and pulled it away from his shoulders as he shook his arms out of it and she tossed it aside. She paused for a moment and looked at his chest, the beautiful, sculpted chest that she would now freely admit to herself she had imagined and reimagined countless times and placed her hands on it, feeling it’s warmth and fleshy firmness and pressed her face against it, kissing it, licking it, tasting its damp saltiness, gently biting and moaning because she had wanted to do this for so long and had tried to deny it but now she was doing it, actually doing it. She felt his fingers in her hair, stroking her; he stood still, letting her touch and kiss, offering his body to her. She slid her arms around him, under his arms and rested her cheek against his chest. His arms came around her and held her tightly, which felt so, so good, and they stayed in the embrace for a long moment, savouring their anticipation of what would inexorably come. 

She felt his hands grip her upper arms and he pulled her up to kiss her. She felt the fingers of one of his hands on her back and suddenly her strapless bra snapped open and slid down her chest as he plucked it and let it fall to the floor and his hands were on her breasts, squeezing them, one moment gently and then firmly, alternating waves of pleasure and pain, taking her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling them, radiating pleasure through her breasts and throughout her body. Then he was kissing them, and she felt his warm, wet tongue on one of her nipples and she wrapped her arms around his head, holding him there, moaning in mild disbelief that anything could feel this good. 

She became aware of the tingly throbbing down there, a distress signal, a hollow, emptiness, aching to be filled. 

She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back and deftly unfastened his belt and uncoupled the waistband of his pants and started pulling them down. With no further prompting necessary, Steve took over and shoved his pants and underwear down, his hard penis popping out as he kicked off his shoes, then lifted first one foot out of his pants, then the other and stripped off his socks. She took hold of his forearms and pulled him back to her. Kissing her, he leaned over and grabbed a corner of the bed covers and pulled them back, pushing Kelly to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. She turned and scrambled on her hands and knees to burrow under the covers as Steve pounced on the bed and slid in beside her. They kissed, hungrily as though they couldn’t get enough of one another. She felt Steve’s thumb in the waistband of her panties and she lifted slightly to allow him to pull them down her legs and off. Then his hand was gripping the inside of her thigh and moving up until his finger came along the cleft of her vulva, moving easily with her wetness, back and forth along it, teasing her. She opened her legs and his finger sunk within her lips and the back and forth motion now stroked her clitoris and it was like her entire awareness of everything in the world converged and concentrated right there, and she closed her legs and her thighs writhed around his hand. The tip of his finger found the opening of her vagina and slipped inside, partially satiating her craving, and his fingertip ran along the top of her vagina wall, releasing a shivering ecstasy that arched her back. She moaned as her eyes fluttered and closed. 

As he kissed her breasts and licked and sucked her nipples, in her mind she saw him smile as they talked in the open area along the outer wall of their offices in power alley, and now didn’t have to hold back her attraction to him, didn’t have to suppress her desire for him, even though they worked together. 

Together, in the same place, everyday. 

And now his hands and mouth were all over her body. She was in his bed, naked; she could feel his penis against her thigh and soon it would be inside her, and everything would change, and he would come and his stuff, his semen, would be in her. And after he had had her, then what? After he got what he wanted from her, what would he think of her? What would she do? Stay in his bed? Leave? What would he want her to do?

She became aware that he was lying still beside her. He had removed his hand from between her legs and he was no longer kissing her breasts. 

His hand lay on her tummy.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, searching for his eyes in the dimness. 

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” His voice was calm, soothing. 

It had been magical, like a spell had been cast over them – and she’d broken it. 

“I’m sorry, I just-–“

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m the one who should be sorry. I moved things along too fast. You’re not ready.”

She still wanted him, wanted to go on, but didn’t know how to recreate - to reignite - the moment. Her arousal still throbbed, but her wetness, her readiness was beginning to feel clammy.

She felt him, hard against her. Oh god, she thought, I’ve ruined it. I should just go. 

She started to inch toward the edge of the bed and felt his hand grip her arm. He moved his hand to encircle her waist and she felt herself pulled back and into his arms. He reached down and took hold of the comforter and yanked it high to come settling over her body. Cocooned in his arms and the warmth of the comforter, she felt safe and sad and so, so tired…