50 Harbor Street. Debbie Macomber
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They lingered over coffee, and then the waiter brought the bill, tucked inside a leather sleeve. It stood in the middle of the table, impossible to ignore. By her estimate—she’d kept a running total in her head until the wine, at which point she’d lost count—the tab far exceeded her cash. Granted, she had her VISA, but she was already close to her limit on that. For a long moment, Linnette stared at the bill, still concealed in its folder, and prayed this man her mother considered such a paragon would reach for it.
He didn’t.
Linnette was beginning to worry. “Shall we split this?” she suggested.
Cal picked up the bill and looked it over. He didn’t say what her half would be. “I’ll t-t-take care of it on the way out,” he said.
Linnette nodded.
“I had a nice time.” He seemed as astonished as she was.
“I did, too.”
“You aren’t l-l-like I ex-x-x-pected.”
“Neither are you.”
He glanced at his watch. “Can I w-walk you to your v-v-vehi—car?”
She shook her head. “You go on, while I pay my half of the bill. Thank you, Cal, for a most enjoyable evening.”
“Y-y-you’re welcome.” He dropped his napkin on the table and stood.
The restaurant wasn’t as busy as it had been earlier. Several couples sat with their heads close together, enjoying each other’s company. Some evening Linnette hoped that would be Chad Timmons and her.
Once Cal had left, Linnette sighed deeply and decided she’d better figure out what she owed. She reached for the bill and was shocked to find it had already been paid. Frowning, she motioned for the waiter. “This is completely paid? The tip, too?”
“Yes, the gentleman made arrangements with the restaurant before you arrived. He left his credit card with the hostess.”
“Oh.” He might’ve said something. Still, Linnette felt she should thank him. However, when she hurried out to the parking lot, Cal was already gone.
Nine
It was the first Tuesday of November, the day Charlotte and Ben were having dinner with his son. That afternoon, she sorted through her closet in search of a dress to wear. She finally decided on the pink-and-white one she’d purchased for her wedding reception. With its row of tiny ribbon rosebuds edging the collar it made her feel feminine and attractive. Although the outfit was better suited for spring than autumn, she hoped to make a positive impression on David.
“How do I look?” she asked Ben, stepping out of the bedroom and brushing the wrinkles out of her skirt. She waited for her husband’s approval.
Ben glanced up from the television set and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked, crestfallen. She wanted to do her husband proud.
“You went to far too much trouble. You don’t need to impress David.”
“But…I want your son to like me.”
“I know, dear, and I appreciate that, but it isn’t necessary. I suspect the only reason David asked us to have dinner is to see if I’ll give him another loan.” Ben’s face hardened. “I refuse to do it. I told him that the last time and I’m not going to change my mind.” He shook his head. “Just watch. We’ll get stuck with the bill, too.”
“Oh, Ben, I’m sure that’s not true. Anyway, he invited us.”
“Yeah, but you can bet I’ll be paying the tab.”
“Oh, Ben, don’t be so negative.”
Ben didn’t argue with her. She could tell he was nervous and that he regretted agreeing to this. He revealed no pleasure at seeing David or the prospect of a rare evening out in downtown Seattle.
While it was still daylight, Ben and Charlotte drove over to Bremerton and walked onto the Seattle-bound ferry. During the hour-long commute, Ben was uncharacteristically silent. They held hands and sipped coffee, and Charlotte watched Bainbridge Island fade into the distance as the Seattle skyline came into view. It really was a lovely time of year in Puget Sound. By the end of the month, Christmas decorations would be up, and a festive spirit would suffuse Cedar Cove.
Once the ferry docked in Seattle, Ben ushered Charlotte down the ramp and out of the terminal. They took one of the taxis waiting on the street outside and rode up to Martini’s Steakhouse, the restaurant David had chosen.
Ben led Charlotte to an elevator that brought them to the lower floor. As she stepped off, her interest was immediately captured by the signed photographs of famous people who’d dined at Martini’s.
A man who could only be Ben’s son sat in the restaurant foyer. He was handsome, a younger version of his father with dark hair and a strong presence. He glanced up and smiled when he saw Ben and Charlotte.
“Hello, David.” Ben spoke without emotion.
“Dad,” David said eagerly, standing. He hugged his father and slapped him affectionately on the back. When he’d finished, he gave Charlotte a warm smile.
“This is Charlotte,” Ben said, placing his arm protectively around her shoulders.
David held out his arms and drew her into an enthusiastic hug. “I am so delighted to finally meet you,” he said. “You’ve made my father a very happy man.”
Charlotte was instantly charmed. Ben didn’t have a thing to worry about, she decided; this was certain to be a wonderful evening. When David released her, she looked at Ben and found him scowling. She couldn’t imagine why he was being so unpleasant.
David’s smile dimmed slightly as he regarded his father. “Come on, Dad,” he said. “Relax. Let’s enjoy the evening.”
“Yes,” Charlotte chimed in. “I’m meeting your son for the first time and we’re going to have a great meal. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
David directed his attention to her as they waited for the hostess to return from seating the couple in front of them. “I can’t tell you how sorry I was to miss the wedding,” he said, avoiding his father’s eye.
“I’m looking forward to introducing you to my children,” Charlotte told him happily. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to meet them soon.”
“I’m sure I will, too. Again I apologize about missing the big day but summer’s an especially busy time for me.”
“What do you do?” Charlotte asked, and refrained from reminding him that they were married the first week of May, which was actually spring.
“I work in insurance,” David said. “It’s difficult to explain but I deal with actuaries and statistics.”