A Shocking Request. Colleen Faulkner

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      “See you later, girls. Lock the door behind me. I have my cell phone if you need me,” he said, checking to be sure it was on his belt.

      “Have a good time. Be safe. No alcohol. No drugs. Use your head. And call me if you need me to come get you, no questions asked,” Hannah said, repeating the same thing Grant always told her before she went out the door. “Love you!”

      “Love you, girls.” The words stuck in his dry throat as he went out through the laundry room into the garage. Inside his Explorer, he laid his jacket on the seat so that it wouldn’t get wrinkled. Before he backed out of the garage, he took a tissue from the box between the two front seats and wiped his brow. As he wiped it, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror.

      Criminy, what was going on? Why was he so nervous? He looked petrified. He tucked the tissue into the garbage bag that hung behind the passenger seat and backed out of the garage and down the driveway.

      It was just dinner with Jenna. Good old buddy Jenna. Jenna who he’d been friends with for a million years. Jenna who had been at his wedding. Been at the hospital for all his daughters’ births. Jenna who had stuck by him when Ally had gotten sick.

      He was nervous because it wasn’t just dinner, no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise. It was a date, and he hadn’t been on a real date in twenty years. He was nervous because he was scared to death.

      Jenna parked her car on the street and walked up the sidewalk to wait for Grant in front of the small French bistro just off Main Street. She was looking forward to dinner because the restaurant was so popular during the tourist months that no locals ever attempted to get in until the crowds thinned. She hadn’t eaten here since spring and it was one of her favorite restaurants.

      She spotted Grant’s dark-blue SUV approaching up the street. She waved and checked her watch. Two minutes until seven. She smiled to herself. It wasn’t like her to actually be on time, but it was just like Grant to be early.

      She waited on the sidewalk for him to get out of his car, lock the door, then check to be sure it was locked—just as she knew he would. She pressed her hand to her stomach. She had butterflies.

      Dinner with Grant was giving her butterflies?

      She couldn’t fathom why. She and Grant had shared hundreds of dinners together, before he and Ally had married, after the wedding, after Ally died.

      But this dinner was different, and not just because he had asked her out to a restaurant rather than having her over to the house. It was something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Grant hadn’t acted like himself this week. Ever since the evening of his anniversary, he’d been acting oddly and it was somehow related to her.

      “Hi,” he said, walking up the sidewalk, GQ handsome in his conservative gray suit, white shirt and red tie.

      “Hi.” She smiled. She had changed from her school “uniform” of a long flowered skirt and blouse into a dress. After she had changed her clothes, she had wondered if that was mistake. Would Grant think she thought this was a date? Women only change after work for dates. They didn’t change for “just dinner with a friend.” In the end, she had left the dress on simply because she liked the green-and-blue floral pattern and the way the fabric felt on her skin.

      “How are you?” Grant said, sounding awkward. He leaned over her and she turned her cheek for the perfunctory hello kiss. It had been a tradition between them for years and yet suddenly it seemed different. She felt her cheeks grow warm as he kissed her.

      He was wearing cologne. She liked the scent that was musky, but not overwhelming. He normally only put cologne on after he showered in the morning. What was the cologne for? Her?

      “Do we have reservations?” she asked as he opened the door for her.

      “For seven, on the porch.”

      She smiled. Of course they had reservations. Grant Monroe would never forget dinner reservations. Now she would forget reservations. She would show up fifteen minutes late because the cat got out. She would forget her purse. But not Grant. She had always admired his organizational skills. She had always told Ally that she could never live with the man, that he would drive her nuts, but she did admire him.

      The hostess showed them to a table for two on the closed-in porch. There were fresh flowers on the linen-covered table and a candle. Grant pulled out Jenna’s chair for her and then took his seat across from her.

      Jenna accepted the menu from the hostess and smiled up at her. “Thanks.”

      “Your waitperson will be with you in a moment,” the hostess said, backing away.

      “So,” Grant said, opening his menu.

      “So,” Jenna repeated. Then she peered at him from behind the menu like a kid pretending to be an adult. He was looking at her, too. She laughed. “This feels weird,” she said.

      He got a strange look on his face. “Bad weird? I didn’t mean for you to feel uncomfortable. We could have gone somewhere else.”

      She laughed. Grant was nervous! She was amused, and oddly touched at the same time. And more than a little curious. Definitely curious. He had never been nervous around her before. What on earth was going on inside that organized head of his? What was he up to? Why had he asked her out to dinner? Jenna wanted to just ask him, but knew better. Grant, like most men, was not good at expressing his feelings. She knew him well enough to know she’d just have to be patient.

      Jenna smiled and went back to looking at the menu. “So were the girls upset about you leaving?”

      “Nah,” he pshawed. “They were going to have my chicken potpie for dinner and then watch as much TV as they can squeeze in before they spot my headlights coming up the driveway.”

      “Mmm, I love your potpie, too. And Goosebumps is on the Nickelodeon channel tonight. I don’t blame them for being tickled.”

      The waitress came to the table, introduced herself and poured water into their glasses. “Would you care for a cocktail?”

      Jenna glanced over the menu at Grant questioningly.

      “Go ahead. You can have anything you want,” he said.

      She made a face. “Of course I can have anything I want. I’m over twenty-one and I have the wrinkles to prove it. My question is, what are you having?”

      “I don’t know.” He lifted one broad shoulder.

      “Well, do you want a beer? Wine? Iced tea, what?”

      He met her gaze hesitantly and lifted a dark brow. “Maybe wine?”

      “Wine it is.” She looked to the waitress who waited patiently. “We’ll have the house Chardonnay.”

      “Bottle or glass?” the young woman asked.

      “Just a glass.” Jenna wrinkled her nose. “First date,” she said jokingly. “I wouldn’t want to lose my inhibitions and make a fool of myself, would I?”

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