Just as I'm beginning to finally make some headway with Vanessa, my phone rings.
I groan aloud, and Vanessa giggles at me.
"Go ahead and answer it. It might be important," she tells me, and I smile in return. She's so understanding. Dawn would have murdered me for just looking at my phone on a date.
We've been at the lodge bar for awhile now, slowly getting to know each other. I learned that Vanessa hates peas, she loves coffee and energy drinks, and she used to do a little musical theater in high school. She didn't get her driver's license until she was nineteen, and she prefers football over basketball. She's lived in the Atlanta metropolitan area her whole life, but absolutely hates sweet tea. When I asked her how she could hate sweet tea, being a southern girl, she rolled her eyes, laughed and said, "It's basically cold syrup."
"Chris Peters," I growl into the phone upon picking up. I really want to get back to my date.
"Oh. H — hi Chris. I'm so sorry to bother you..."
"No, no. I thought you were someone else," I interrupt, feeling guilty for my snippy tone.
"It's no problem. Hey, we just wanted to know what time you'll be here tonight? The kids are asking," Bill Cohen inquires.
Shit. I forgot.
"Oh, um..." I glance at Vanessa seated across the table from me. She's looking at the TV above us, her hand underneath her chin as she watches a football game. "I'll be there soon," I answer, and hang up the phone.
Vanessa looks back at me, expectantly.
"Do you need to be somewhere?" She asks, a smidge of disappointment in her tone.
"I'm afraid so," I say with a grimace.
She smiles warmly at me anyway, and reaches for her jacket.
"Oh, you're coming with me," I tell her with a smirk, as I stand from our booth. Shrugging my coat back on, I hold out a hand to help her up.
She takes it, her mouth turning down into a frown.
"Where are we going?"
I offer her my arm as we head out of the lodge and back to the car.
"That's for me to know, and for you to find out," I say, flashing her an award-winning smile.
"Whatever you say, Peters," she smiles, and I can't help the excitement that I feel in the pit of my stomach when she calls me by my last name.
I grin at her.
"What?" She says, still smiling.
"I like when you call me that."
"Oh well, don't get too used to it. You insisted I call you Chris, remember?" She points out, and I mentally kick myself.
"I do," I say begrudgingly, and she laughs.
***
We park in the garage of Egleston Hospital in Atlanta, and I grab a giant red, velvet bag out of my trunk before taking Vanessa's hand as we walk to the entrance.
"What are we doing at CHOA? Is there something you're not telling me, like the fact that you might be Santa?" Vanessa questions with a sly smile, gesturing to the velvet bag I'm carrying.
YOU ARE READING
For A Reason
ChickLit"I just thought..." I begin, flustered, not really sure where my words are headed. He shakes his head. "We can't," he states, removing my hand from his. "There are a million reasons why we can't." He runs a hand through his hair, seemingly frustrate...
