Page 50 of Frankie and the Fed

“I wanted to ask you on a date with me. A first date.”

“A first date?” I can almost hear her smiling through the screen.

“Yes. Let’s start from the beginning.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Ayala, we just met,” I say with a smile. “Give me a chance to get to know you.”

She’s silent for a long moment. “Okay. I expect you to take me on an expensive date. And you’re paying.”

I laugh because I know she doesn’t care about money. But she agreed. She said yes.

“Tomorrow at seven?”

“Okay. I live on Bul—” she stops. “Actually, I forgot you were following me, stranger. So you already know where I live.”

“Bye, beautiful.” I hang up.

* * *

I try five flower shops until I find one that is open at such an hour. They’re closing, but a generous payment convinces the owner to make one last delivery for the day.

I feel like sending her the world. Flowers, chocolates, diamonds. I want to impress her, but that’s not the way to Ayala’s heart. I know her better than that. And I need to take it slowly.

I have no idea where to take her on this date. We’re not in New York, and this is not my kingdom. I’m not familiar with the surroundings.

I lift the phone to write to my assistant to find me a place, but I stop. I have to do it myself. I’m the one who should invest in this relationship, not transfer roles to my assistants.

Google it is.

After going through all the restaurants at the top of the lists on all the websites, despair hits me. This is not what I was looking for. It’s true that she said she wanted a luxurious date, but that was just a joke. I know her well. What I want is uniqueness, romance, and privacy. All these restaurants are…just restaurants.

I rub my face, and then it hits me. I know where to take her. It will require some legwork and a lot of preparation in advance, but it can work.

Ayala

What should I wear?

Jeans and a t-shirt.

Ayala

Jeans and a t-shirt for a date? Hmm. Now I’m curious. Where are we going? Hiking in nature again?

It’s a surprise.

It makes me happy that she’s curious. I hope she likes what I have planned. It’s a gamble, which can go either way. But we’re not actually on our first date, so I think I know what she’ll like.

* * *

Exactly at seven, I stand at the door of her apartment. She’s dressed in light-colored jeans and a delicate white knit blouse that hugs her body. She answers the door barefoot and studies me with those captivating blue eyes.

“What shoes should I wear?” she asks.

“Sneakers will do.” I shrug and wait while she sits down and pulls on a pair of white Sketchers.

“You sent me lots of flowers.”