Daily Writing Challenge Day 8/1: Man of My Dreams
My unofficial writing challenge started last week to help me gear up for my StoryADay in May. So this is story 8 or Day 1 depending on how you look at it.
Man of My Dreams
Miranda arrived at the restaurant first and asked the hostess if she could wait at the table. She placed her computer case on the chair next to her and pulled out the manilla envelope from the attorney behind it, in ease reach.
She bit the inside of her lip and ran her finger across the seal, wondering again if this was the right thing to do.
When the waiter approached, she asked for bourbon, neat, instead of her usual red wine. Brian would recognize the whiskey for the symbol it was, that this was not a celebratory or relaxing dinner.
She was lost her thoughts when he arrived, but she felt it the moment he stepped into the room. The energy changed. The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she looked up to see him just staring at her.
She caught her breath and returned the look, deep longing and affection. Maybe she didn’t need to tell him about the lawyer after all.
Miranda slid her hands under the table and fidgeted with her engagement ring as she watched him thread his way through the crowded restaurant, striding purposefully to get to her. Was she really going to marry this man?
The knots in her stomach clenched tighter and she wondered if there was a way to slide the envelope back into her bag without him seeing her do it. Frustrated that she had waited so long to decide, she rose to meet him as he reached the table.
He kissed her cheek gently and held her chair as she sat down.
Nodding toward the drink, he asked, “Hard day at work?”
“Something like that,” she evaded. “How was your day?”
“The kids were little monsters since next week is spring break. Not one of them could sit still and concentrate. And, I had an appointment after work that had me running late. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it here on time.”
The waiter chose that moment to approach the table, bringing menus and asking Brian if he wanted a drink.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” he responded.
Miranda raised an eyebrow. Brian almost never drank anything harder than Budweiser.
Brian laughed. “Liquid courage, I guess.”
Miranda fidgeted with the edge of the napkin.
Brian waited until the waiter had walked away and then reached out to take her hand with his left hand.
“I’d like to get his out of the way, before we order, so if you get really pissed at me, we don’t ruin a perfectly lovely steak,” he said.
He drew her fingers to his lips and kissed them.
“I hope you won’t hate me. We hadn’t talked about it, but I feel like we should.”
Brian withdrew his hand and reached into the inside pocket of his sports jacket, taking out a single sheet of paper.
“It’s just the basics, and you’ll want your lawyer to review it, but…I had a friend draw up a prenup for us. You never asked but I feel like we should protect your interests in case this doesn’t work out.”
Miranda slapped her hand against her lips and her eyes widened.
Brian stared at the paper, as though afraid to see her reaction.
Miranda, usually the less demonstrative of the two, pushed her chair back and almost ran around the table. She grabbed both sides of his head and kissed him hard on the mouth.
“I love you, Brian Thompson, more than I thought was possible.”
Brian smiled, and waited, knowing she had more to say.
“I saw my attorney today. Peggy’s been hounding me to draw up an agreement, but it just felt…wrong, like it was dooming out marriage to failure.”
“Sweetheart, making sure you don’t lose everything isn’t an omen, it’s you continuing to be the woman I fell in love with, an amazingly smart businesswoman who somehow fell for a school teacher.”
Brian walked her back to her chair, and nodded to the envelope.
“Is that what Peggy wants me to sign?”
“Yes, but it truly isn’t necessary. Just the fact that you thought of making one means we don’t need it.”
Brian shook his head.
“No, I’ll sign it. I’ve got students loans and Toyota Corolla. You’ve got a multi-million dollar business and three homes. I’ll sign it, if you’ll let me, and then the next time we need to talk about money, maybe we won’t need bourbon.”
Miranda smiled and took his hand.
“You really are the man of my dreams.”