Hi friends! Thanks for waiting for this chapter. I'm proud of this one, It's also a little longer than the previous one :-)
Feel free to comment and vote! Ahhhh I can't believe I won a Watty. I had no idea I would ever get this far when I first started this story back in my Beatles phase! Thank you all for your reads and votes and comments—I love reading them!
happy reading! <3
Cal sure knew how to dress up.
He was wearing a pair of gray lightly plaid patterned slacks and a forest green jacket over a white casual shirt. His hair was parted and looked like he had combed it, unlike earlier in the restaurant. He looked slightly nervous, standing there in front of the cafe, one hand on the metal of the canvas fence that separated the sidewalk from the little tables of the cafe, waiting for me to come out.
"Hey! You look great!" he greeted me. I felt my gold dangly earrings rustle against my head as I smiled at him.
Before eight I had talked this over with Anna on our break, as the cafe closed at six. We were in her room, and she was giving me things to try on.
"Try this on," she commanded, and threw something red at me. It was a dress typical of the turn of the 1950s into the 1960s, and I stared at its vermillion glory as I held it up to see.
"It looks about your size," Anna told me, lounging on her bed, a pile of mail next to her. "Go on, try it on."
I slipped the cool fabric over my head and felt my waist tighten with every loop the head of the belt skipped over. The dress fit like a glove. I looked up to see Anna staring at me.
"I wish I looked like that in that dress," she said enviously, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray beside her bed.
"Oh shut up," I laughed. "You look amazing in everything probably. Look at your cheekbones. Bone structure."
She stared at me. "Did you just tell me to shut up?" she asked me quietly, with a laugh.
It felt like someone punched me in the gut—I had forgotten, again, and slang had poured out of my mouth unintentionally.
"I'm sorry, Anna. I really am," I said, my cheeks burning. "It's... a slang term from back home. It means be quiet but in a friend way—"
"It's okay," she told me, laughing awkwardly. "It's just kind of strange."
"I can definitely see what you mean," I had said, and then the doorbell rang, and Cal was there, and I had hastily tied my hair into a bun and slipped on my heels, walking quickly past Mila and opening the door to see Cal.
And now Cal and I were walking down the streets of Soho. I could feel the familiar cobblestones through the surface of my shoes.
"Where are we going tonight?" I asked Cal in a teasing manner, looking up at him, the key word being up. He was just so tall. He responded, "You'll see," and winked. "I'm taking you to one of the hottest clubs in Soho."
"This had better live up to my expectations," I told him jokingly. "I think it will," he said a low voice, and took my hand; I didn't expect this, and tensed up.
"Are you okay?" he asked. I looked up at him; he seemed genuinely concerned.
My head was spinning. I had no idea what I was doing. "I'm fine," I said. "Can we just... take it slow?"
"Sure," he shrugged, and slowly let go of my hand. Cal knew just how to make me feel like everything I was okay, and I smiled a little, looking down at the tops of my shoes for a few minutes and then asked, "So, tell me a little about yourself."
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