Tate by Barbara S Stewart Page A

to drool,” I laughed.
    “So do the pasta dishes. My goodness.” She sighed, appreciating the menu.
    “Maisie, you look incredible. I can’t help myself. I just have to admire.” She looked away and I saw a blush grace her cheeks. The waiter returned and poured the wine. He left to allow us time to look over the menu a little longer.
    “What are you thinking?” she asked.
    “I’ll keep thoughts to myself.” She looked up at me in surprise, and then hurriedly returned her eyes back to the menu.
    “I’m thinking I’d like to start with this Crêpe Porta Via thing, but it looks like it’s drowning in pesto and I didn’t bring any breath mints,” I said. She laughed a laugh I hadn’t heard yet. “What? I don’t want garlic breath on our not-date.”
    She took a sip of the wine and looked at me across the rim of her glass. “Is this a date, Tate?”
    “You tell me.” I watched that beautiful face to see what her eyes would tell me.
    The blush reappeared. “I think it’s probably a date.” She looked down again as though she was studying the menu.
    I scooted closer. I leaned to whisper in her ear, placing my hand on her back. “I like for you to think of this as a date, Maisie, but I don’t want to rush you. It can just be dinner if that would make you more comfortable.” I liked the shudder that I felt.
    “I don’t think I chose this outfit for ‘just dinner’,” she said finally.
    “Good, then I won’t order the crêpe,” I replied.
    “I have gum,” she said, with a shy smile.
    I couldn’t help myself. I leaned closer and snuck a kiss. Her lips were the sweetest things I’d ever tasted.
    “The crêpe to start,” I told the waiter when he returned.
    “I think we have to have a pizza. It looks so good,” she said.
     
    Just looking at her was the best part of the evening. She told me about what she’d been working on and I told her about my music. It seemed that was always our comfortable conversation. It was a great evening, and driving home, she chatted as we drove about the area and memories of growing up in Nashville. This was a first.
    “Would you like to come in?” she asked when we got back to her place.
    “I would.” I walked around, opened her door and helped her out. It was cold and I wrapped my arm around her as we headed to the door. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Tate.”
    We sat on the sofa and talked about our evening. “I find that I enjoy your company,” Maisie said after a while.
    “I take great pleasure in sharing yours,” I responded. I waited a few minutes, thinking. At last, I said, “I’m gonna be out-of-town next week. I’ll be gone about ten days. Will you miss me, Maisie?”
    She hesitated, and finally said, “I believe that I will.”
    “One more question, and I’m gonna ask because I don’t want to do anything you aren’t ready for…”
    She scooted closer and placed a soft kiss on my lips. “Good night, Tate.”
    I drew her back to me. “One more, Maisie. Please,” I didn’t want it to sound like I was begging, but I wanted another kiss. As I kissed her, I felt her let hesitation ease. “I don’t know what to say, except I don’t want to go,” I said when I let her go.
    I knew what a huge step this was for her. As I rose to leave, I had to work hard to hide the smile she put on my face. “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
    “That’ll be nice,” she replied.
    I stopped before I reached the door and turned to her. “Maisie, you have no reason to believe this, but I look forward to every call,” I told her, and as bad as I didn’t want to leave, I swear I skipped out the damn door.
     
    ***
     
    It was the last week of February, and I was going back to Florida to work with Andy and Marco on the album. We’d cut four singles the first go round, but I had almost enough material now to complete the project. Andy and I talked several times over FaceTime. He’d have me play some of the new stuff I’d written, critique it, and