Barefoot and Pregnant?. Colleen Faulkner
walk on the beach. I’m wearing hose.”
He opened the door that led onto the hotel’s veranda. “Hose, shmose. Take them off.”
Take them off? Elise felt as if her brain was on overload. Stand on one foot and peel her panty hose off on a public beach?
Zane led her across the hotel’s Victorian-style veranda and down the steps that led to the white sand beach. “Okay, twenty questions.”
“What?”
“Let’s play twenty questions. Well, my version.” He walked around to the back of the staircase and kicked off one shoe and then the other. “I ask a question. I give you my answer and then you give me yours.”
She gingerly removed one high-heeled leather shoe and then the other. The feel of the sand through her hose on her feet was deliciously warm. “What kind of questions?” she asked suspiciously. Usually on first dates—and she figured she could classify this as a date—she stuck to safer conversations such as where she went to college and what the NASDAQ was doing.
“Easy stuff,” Zane said. “Like your favorite color. Mine’s black.”
“Black? Black’s not a color.”
“Sorry. It’s my answer. Black is my favorite color. Let’s see, black like a moonless night. Black like the backside of a penguin. Yours?”
She laughed. “Mine’s green.” She paused. “Green like a man’s face after he’s tasted his mother-in-law’s potato salad.”
He laughed. “Now you’re getting the hang of it. Come on.” He opened and closed one hand. “Off with the hose. I swear, I don’t know how you women wear those things.”
She grabbed the rail of the step, then hesitated. Did she put her hands under her skirt, or try to wiggle the waistband down through the material of the dress?
Zane spun around, presenting his back to her. “Go ahead. Do what you have to do get them off. No one’s looking.” He made himself busy rolling up his pant legs.
Elise took a deep breath and reached under her dress and grabbed the waistband of her hose. She gave a yank, got them down around her thighs and lifted one foot. “Whoa!” She swayed as she lost her balance in the soft sand.
Zane caught her before she went down, his eyes comically squeezed shut. “Got ya.”
Using Zane’s muscular forearm to balance herself, she quickly slipped out of the hose. “Done,” she said as proud of herself as if she’d just sold a half-million dollar piece of property. She stuffed the hose into her pumps.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. “Okay, question number two. “Chocolate or vanilla ice cream?”
“Soft serve?”
He grinned.
“Swirl.”
“Definitely swirl,” he agreed. “I like you already.”
As they walked across the beach toward the water, they covered questions three and four. By the time they reached the edge of the cool, frothing ocean, Elise wanted a turn at asking the questions. “Okay,” she said laughing at his last answer. “Here you go, favorite sport to watch. Mine’s baseball.”
He looked at her, with obvious surprise as they started north up the beach. “Not ice skating? All the women I’ve ever known like ice skating.”
“Orioles fan since birth, with or without Cal Ripken, Jr.”
“You want to get married?” he asked.
She laughed. He was kidding of course, but she still felt a trill of excitement. Obviously he wasn’t a man completely against the idea of the institution of marriage. “Another,” she begged.
“Cap’n Crunch cereal with or without crunch berries?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. Granola, with raisins.”
He shook his head. “That’s it. Wedding is called off.” He splashed as he walked, wetting her calves. “On to more serious matters. Name of your first grade teacher.”
The questions went on way beyond twenty. The sun was setting over their left shoulders on the bay before they finally turned around and headed south toward the hotel again. Elise couldn’t stop laughing, not just at some of Zane’s crazy answers, but the way he said things. He was so genuinely confident in himself. So self-assured. So real. As they walked back up the beach toward the hotel and their shoes, Zane caught her arm to help her through the soft sand. “I’m starving. Those quarter-size hors d’oeuvres just didn’t do anything for me.” He looked to her. “You want to grab a burger before I take you home, Ellie?”
Ellie. He called her Ellie again. She liked it. She liked the way she felt when he called her that. “A burger would be good. Of course it will have be that dive now.” She pointed to their abandoned shoes. “There’s no way I can wrestle into those hose again.”
He laughed as he grabbed her shoes and passed them to her. “My car’s just up the hill.” They took a set of steps to the parking lot as he explained to her the finer points of grilling a good hamburger. He led her toward a vintage green BMW and opened the passenger door for her.
A gentleman and driving a BMW? The man was in the triple bonus round….
Elise tossed her sandy panty hose into the hamper. “She shoots, she scores!” she announced jubilantly.
She laughed. Shooting baskets with dirty hose? Talking out loud to herself? She didn’t know what had gotten into her.
Yes, she did. Zane Keaton.
Dressed in sleek, satin pajamas, Elise padded barefoot down the hall to the spare bedroom she used as an office. She flipped a wall switch and soft light flooded the room painted in beige neutrals. From the desk, she grabbed a light blue piece of paper and a pen. She leaned over and wrote “Zane Keaton” in loopy handwriting on the top line of the Husband Finder checklist. She tucked a lock of her blond hair behind one ear and began to fill in Zane’s physical details: 6’1”, blond hair, blue eyes. She knew the worksheet was really for “official” dates, but “official” or not, her evening with Zane was the best date she had ever had. Well, maybe with the exception of the hot Texas evening she’d spent with Johnny Carlisle when a traveling carnival had passed through town, and she’d slipped out of the house. Of course she’d only been fifteen at the time, and Johnny had been her first kiss, so that probably didn’t count.
Elise grabbed the paper and pen and took them down the hall. She glanced at the Career heading and halted in the middle of the living room.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t asked Zane what he did for a living. She’d spent an entire evening with the man. He was such a good listener for a man. The hours had slipped by like the seconds it took to enjoy a bite-size candy bar. And she hadn’t asked him about his work. Her father would be horrified.
Elise held the pen poised over the Career section: Professional, Business Owner, Other. She decided on “other” just so she didn’t have to leave the line blank. She hated blank lines and the way they stared accusingly at you. After all, what did it matter what he did for a living? Zane was obviously going to score high enough to warrant another date.
The phone rang and she glanced at the Irish porcelain clock on an end table. It was almost midnight. Eleven in Texas, too late for her father to call; he was an early riser. She darted for the phone. Liz had said she would call, to see how her evening went with Zane. Elise was dying to tell her friend what a wonderful evening she’d had. To tell her about the barefoot walk and the fact that Zane had convinced her to eat not just a burger, but fries, too. She had probably consumed an entire day’s worth of calories in one sitting and she didn’t care.
“Liz,” she said excitedly into the phone.