Boston's Man-Eater

XLI

"Hey."

"You're not calling to cancel last minute, are you?"

"No."

"You couldn't wait?" She questioned with humor as I drove up the winding street.

"Maybe, but I wanted to know if you need anything since I'm on my way."

"No—I'm good, but my kitchen needs restocking and my helpers are out for their weekend break."

"What do you need?"

"I can handle that."

"So can I."

"I've got it this time."

"This isn't about you not trusting me with food again, is it?" I asked, and she laughed.

"Could be."

Apparently, when I told Tess about the idea behind our date, she pushed me to give up handling the food after interrogating me about my qualities and experience.

So, having take-out more than I cooked was enough for her to know that I could never be trusted—some food poisoning story.

"Well that's fine, I'll be there in fifteen."

"Until then."

I placed my phone into my jacket pocket, and cruised into the secluded suburb of Wellesley.

The day had been a perfect autumn afternoon—the brown and orange leaves against dark tar, with a sun that glimmered through the pale blue sky. 

The greater part of the neighborhood's population decided to stay outdoors.

It was the day that I would take Tess to a place I was positive she'd never, or barely visited—nothing fancy, but adapted the perfect kind of tranquility we needed.

And soon enough, I was parked in front of the oak-wood doors of her manor.

Ringing the doorbell proved to be useless, because no one came to answer it, so I pushed forward and walked into her cozy home with eyes that appreciated the interior all over again.

I strolled past the book lounge, and followed the way to her kitchen where I found her preparing the last of the containers.

"Good afternoon, Miss Salander."

She glanced up at me as she blew a piece of hair out of her face.

"Sir Anthony—how do you do?"

"Very well thank you. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Not that I've stepped outside since my morning run at 5, but I'd agree and say it looks mighty fine through the windows of my chamber," she replied, and I chuckled at her absurdity.

"Need any help?"

"No—I'm almost done, I just need to fetch a few items and we're set."

"Great."

"How strange it is for me to be embarking on this journey with such a dashing suitor."

"Dashing you say, you look stunning yourself."

She shook her wavy hair that tumbled to her collar of her charcoal-gray coat.

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Oh, I do believe you," she winked, and sauntered towards me in her fashionable winter-wear; the imperative high-heels, and casual slacks that exposed her ankles.

"Will you be able to walk around in those?"

"These?" She twisted her body to view the red bottomed stilettos. "I don't see why I couldn't."