Dinner date
A dinner after a clash – and a negotiation about what intimacy actually means when people pay attention.
Previously on Between Corners: Charlotte discovers there is a volatile side to Doug that she had not previously seen.
Two days after the wiring fiasco, and two days before the Big Bend trip, Doug texts Charlotte:
“Dinner out tonight?”
She hesitates. “Sure. What time?”
“I’ll be by at 6:30.”
“See you then.”
At 6:30, she opens the door. She looks composed, but also like she’d rehearsed something.
“Hello, Douglas. You look nice tonight.”
“And you,” he says, pulling her into a hug and brushing a hand along a shoulder left bare by her polka-dot ruffled dress. “You look wonderful. I like this look.”
She hides a smile, unsure whether to feel relieved or not. “I’m glad you approve.”
He helps her into the truck, steadying her with a hand. She notices it, doesn’t comment. Halfway to town, she glances over.
“So,” she asks, “how was your day? Anything exciting besides picking me up?”
“Not much. I did some ranch paperwork. Finished sorting the wiring on the Airstream. No more ground fault. Ready for Big Bend.”
She looks over, her expression softening into approval. “Good. I’d rather go with a reliable ground than a reliable narrative.”
He laughs. “Me too. Tell me about your day.”
“My equine therapy sessions were good. Had a challenging case, but we made progress.”
“How many clients now?”
“Around ten weekly. Another five or six monthly.”
“Impressive. What was the challenging case?”
“A young woman named Sarah. Severe anxiety. Trouble connecting.” Charlotte pauses. “But today she led a horse through an obstacle course. First time. She was shaking, but she did it.”
“That must give you a lot of satisfaction.”
“It does,” she admits. “Seeing someone connect for the first time is… exhilarating.”
They pull into the restaurant, Fig Italian, all warm light and low chatter.
“This place is lovely,” she says. “Inviting.”
Doug flags the waiter. “Hendrick’s and tonic for me. Pinot Grigio for the lovely lady.” Gives Charlotte a quick “OK?” look. She nods, blushing slightly at the odd compliment.
Once the waiter leaves, she leans forward a little.
“This is… nice. Different. We’ve never done this before.”
“No,” he agrees. “Aside from road-trip lunches and coffee, this feels like our first real date.”
Her eyes flicker – something between delight and caution. “Yes,” she says. “It does.”
The drinks arrive.
She looks at him. “So…you’re feeling OK?”
“Yes. Back on the Lexapro. It takes a few days. But I can feel it.”
“Good,” she says, sipping her wine.
Another beat.
“Tell me something. Why did you ask me out tonight?”
Doug shrugs. “Just figured… after the party, we should be out in the world a little. As a couple.”
She blinks once – surprised by the phrase. A couple. She tries the sound to herself, rolling it around in her mind. “Yes. I suppose that’s what this is.”
He doesn’t press.
“So,” he says finally. “Why do you enjoy being around me? And don’t give me the canned answer.”
She laughs – caught. “Alright. The truth? I enjoy you because you make the world feel… sharper. More vivid. I don’t just absorb moments when I’m with you. I participate in them.”
Doug tilts his head. “That’s new.”
“New good or new strange?”
“Both,” he admits.
She smiles.
The food comes. They eat quietly for a few minutes before she puts her fork down.
“My turn. Can I ask something unfair?”
Doug sets his napkin aside. “Uhhh…OK.”
“If you could change one thing about our relationship so far, what would it be?”
He thinks. “I would’ve let myself be attracted to you sooner instead of pretending I wasn’t. Because I was. Almost immediately.”
She inhales sharply. “Oh. I… didn’t expect that.”
“What did you expect?”
“Something less direct,” she admits. “But I appreciate the truth.”
Doug looks at her. “We seem to be on an interesting path. So, tell me – what is something you want from me that you haven’t figured out how to ask for yet?”
She goes still.
“I want…” She searches for words. “I want to understand how you create. When you disappear into work, into a project, I feel like I’m on the outside looking in. I want to contribute. But I don’t always know if I’m helping – or just reflecting your own thoughts back at you.
“You help more than you know,” he says.
“Maybe,” she says. “But I can’t tell what’s me and what’s just me learning you.”
He doesn’t answer.
Later, as the plates are cleared:
“What do you want from all this?” he asks quietly. “From us?”
She looks down at her glass, circling the rim with her fingertip.
“That’s not something I can answer quickly,” she says.
A beat. “But I am thinking about it.”
She doesn’t elaborate.
Outside, the air is cool enough that their breath shows in the glow of the streetlamp.
Inside the Ford, she pulls her seatbelt across her lap slowly, as if still processing the last twenty minutes of conversation. He starts the engine. The truck eases onto the quiet streets.
A few minutes pass before she speaks.
“Douglas,” she says softly, “earlier – when I said I wasn’t sure how much of what I do is me and how much is just me learning you…” She searches for the words. “I hope that didn’t come across as self-doubt. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Doug glances at her. “No. I got what you meant.”
She nods once, relieved but unconvinced.
Another minute of silence. The kind where each is listening for the other’s next move.
“Tonight was good,” he says finally. “I’m glad we did it.”
They don’t say much more during the drive.
When he pulls into her driveway, she doesn’t reach for the door handle right away. She sits there for a moment, seatbelt still on, watching him.
“Would you… like to come in for a nightcap?” The phrasing is casual; the tone is not.
“Yes,” he says. “I’d like that very much.”
She exhales.
Inside, she moves like someone trying not to rush through a fragile moment. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says, disappearing into the kitchen. “Cabernet okay?”
“Perfect.”
He kicks off his shoes and sinks into the sofa. The house smells faintly of cedar and something floral he can never quite name.
She returns with two glasses, sits beside him, her legs tucked under herself, relaxed but watchful. She hands him his glass, holding it a second longer than needed before letting go.
She sets her own glass down carefully on the coffee table, turning to face him fully.
“Douglas…” Her voice is soft and steady. “You asked earlier what I want. And I think I should answer.”
He straightens slightly.
“Go on.”
She studies him. Deciding something.
“I want us to build a life that’s real,” she says quietly. “Something that isn’t just convenience or habit or familiarity. Something deeper.”
She swallows, then continues. “But I also need to understand the foundation we’re building on.”
He frowns. “Meaning?”
She lifts her glass, realizes her hands are tense, sets it down.
“Meaning I need to know whether you’re choosing me,” she says, “or choosing the way I make you feel.”
The room seems to still.
He nods. “Fair question.”
“I don’t need an answer yet,” she adds, almost a whisper. “Just… honesty. As we go.”
He shifts slightly, angling toward her, taking the glass from her hand with a gentleness that anchors them both.
“I can give you that,” he says.
She lets out a breath she’s been holding for ten minutes.
The question hangs in the air – are you choosing me, or choosing the feeling?
He’s still holding her wineglass, thumb resting at the stem.
She watches him, not for the answer, but for the way he carries it.
After a long breath, she shifts closer. Not collapsing into him, not seducing. Simply reducing the distance between them by three quiet inches. A deliberate choice.
Very gently, she reaches out and places her hand on the side of his neck, her thumb brushing the warm spot beneath his jaw. He leans towards her. Their foreheads touch before their lips do. Charlotteholds the moment there, eyes half-closed, as if listening for something.
“You’re here,” she whispers. “That’s enough.”
She kisses him. Slow, clear, not driven by momentum. A kiss that says I’m choosing this, too, but on new terms.
Not a prelude.
A statement.
Charlotte rests her head lightly on his shoulder.
“Let’s not rush,” she murmurs. “Not tonight.”