“Outside, definitely. There’s something about sitting under the stars with you that I seem to like. Plus, there’s music.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Emory arranged for a table outside, and with Sarah’s permission, ordered two glasses of her favorite Sangiovese.
Sarah sipped from the oversized glass. “Oh wow, this is smooth.”
“I know. I first fell in love with this bottle on a trip to Milan last year. I was surprised to find it right here in San Diego, but that’s why I love this little place. They have all the greats.”
“I take it you’re very well traveled.”
“For the most part, yes. What about you?”
“Not as exciting a history, I’m afraid. Mexico, before my father moved us to the U.S. and now California, most of its big cities. I’ve read about a lot of other places though.”
Emory was intrigued. “You’re telling me you’ve never been out of California?”
“Never been on a plane either. Try not to look so shocked over there. I’ll do it one day. Maybe when Grace is a little older, we’ll head out and see some sights.” Sarah’s eyes fell to the table then. She seemed to noticeably withdraw, and Emory internally cringed at having been the cause.
“That’ll be fun.” Emory took a sip of wine. “You mentioned growing up in Mexico. What was that like?”
Sarah sat back in her chair, her eyes reflective. “I don’t remember a lot about it. Mainly being around family, my grandparents. Most of my childhood memories center more on making the transition here. Learning the language, the culture at school, I remember being frustrated a lot.”
“In what way?” Emory reached across to the center of the table and interlaced her fingers with Sarah’s. Sarah stared at their hands, her expression unreadable, before continuing.
“More than anything, I just wanted to fit in, and that meant being American, just like most of the other kids. It didn’t exactly go well. But I never stopped trying. I took mental notes on all the cool things the kids from California did, said, and wore and then went home and wrote them down so I’d remember. I actually did that. Then I’d rehearse popular phrases with an American accent alone in my room.” She took a sip of wine. “I even went so far as altering my name on the first day of sixth grade. I guess I always felt like an outsider looking in. It wasn’t until late in high school that I finally started to accept myself and be okay with my own culture and where I came from. It didn’t happen overnight though. It was a process. I guess it still is.”
Emory didn’t like the story, and the idea of Sarah doing everything in her power to be liked tugged at her heart. “If it’s any consolation, I like who you are. A lot.”
“Thanks, but you may want to reserve judgment until after football season starts. You haven’t met the rabid Chargers fan that lives within.”
“I’m afraid already. Wait. Can we backtrack a minute? I’m interested to hear about the name change you mentioned. Is your given name not Sarah?”
“No, it is but without the h, pronounced Sada. I always had to correct my teachers on the pronunciation on the first day of school. Then one year, I stopped doing it and started writing an h after my name on all of my papers. And then magically, I was Sarah. Again, doing everything I could to be on the inside track.”
“Sara is a very pretty name. You could always go back to it.”
“No, I’m afraid that ship has sailed. I’ve been Sarah for too long now. Even my parents have adopted it.”
They finished the last of their wine while listening to the jazz combo that had recently returned from a break.
Emory couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed an evening out so much. She was thoroughly content in this moment and more relaxed than she’d been in a long, long time. The music, the company, and the nice glass of wine were all to thank for that. The waitress politely dropped the leather bound book containing the check onto their table. Emory reached for it casually, but was beaten to the punch.
Sarah hugged the portfolio to her chest. “I’m getting the drinks. You paid for the tickets.”
Emory made a grab for the check, but it was easily moved out of her reach. “Come on. I suggested this place and chose the wine. I’ll get it.”
“Nope. It’s only fair and—eighty-four dollars?” Sarah looked up from the open folder. “But we only had a glass each. Do you think they made a mistake?” She raised her hand, looking behind her for a waiter.
Emory winced apologetically and slowly brought Sarah’s hand back down. “The vintage is an Italian reserve, so it’s a bit pricey, which is why I insist on paying tonight.”
Sarah was shocked. The wine had been good, but not that good. She considered next week’s trip to the grocery store and inwardly cringed at the implications this would have on the month’s budget. Swallowing her pride, she handed the bill to Emory wordlessly, defeated inside and more than a little embarrassed. Emory handed the check and a credit card to the passing waitress and turned back to Sarah. “Really, I’d planned to get this. Money is not an issue for me in the same way it is for most people. It just makes more sense—”
Sarah nodded, the differences in their worlds hitting home. “Well, thank you. But just for the record, I’m not exactly destitute.”
“Of course not. I didn’t mean to insinuate otherwise, but be honest. If I were the architect you’ve been seeing, would you have argued over the check with me?”
“I don’t know, maybe not. But that’s beside the point.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Sarah didn’t respond.
They rode back to her apartment in noticeable silence. Alone with her thoughts, Emory tried to see things from Sarah’s point of view. Even though she didn’t necessarily understand, she knew she should respect Sarah’s feelings. The wine had been a little extravagant, but it was something she’d wanted to share with Sarah. Maybe she had been trying to impress her. Was that such a bad thing? Emory switched off the ignition as they pulled into a parking spot in front of Sarah’s apartment. She turned to face her, intent on smoothing things over between them.
But for the second time that night, Sarah beat her there. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. It’s just tonight, this kind of night, it’s not what I’m used to. But what I know for sure is that I don’t want to fight with you.”
“No, I should apologize. Sometimes I can be a little—” But she didn’t get to finish as Sarah’s mouth captured hers in a kiss that she would stay up half the night reliving. It was the kind of kiss that meant something, promised something, and made Emory want all kinds of somethings. Sarah was all soft lips and sweet taste, just as she’d remembered, and a jolt of heat shot straight through her in response.
Sarah pulled gently away and said nothing for a moment, just tucked a strand of hair behind Emory’s ear and looked softly into her eyes.
Emory swallowed, feeling so much more than she expected to. “I’m bad for you, Sarah,” she managed to whisper.
Sarah held her eyes. “You’re not good at relationships. I remember.”
“I can’t be who—”
Sarah placed a finger softly over her lips. “We had a nice time tonight. Why don’t we leave it there for now?”
Emory nodded, holding tight to Sarah’s words, trying to rationalize more than was probably safe to because falling for her would be colossally stupid.
“Good night, Emory.”
“Good night.”
Sarah walked into her apartment, closed the door, and leaned against it. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. She’d just gone on a successful date with another woman and boldly kissed her in her car. Who the hell was she exactly? She was beginning to understand that she didn’t know the answer to that question anymore, and it was scary and thrilling and scary again for days. While she couldn’t deny that she had taken a lot of enjoyment in the kiss itself, her world felt wildly off-kilter. How, exactly, was she planning on fitting whatever this thing was with Emory into her well-established life? Was there even a chance she could?