It made sense that he would expect her to drive. He’d flown here. Or maybe he’d have someone drop him off and expect her to know about a place within walking distance, which just brought her back to that whole bar ignorance thing.
Oh, Lord. What if he did want her to pick a place, like he had at lunch? She supposed she could take him to that one waterfront bar, if she could remember where it was. Damn. Might as well say, Brantley, I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t go out much. I don’t have many friends. Correction. I have no friends here; I have acquaintances who I study with. We don’t do that in bars. We go to the studio and the library. Hey! Want to go to the library? They have a water fountain.
Maybe she could suggest coffee. She knew of some coffee shops. It wasn’t against the law for her to drink coffee and there were no calories.
Well, she’d worry about that when the time came. If the time came. He might not even call.
She opened her closet. The trick was to pick something that wasn’t too much or too little. Black linen pants and that pink top would be all right, but she wanted something more festive. She wanted to burst like spring, like the night around her. She shuffled through outfit after outfit, but there was nothing. Most of it was out of season and the rest of it wasn’t quite right. She should have gone shopping. Brantley might notice a fresh haircut, but he would not have known if her clothes were new.
Maybe she should just go with jeans and a cotton sweater. That was safe, probably even in a nice hotel bar.
Then she caught sight of the Lily Pulitzer dress Annelle had bought her last summer. She had never worn it. The cotton poplar dress was a shirtwaist with a full skirt that Annelle had claimed was just right for her curvy body. She’d also said the fuchsia and bright green complimented Lucy’s coloring perfectly, made her eyes shine. But it hit her not much below mid thigh and she felt conspicuous in the tropical print. Worst of all, it was strapless and she didn’t do strapless. She hadn’t even had a strapless bra but Annelle had bought her one of those too.
But it was pretty and spring-like. The tiny bow at the waist was feminine without being babyish. And it would be appropriate, no matter where they went.
Had she even brought the bra? She had.
It might be a moot point. He might not even call. He called.
She put on the dress.
She needn’t have worried about Brantley expecting her to play tour guide. He arrived in charge. Not only did he show up at her dorm in a car—though she had no idea if he had rented, borrowed, or stolen it—he had a plan.
Part of that plan apparently entailed saying, “Wow,” when he saw her.
He probably said wow a lot.
She could have said wow too. He was wearing khaki shorts, topsiders with no socks, and a small pony white Ralph Lauren oxford, untucked, sleeves rolled up. His clothes were fresh and he smelled like soap, which meant he’d showered and changed after dinner, taking himself from budding young professional to fraternity boy personified. Not that Lucy knew that much about fraternity boys. SCAD did not have Greek life.
Without asking directions or so much as hesitating at an intersection, he drove straight to a waterfront bar, but not the same one Lucy had been to. He chatted about the houses he had toured, the soft shell crab he’d eaten for dinner, and how one of his classmates wouldn’t eat seafood. How stupid was that? To be in Savannah and order a hamburger? That was like going to New Orleans and not having beignets. Lucy wouldn’t have known anything about that. She’d never been to New Orleans. She’d been too busy going to Istanbul and Alaska.
He could not have just happened on this bar. He must have asked around. Nobody got that lucky. It was nicer than the place Lucy had been to, but not an older crowd, at least not by much. There was a good mix of college students and young professionals. The band was playing beach music and the whole place had a spring break state of mind, sans wet t-shirt contest.
Brantley settled her at a table and asked, “What can I get you?”
“Club soda. Twist of lime.” She’d never had that but she figured it would look good in her hand.
He smiled. “Have I driven you not to drink, Lucy Mead?”
“The law of the land has driven me not to drink,” she said lightly.
“Oh, that’s right.” He tried to look repentant. It did not happen. “I keep forgetting.” But he did not try to pressure her.
Brantley would have turned twenty-one last September 8, but it was a safe bet he’d been drinking longer than that.
As he returned to the table, Lucy noticed more than one girl appreciating the view of him. He was easy to appreciate.
“So Missy brought her guy of the moment up to Vandy a few weeks ago,” Brantley said, taking a sip of what looked and smelled like bourbon. “Though she says he’s not a guy of the moment. She swears Harris Bragg is the one. Have you met him?”
“I have. I went to Tuscaloosa for the weekend on my way to Mississippi for spring break. I liked him. What did you think?”
“He’ll do,” Brantley said cheerfully. “He’s giving up a chance to play pro football to go to law school. I hope she does marry him. We could use a lawyer in the family.”
Lucy laughed. “Always working the angles, aren’t you? So ready legal advice is more important to you than Missy’s happiness?”
“Oh, Missy’s going to be happy. Don’t you worry yourself about that. No siree. If Missy is not happy, she will knock down whatever is in her way until she is. That is the way of Missy.”
“You are right about that.” Lucy laughed again and sipped her drink.
“You have a great laugh,” Brantley said and covered her hand with his.
And suddenly, there was something electric about the night. The beat of the music, the smell of the water, Brantley’s hand on her. The spring air was warm and fertile. She felt ripe like the buds of the trees and plants that lined the streets of the city.
“We both see Missy on a regular basis. Why don’t we ever see each other?” Brantley asked. “How long has it been?” His eyes clouded. “Four years?”
“About that,” she said, but she knew exactly. From the look on his face, he was figuring it out too, connecting the last time he saw her with the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
The band broke into “Summer Nights.”
She needed to stop that look on his face. What the hell—it was spring, she had on a sexy dress, and if she was ever going to be daring, it was now.
She jumped up and held out her hand. “What does a girl have to do to get a dance?”
His eyes smiled but he pretended to grimace. “Lucy Mead, tell me you do not want to dance to Grease!”
“I do. I wish they’d play the whole soundtrack!” She tried to smile like she’d seen Missy smile at Harris.
He downed the rest of his drink, laughed with a little headshake, and took her to the dance floor.
And they danced, perfectly in sync, as if they had been practicing together for years. They moved from one song to the next, laughing and absorbed in the moment, pausing only now and then for another drink.
If she had felt ripe before, now she was heavy, near to bursting with blooms. She wasn’t thinking anymore, not analyzing. She was just here with Brantley, loving the moment.