Page 71 of Convincing Carrie
It did. The card contained tickets to a musical I’d been wanting to see. It was playing at the Fox Theatre in downtown Atlanta.
Carrie,
I’ll pick you up at 3:30. We’re going to the early show, and I have dinner reservations afterwards. I already talked to your principal, and you have permission to leave early since your planning period is at the end of the day. Don’t worry—your mom is picking up Theo. He’s spending the night with your parents tonight.
Also, enjoy your lunch. It will be delivered to your room during your lunch break. There will be enough for Melinda and Sadie. And Jon, I guess.
Looking forward to a wonderful evening with the birthday girl,
Love,
Thatcher
I couldn’t help but grin. I was excited and nervous about our date, and it cracked me up that he still couldn’t stand Jon.
A knock on my door made me look up. Sadie and Melinda were standing there with a huge homemade card and dozens of balloons.
“Happy Birthday!” they yelled out, drawing the attention of all the students in the hall. They immediately ran over to give me birthday wishes and ask if there was any cake.
“Not yet,” I said. “But you might want to check back after lunch.” I knew my mom was sending a ton of cupcakes sometime today. She’d told me she was sending enough for me to share with my teacher friends and the students, too. Lord. Knowing my mother, she’d send about a thousand. But I knew it was sweet. I’d just set them up near the door with a sign that reminded the students to just take one.
It had been a great start to the day. I bit my lip thinking about what was still to come.
***
When I got home, I found beautifully wrapped packages on my porch swing. I picked them up, mystified, and took them inside. When I opened the small card on top, I saw that they were from Thatcher. All the card said was, “For tonight.”
This was too much. I should have known Thatcher would go big. He always had—ever since the divorce, that is.
I sat on the edge of my bed, too overwhelmed to unwrap the presents. He’d had lunch delivered by Blair. It was from my favorite Italian restaurant in Indigo Falls. He’d gotten salad, breadsticks, and my favorite Tuscan chicken pasta. He’d ordered lasagna for everyone else, and there was definitely enough for Blair, Melinda, Sadie, and Jon, who’d eaten half-heartedly. There was also Tiramisu for dessert, which was one of my favorites. I had kind of hated that Jon ate with us because I’d wanted to discuss the Thatcher developments with my friends. Icould tell they wanted to talk about him, too. We couldn’t very well do it in front of Jon, though.
Frustrating as it was, I’d just have to talk to them tomorrow.
For now, I had to get ready. I opened the smallest box first and gasped. A beautiful, sexy set of La Perla lingerie in a slivery blue color lay inside. Even though I knew it was more than a little inappropriate for my ex to give me lingerie for our date, I loved it. The next box held a silky, low-cut blue Mac Duggal cocktail dress. It was beyond gorgeous. The last box held a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes in the exact same shade of blue.
I didn’t have time to dwell on what it all meant. I just hurried to shower, do my hair and makeup, and get dressed before he got there.
I had just finished putting my diamond earrings in when the doorbell rang. I felt a giddy sense of nerves as I opened the door. He looked… ridiculously handsome in a bespoke gray suit. His blonde hair was styled perfectly. His jawline could cut glass. Those crystal blue eyes of his swept up and down my body appreciatively, and I had to suppress a shiver.
“You look like a princess,” he said, his voice reverent. “Happy birthday.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek. My knees went a little weak at the familiar smell of his cologne.
“Thank you. You’ve done too much.”
“I say it’s not enough,” he winked at me and offered his arm.
I locked the door, put the keys in my clutch, and put my arm through his to descend the stairs.
“Are you ready?” he asked as he helped me into his car.
I nodded, but I wasn’t sure I was.
Later, as we sat at a table at La Belle Jardin, a trendy new French restaurant a short walk from the Fox Theatre, I couldn’t stop talking about the musical.
The restaurant was known for its fresh fruits and vegetables because of the hothouse garden on the roof. Both Thatcher and Iordered ratatouille to take advantage of the garden. We also had champagne and finished with fraisier for dessert because of the fresh strawberries.
We lingered over dessert, watching the people outside walking down Peachtree Street. Most of them were dressed up and going somewhere.
“Tonight has been magical,” I said. “Thank you for this.”
