“I’ve heard of it,” Della replied, her eyes widening. “A drink there is supposed to cost a semester’s tuition!”
“It wasn’t cheap. Nice martini, though,” Megan added, though her stomach churned to think of it.
“And...?” Della was desperate to know.
Megan smiled at the memory. “La Taverna.”
Della’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is he absolutely loaded, or what?”
“He’s pretty rich. Part of a very successful company.”
Della twiddled her thumbs in silent thought. “Would this be... by any chance... a world-famous computer software company?”
“It would.” OK, Della, get it over with.
“Oh, Megan... Don’t tell me you...”
“Keep your voice down,” Megan hissed. “There’s no need for the whole friggin’ lab to hear about this.”
Della stood. “If you weren’t so damned hungover right now, I’d slap you upside the head.”
“Why?” Megan asked, shocked. Hadn’t Della told her to get herself a date, only days before?
“Because you...” She lowered her tone. “That was the wrong brother!”
Megan grabbed Della by the lapel and fairly dragged her into the hallway, behind the coffee machines. “You don’t get to judge me, Della. All I did was to have a nice evening with a nice man.”
Megan’s friend was red-faced and apologetic. “I’m just trying to look out for you. There’s the steady, dependable one, and there’s the other one, with the reputation, and ...”
“And how much of that do you think is really true?” Megan was in too much pain to really chew Della out, though she felt her friend had earned the admonition.
“Well, you know him better than I do.”
“Quite a lot better.” There was the beginning of a smile to Megan now. “We had a very nice evening.”
Others came to grab coffee from the machines, so Megan led Della back into the lab. “Are you going to tell me about it, or are we actually going to analyze this chemical reaction?” Della asked.
“I’ll tell you later, if you’re very lucky” Megan assured her. “But there’s one person I’m definitely not going to tell.”
***
Andrea’s piano lesson had gone about as well as it ever did. She hadn’t even complained at being asked to play minor scales and, although her Bach was still far from perfect, she was showing a better attitude. Tom texted to confirm that he would be picking her up as usual, and in the moments before his arrival, Megan felt a creeping awkwardness. Can I possibly lie to Tom? About something like this?
In the end, she didn’t have to. “She’s practiced well this week,” Megan reported to Tom as they waited in the entryway for Andrea to get her shoes on.
“That’s good to know,” Tom smiled, looking relaxed in faded jeans at the end of this hectic workday.
“Of course I have!” Andrea chimed in. “I’m going to be a genus!”
“It’s genius, sport,” Tom corrected with a chuckle, ruffling his daughter’s hair. “And that’s for other people to tell you.”
“But Megan says I’m a genius,” Andrea said.
“Miss Peterson,” her father reminded her, a finger raised in reprimand. “And I’m not sure she said that,” he added, giving Megan a quizzical look with friendly, deep-brown eyes.
“I might have said that Bach was a genius,” Megan admitted. “Though Andrea is showing signs of great talent. She just needs to keep practicing.”
Megan saw them out. Tom had either been tactful in not asking about her date with his brother, or perhaps he simply hadn’t known about it, but either way, Megan was relieved. There’s nothing quite so awkward, she reflected, as discussing the love affairs of your siblings. Besides, during the past few years, Megan had been as much a mother to Andrea, and a helpful, younger sister to Tom, than anything else. Certainly more so than anything romantic. It would have been tragic to spoil their friendship over such trivia as her night with Jake, the Lamborghini and the Limoncello.
Megan’s phone showed a voicemail which had come in during her lesson with Andrea. Megan could barely believe the instant excitement of hearing Jake’s voice; the sound of it had a nostalgic and very enjoyable effect.
“Hey Megan... It’s Jake. I hope you’re doing well.” He sounded slightly hesitant, as though making the call had required the mustering of considerable courage. Surely not, with a reputation like his. Maybe he’s just not used to calling women back the next day. “I wanted to thank you again for such a nice evening on Tuesday. I really had a great time, and I hope we can do it again soon. Actually, I’m back from New York and wondered if you wanted to maybe have dinner on Saturday night?”