Chapter 9

Jon and Cilla walked, her hand in the crook of his arm, for a couple of blocks, stopping in front of his building. "Jon?" The question in her voice was unmistakable. Jon turned to face her, "just trust me, please?" She frowned, fully intending to say no, but changed her mind. "Okay." He led her into the building, greeting the doorman on the way past, "hiya Sam." He smiled at the couple, "evening Mr. Bongiovi." He tipped his hat at Cilla, "miss." He remembered her from the other day, when she delivered the cake.

They took the elevator to his floor, neither saying a word to the other. He took her hand and led her to his apartment, not stopping until they were through the sliding glass doors and on the roof top terrace. Jon let her hand go as he turned back to shut the door and Cilla wandered to the ledge taking in the view and then turned to find Jon standing near a small table set for two. He had removed his jacket and was at the table, his back to her as he opened a bottle of wine.

She let herself drink him in, the way his black dress pants hugged his ass and thighs, the way the white dress shirt was impeccably tucked in at the waist and fit him to perfection. It was almost too much for her. He turned and she had to look away. "Cilla?" She took a breath and turned back to him, "for a minute I thought you had a restaurant hidden away up here." He handed her a glass of Pinot Grigio, "I never mentioned a restaurant. I just said someplace quiet and out of the way."

She took a sip god that was good. "So you brought me to your apartment to what, show me your etchings?" Jon laughed, "no, but that's not a bad idea." He stepped closer to her, taking her hand, "I had a very nice time yesterday and I didn't want to chance being dogged by photographers on our first real date. I hope you don't mind." She looked up into his face and the sincerity there had all doubts fleeing. "I don't mind." She tore her eyes from him and glanced around, "it's beautiful up here."

He waited until her eyes were back on him, "I'm certainly enjoying the view. Did I mention that you look spectacular tonight Cilla?" He watched the flush creep up her face, "you did Jon, thank you. I have to be honest I had help tonight." Jon smiled, "let me guess, Sid, right?" She nodded as she sipped her wine, "how did you know?" Jon took her hand and led her to the table, "he's gay, right?" Cilla nodded again "yes, and?"

Jon pulled out her chair as she sat, "and he's your friend and he wanted you to look nice for your date, right?" Cilla laughed, "you seem to know him all too well. Have you met him before?" Jon laughed, "no, but I have a few gay friends myself. They all seem to be the same when it comes to clothes and shoes."

Laughter accented their meal as they crunched their way through fresh bruschetta and garlicky caesar salad. Jon refilled their wine before excusing himself and disappearing inside only to return minutes later with two covered dishes. He set one in front of her and one at his place before removing the warming lids. Cilla looked across the table at Jon as he sat down, "did you cook this?" His lip twisted in a wry smile, "if I say yes, will you still eat it?" Cilla laughed, "probably, just to be polite." Jon laughed, "in that case, no I didn't. My cook/housekeeper took care of the meal tonight."

Cilla smiled, "thank goodness. I've heard tales of your cooking abilities and I'm fairly certain chicken french isn't one of your specialties." Jon tried not to smile and look hurt, but it didn't work. "You're right. My cooking skills go as far as scrambled eggs, toast, grilled cheese and, on a good day, macaroni and cheese from a box." Cilla tried hard not to laugh but couldn't quite contain herself. "Oh Jon, that's just sad, but at least you won't ever starve."

Jon couldn't remember the last time he laughed so much in the company of a woman. Normally when he was out on a date the woman either wouldn't say more than 'boo' or she talked so much Jon couldn't get a word in edgewise. There was never a happy medium, until tonight. She was so refreshing. She even ate, seeming to enjoy every bite she put in her mouth instead of worrying that it might show up on her hips or thighs or wherever the next day.

As they sat talking and eating, the early evening light gave way to the impending darkness of night and, as if on cue, what seemed to be a million tiny white lights illuminated the terrace. Cilla sipped the last of her wine as she took it all in. He reached to refill her glass and she stopped him. "I really shouldn't. I have an early day tomorrow."

He set the bottle down, "how about dessert then?" She nearly groaned, "I don't think I could eat another bite right now." He stood and reached for her hand, "well then, how about a dance?" Cilla stood, "there's no music." He stepped toward the door and reached around and suddenly there was music. Jon stepped back in front of her, taking her hand in his and wrapping his arm around her as Frank Sinatra crooned.

Why do I do, just as you say, why must I just, give you your way
Why do I sigh, why don't I try - to forget
It must have been, that something lovers call fate
Kept me saying: "I have to wait"
I saw them all, just couldn't fall - 'til we met

It had to be you, it had to be you
I wandered around, and finally found - the somebody who
Could make me be true, and could make me be blue
And even be glad, just to be sad - thinking of you

Some others I've seen, might never be mean
Might never be cross, or try to be boss, but they wouldn't do
For nobody else, gave me a thrill - with all your faults, I love you still
It had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you

When the song ended Jon and Cilla were standing at the ledge, the city skyline behind them, tiny white lights sparkled in front of them and they were oblivious to both. Jon's hand left her waist and cupped her cheek, she looked up at him, her lips slightly parted, almost expectant. He lowered his head, never taking his eyes off of her and he gently, chastely, pressed his lips to hers.

He felt her slight intake of breath just before his lips touched hers. She wasn't someone to rush headlong into things and he wasn't going to push her. He stepped back and took her hand. "Come on Cilla, let me walk you home."