“Our first date was a week ago yesterday, when we broke corn bread together.”
“I told you that was not a date,” I disagreed.
“Even if the man does not get a kiss and he pays for the meal, it is a date. Check the rule book,” he teased.
“There’s a rule book?” There was no doubt in my mind that he was joking, but still I wished one existed—official, as in a paperback book, or unofficial, as in handed down by word of mouth through the ages.
“Of course, and on the eighth or ninth date, we will have a big fight. I don’t know what it will be about yet, but it will happen.”
“If we have all of those dates and we get along all of the others, why would we fight?” I asked.
“Rule book,” he answered.
“Then we break up?”
“No, then we have some great makeup sex,” he said.
Yolanda brought our drinks, took our orders, and rushed to the cash register to take care of the half dozen people waiting to pay their checks. I took a long gulp of my tea and hoped the chill from it would keep my cheeks from catching on fire.
“You really think we’ll have all those dates?” I finally asked.
“Yes, ma’am, and I’m looking forward to every one of them,” he answered. “We need each other.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We have to help one another decide which path to take for our future.”
“Well, there is that,” I agreed.
“Now, tell me about your visit to Cloudcroft. I hear it’s a great place to ski, and with a blizzard coming at us, the slopes should be good in a few days.”
“It’s kind of quaint, and I bought two jars of honey. Scarlett and I gorged ourselves this morning by drizzling it on Rosie’s hot biscuits.” And I went on to describe the stores that Ada Lou took me to.
“I missed big stores when I was on deployment,” he said.
“I was so intrigued by the places that Ada Lou, Nancy, and I went that I even thought about learning to cook.”
“I bet Rosie could teach you,” Jackson said, “and I would be willing to trade lessons.”
“For what?”
“Kisses, of course.” He winked.
“My kisses are expensive. Will you throw in ski lessons, too?”
“No, ma’am,” he answered quickly. “I’ve only tried that one time. Broke my arm and didn’t ever give it another try for fear of breaking a leg. I was planning to play football in college, and I was afraid Iwouldn’t pass the physical if I shattered a knee or a hip. If you are a ski pro, we might find something to disagree about if we hit the slopes at Cloudcroft.”
“I’m not a pro at anything other than playing poker. If you want to have a game of that, I will be glad to take your money,” I told him.
“I’m not good at cards, but I would be willing to give you cooking lessons for a few hands of strip poker,” he said.
“Absolutely not!” I was not ready for Jackson to see the ace of hearts card tattooed on my hip. I’d gotten the tat right after I went out on my own as a kind of symbol that made me feel like a lucky wild card. Besides, we hadn’t known each other long enough for me to play that game with him—or anyone else, for that matter.
“Why? Is that too forward a suggestion for a second date?”
“I wouldn’t know about that, but I donotplay strip poker.” I was totally flustered.
“Got a reason why?”
