Except I think the feelings I have for Willow go deeper than that.
It’s like Ben said. When I was faced with the possibility of losing Willow, my perspective changed.
All the excuses didn’t matter anymore. Andjust friendswasn’t enough.
I’ve been thinking about it ever since we left the store. How life can change on a dime, as my dad likes to say. You can be living your life, thinking everything is fine as it is. Then something happens. Something big. Something scary. Something that makes you wonder if fine isn’t enough.
You wonder if your life could be incredible, if you’re willing to take the risk.
I know it’s too soon to know for sure. Despite our years of friendship, tonight is only our first date. But something just feels right about being with Willow.
And I think life with her wouldbe incredible.
One step at a time, my dad would say. He loved to remind me of that whenever I got impatient, whether it was trying out for the varsity soccer team or applying for pharmacy school.Slow and steady wins the race.
I’m okay with that, though. It’s not like I’m planning on rushing Willow to the altar tomorrow. But I will keep taking one step at a time, from the first date to the second, and the second to the third.
And if that takes us to marriage eventually? I think I’d be okay with that, too.
“Ryan?”
Willow’s voice carries from the living room and into the kitchen, where I’m supposed to be refilling our drinks instead of staring out the window, lost in my thoughts.
“Yeah?” I call back, pitching my voice up so she can hear me over the sound of the TV. “Is everything okay?”
While I wait for her to reply, worry nudges at me again. Maybe she’s not feeling well, despite her insistence to the contrary. Maybe the events of today are catching up to her. I’m not an expert with diabetes—though I’m going to be doing plenty of research in the upcoming days—so I don’t know if she’s still suffering side effects from her blood sugar imbalance earlier today.
I probably should have pushed the date off for another day. But when Willow asked me to come over to spend Christmas Eve with her, I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to.
“I’m fine,” Willow calls back. Her voice carries a hint of amusement. “I was just wondering if you got lost in there.”
“Of course not.” I quickly top off the two glasses of eggnog and stick the pitcher back in the fridge. Then I pick up the glasses and head back into the living room. “I was just?—”
Woolgathering? Thinking about our future together? Contemplating a hypothetical marriage when it’s only our first date?
“Thinking,” I finish lamely. Setting the glasses on the coffee table, I take a seat on the couch again, close enough for my leg to bump against hers.
“Thinking?” Willow asks. She turns and crosses her legs pretzel-style in front of her.
Now both her knees are brushing my leg, setting off frissons of heat where she touches me.
It’s funny, I’ve never felt this attuned to such innocent contact before.
Well, maybe I did back in high school, when I went on my first date with Veronica Edwards. We went to a movie, and I spent the entire time debating if I should reach for her hand or not.
But that was different. Veronica was different.
I didn’t picture a future with Veronica past the homecoming dance.
I didn’t trust her with my secrets, like how I was so homesick during my freshman year of college that I begged my parents to let me come home. Or that sometimes I secretly pay for prescriptions for some of my patients and tell them it was some special coupon, so they never know.
But I told Willow those things, and many others. During those shifts at the Corps, when it would be just us waiting for a call, we’d talk about everything.
I learned that Willow decided to become a doula instead of sticking with her better paying job as an RN after her sister went through a traumatic delivery. I know Willow wants to get a dog, but every time she goes to the shelter, she feels too sad to choose just one of them. And I know she loves competitive reality TV shows and her dream is to be onThe Amazing Race.
As a thirty-six-year-old man, the sensation of a woman’s knees touching me shouldn’t affect me so deeply. But it does. And though I’d love more—would love to feel Willow’s lips against mine, to find out how she tastes, to memorize the curves of her body and how she feels in my arms—I’m grateful for this.
“Thinking,” I confirm.
