Within minutes, he was spreading containers across my coffee table while Debbie bounced on the couch beside him, asking a million questions about whether he’d ever eaten with chopsticks and if Chinese restaurants really had dragons in the kitchen.
I stood in the doorway watching them, a glass of iced tea in each hand, still struggling to believe this impossibly kind man had shown up at my door with dinner, the same man who’d understood when I’d had to cancel our date, who’d texted me anyway, just to check in.
“You coming?” Jeremiah called, looking up at me with eyes so blue they made my knees wobble.
“Yeah,” I said, settling onto the couch. “Just . . . still processing.”
“What’s to process? Man brings food. Family eats food. Sounds simple to me.”
Family.
That was a punch to my chest.
Debbie claimed the spot between us, which was probably for the best. I wasn’t sure I could handle sitting directly next to Jeremiah right now, not when he kept doing things that made my heart race and my carefully constructed walls crumble a little more with each word he spoke.
“Willie Wee, do you like princess movies?” Debbie asked, already reaching for the remote.
“What kind of question is that? Iloveprincess movies,” he said solemnly before leaning in and whispering. “Especiallyones with dragons.”
“Aladdinhas a tiger!” she announced. “That’s almost like a dragon. And the genie is blue and magical and funny.”
“Sounds perfect.”
The food was incredible—better than anything I’d had in years. Thelo meinwas perfectly seasoned, the fried rice wasn’t greasy, and the crab Rangoon made Debbie close her eyes and let out tiny joyful sounds that had both Jeremiah and me grinning.
“Where did you get this?” I asked around a mouthful of orange chicken.
“Little place called Golden Dragon. Been going there since college. They make everything from scratch.”
Debbie silenced our chatting with an annoyed glance as the movie—the one whose words she could probably recite from memory—began in earnest. As Aladdin began his adventure through Agrabah, I found myself watching Jeremiah more than the screen: the way he answered Debbie’s endless questions about whether genies were real and if magic carpets needed insurance, how he helped her when sauce dripped on her shirt, the patient way he listened to her running commentary about every character and plot point.
Our eyes met during the “A Whole New World” sequence. Jeremiah was quietly singing along . . . with Debbie . . . neither missing a single word. He caught me looking and smiled as he continued mouthing lyrics. As the song drew to a close, Debbie reached over, patted his hand, then gripped it and didn’t let go.
Something I couldn’t quite identify passed between us that made my chest tighten.
He came back,my heart whispered.He brought dinner and made your daughter laugh.
He’s still here.
He didn’t run away. He ran forward.
Toward us.
I stared at Debbie, completely absorbed in the movie, sauce on her chin and happiness radiating from every inch of her smallbody. One look at her and my heart was mush. She’d always done that to me. She probably always would.
Then I glanced at Jeremiah, who was watching her with such fondness it made my throat tighten.
He did that tonight. He made her happy.
By the time the credits rolled, we’d demolished most of the Chinese food and Debbie’s head was starting to loll with the heaviness of a child up past her bedtime.
“All right, Button,” I said softly, reaching out to lift her limp body off the couch. “Time for bed.”
“But I want to see the end,” she mumbled, her eyes already closing. “When Aladdin and Jasmine get married and live happily ever after.”
“You’ve seen them live happily ever after about a gazillion times.”
“But this time Willie Wee is here,” she said drowsily. “It’s special.”
