“Um, it depends. How much time do you have?”
She gasps dramatically. “Are you kidnapping me and taking me to a faraway land, keeping me prisoner in a room full of books?”
I chuckle. “No, you already have a room full of books.” She’s so chirpy this morning. I love it. “I’m trying to decide if I can take you into Jacksonville, or if we have to stay in Baker.”
She considers it as we drive down her road, and eventually, she says, “We can go to Jax. My oldest is on a field trip there, and I like to stay close while they’re not with me. Sorry, I jus?—”
“You don’t have to apologize for wanting to stay close to them. In case of an emergency, right? I get it. You never have to apologize for being a mom to me.”
“Thanks. I’m going to text my friends and let them know to stay tuned in case Vero needs anything.”
“If something were to happen, I would take you wherever you need to go. I promise.”
I give her time to do what she needs while I take us to my favorite brunch restaurant. Ellie’s Kitchen has Southern-style breakfast all day a few days a week, and I love coming here for it. My mom used to make Southern style breakfast on Sundays. She’d go to the supermarket and get ingredients for sausage gravy, biscuits, and eggs, usually splurging a few extra dollars to buy fresh flowers. She’d treat us to the best meal, and after, we were all so full, we could barely keep it together. We would lie on the couch and watch TV for hours.
It was such a special thing, I never thought twice about it being because we couldn’t do much financially, so special Sundays were born. They were truly special to me, and I know they were to Liz too. She was a baby when she joined the tradition, but ‘biskeys and gavies’ became her favorite thing.
“We’re all set. Now, where are you taking me?”
“Do you have any allergies?” Damn it, I should’ve asked that. I’m rusty. So rusty. Can one even be rusty if dating was never one’s thing? I don’t think I’ve ever picked up a woman at her doorstep to take her anywhere, let alone breakfast. I’m glad that if there’s someone to experience firsts with, it’s her.
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Then can it be a surprise?”
“Sure can.” She sinks into the seat as much as she can while still keeping the seatbelt snug over her chest. “So what’s going on with Jerry?”
“Straight to the point. I thought we were going to wait for the cushion of breakfast.”
“Fair. I can wait.”
She’s so respectful of my boundaries and my time. She doesn’t push past what I’m willing to share; that has to be the most attractive thing about her. Maybe this is what it’s like to bond with someone who knows what an excruciating, life-altering loss is like. They understand everyone moves at a different pace, and offering grace when needed can go a long way.
We pull up to the restaurant, and her face lights up like a Christmas tree.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to try this place out,” Natalie says, stepping out of the car. “Ellie, you met her yesterday. This is her husband’s restaurant.”
“No shit? Small world, huh?” I guide her in, carefully placing my hand on her lower back—holding my breath at the feeling of her heat under my hand.
We’re seated in no time, in a booth far away from the entrance. I try to slide in to the far seat so I can keep my eyes on the door, but she tenses.
“You okay?” I whisper in her ear.
“Ye-um, yes.”
“Hey.” I usher her to turn to me, her glossy eyes crashing to mine. “We can leave. This is supposed to be a good time. If you’re?—”
“No, I-I just—” She searches my eyes, and I hope she finds whatever it is she needs right now. Comfort, strength, patience, something. “Can I sit on that side?” She points at the bench facing the door.
“No problem at all.” We switch places, my back to the door now, and after the server brings us menus and water, she silently drinks all of hers down, removes her sweater, and tucks her hair that won’t stay behind her ears.
“I’m sorry. I-I don’t like sitting with my back to the door.”
“No need to apologize. It was a reflex—Mom always said men are supposed to face the door.”
She nods. “As the protector I know, I grew up in the South too, so I get it, but I just…”
“Natalie, you don’t have to explain. You’re allowed to ask for things you want just because. That’s fine with me.”
