I start to laugh. “They’re so cute. They seem to like each other.”
“How could they not?” He slides a glance at me. “Because they knowwelike each other.”
“We do.”
Nate smiles. “Shall we keep walking?”
There it is again.Shall we ...
With a shiver of pleasure, I rise from the bench and follow him. All anxiety gone, Scooter follows too.
After our walk, Nate and I return to our cars and realize we’re both famished.
“I’d suggest a restaurant,” he says, “but we can’t leave our dogs in the car.”
“We could take them home and meet up somewhere,” I propose.
“Or ...” He gives it some thought. “Why don’t you come over to my place. I could barbecue a couple of steaks. I live not far from here.” He points toward town. “I’m on South Park.”
“No kidding. I’m on South Park as well.”
“Not Park Victoria . . .”
My shoulders slump. “No, but I’m only a few blocks away.” Scooter tugs at his leash to reach a spilled ice cream cone on the asphalt. “That would have been weird if we lived in the same building.”
“Very weird,” Nate says while I gain control of Scooter. He looks down at Dolly, who’s panting heavily. “I should get this gal back to the car and give her a drink.”
“Same with this guy.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I feel the same excitement I felt when I was dancing around my kitchen.
“I’m on the sixteenth floor,” he tells me as he backs away with Dolly trotting beside him. “Sixteen oh five. And bring Scooter, of course.”
“Great. I’ll see you in a bit.”
I watch him walk off, but then I feel creepy staring at him, so I turn and get Scooter’s water bowl out of the trunk. The poor boy is panting, and his tongue is hanging out. I laugh because I can totally relate.
I decide to make a quick pit stop at home to change out of this sweaty T-shirt, but I end up foraging frantically through my closet for something sexier. But nottoosexy. It needs to look casual, like I just threw it on.
Sadly, nothing I own is quite right. If only Becky were here to put my look together. She’d know how to make great-tasting lemonade out of the rancid old fruit on these hangers.
I step back and concede that I own nothing a normal woman my age would wear to a hot guy’s apartment for a steak dinner. But of course I’m not normal. All I do is work, so all I have are work clothes. Stylish, yes, but not great for hanging out on a sixteenth-floor balcony on a Sunday afternoon, sipping a beer.
In the end, I choose a sundress from a wedding I attended four years ago and a pair of well-worn flip-flops, with my white crocheted sweater.
Should I bring a bottle of wine?
Definitely yes. I turn from my pathetic excuse for a closet, because a bottle of something—anything—will help distract Nate from my frumpy dress. I dash to the pantry, open the door, and tip my head back to look up at the top shelf. Thank goodness. I just so happen to have a very decent bottle of red, which I’ve been saving for something special.
Next, I go to the bathroom and check myself out in the mirror. All I need to do is freshen up the foundation, add a little blush, brush my teeth, and we’re off to the races.
A short time later, after walking two blocks in the heat, I’m buzzed into Nate’s air-conditioned high-rise apartment building, and I step onto the elevator with Scooter. As soon as the doors slide closed in front of us, nervous butterflies invade my belly. I’m buzzing with excitement and anticipation as I ascend. How long has it been since I’ve felt like this?
But as I approach Nate’s floor, those feelings are met by a surge of guilt and discomfort.
I can’t bear the thought of Jacob seeing me with Nate. It’s a ridiculous notion, and the rational part of my brain knows it. Jacob has been gone for many years, and I’ve accepted it. Truly, I have. I also understand, rationally, that it’s important for me to move on and live a full life, which is why I’m riding up sixteen floors in this elevator.
But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve always felt like Jacob is “up there” somewhere, watching over me like a guardian angel, cheering me on or pulling strings to help me out. Occasionally, I still talk to him when I’m alone. I say things like, “Hey, babe, what did you think of that meeting today? Did I crush it?” And when I talk to Scooter, I often tell him how proud Jacob is of the wonderful dog he’s become, and I look up and point at the ceiling. Scooter looks up, too, and he wags his tail.
