“I’m not joking.”
“Okay. Well, besides when I was making your life miserable. You’re happy most of the time.”
“I’m a pretty happy guy, yeah. But I have my ups and downs. Life can be rough at times. That’s true for all of us, not just women who are trying to raise preschoolers on their own.”
“Oh,” I say, sitting back. “I hope I don’t come across like I have a monopoly on hard times.”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” he says, easily. “I mean, I go through hard things—wondering about my future. Questioning myself. Thinking about mistakes I made. We occasionally get into conflicts at work. Sometimes a rescue or medical situation goes sideways. Those things can eat at me.”
“But you don’t let them hold you down for long.”
He’s quiet for a bit. Thoughtful. Seemingly in no rush to answer.
“No. I don’t. I guess I bounce back pretty quickly.”
I smile. “I like that about you.”
His smile is instantaneous and full. “Aha. So you do like me?”
“I do.”
“Good. I like you too—in case I hadn’t made that abundantly clear.”
I smile again. Why not smile? This is my moment in the sun. I may as well get burnt basking in his warmth. I’ll recover from the sting of exposure over the coming week.
“I’m not the average single woman,” I remind him. “I’m a mom.”
“I know that, Angie.” He smiles an almost conspiratorial smile. “I never was under the impression that you were average.”
“EJ.”
He just keeps smiling.
“I’m trying to tell you this doesn’t work like it would if I were someone who didn’t have kids.”
“I know that too.” His face is serious, but softer.
He almost makes me want to toss caution to the wind—almost.
“Well …” I’m about to say something more about how this can never go further—at least not in this season of my life.
But then the waitress arrives with two Mason jars of lemonade on her tray. She sets them in front of us and as soon as she turns to walk away, I take a long sip. The drink is cool and tart and sweet. And it’s just the interruption I need to keep me from laying out the law of the land like a wet blanket.
As if he can read my thoughts, EJ says, “We’re just on a date, Angie. One date. Tonight.”
How did this go from dinner to a date?
The word sounds so much more weighty and real.
Does that mean he wants to kiss me?
Do I want to kiss him?
I lick my lips. EJ’s eyes track the motion.
He picks up his glass and drinks a gulp of lemonade.
“Good stuff,” he says, setting it back on the table.
