I know I’d mentioned a movie. And while sitting for two hours holding her hand does have some appeal, it means we couldn’t talk. I wouldn’t be able to see her face. Burn the sound of her voice and her beautiful image into my memory.
“I thought we’d do a casual dinner at Donovan’s. But first, how about bowling a game with me?”
“Bowling?” She’s curious as well as amused. “I’ve never been.”
“Well, now wehaveto go.”
“Sounds fun. Lead the way.”
Turning away from the bench, something amazing happens. She holds out her hand. The jubilant feeling coursing through me tells me she might just be enjoying this date as much as I am. I thread my fingers through hers and hold my head high as we begin our trek through town.
Chapter Twenty-six
Kenna
I can’t remember ever having so much fun. I’ve met at least a dozen people since we walked through the door, every one of them making this town even more endearing.
Monty, the old man who runs the place, is a hoot. He must be eighty years old, but he has the work ethic of someone half his age. He’s got a charming slight southern drawl and seems to play the part of everyone’s grandfather.
Carter’s cousin Hudson McQuaid, his wife Dakota, and their kids Travis and Eliana are bowling on the far lane. Eliana looks slightly older than Amelia, Travis several years younger than Christian, and I can’t help picturing the four of us laughing and getting on like they are. One happy family. Is it really too much to hope for? Or is it a dream that can never be realized?
Even with all the banter and light-hearted fun, every so often, my eyes will connect with Carter’s, undertones of sadness creeping in at the edges. From me. From him. It’s apparent neither of us want this date to end.
Heat crosses my face when I think about the fact that when the date ends, the night will most certainly not. We’ll go home and collect our kids from next door. I’ll put Amelia to bed, wait a few hours, check my appearance in the mirror no less than a dozen times, probably shave again even though I did earlier, and watch the clock as my appetite for him increases with every beat of my heart.
More sadness follows when I picture myself walking out of his bedroom for the very last time.
“You okay?” Carter asks, swapping his bowling shoes for his sneakers. “Thinking about Amelia?”
I shrug. “Thinking about a lot of things.”
He nods. “Same.”
Neither of us need to clarify what those things are. It’s pretty evident based on how we’re looking at each other.
On the way to return our shoes and check out, I stop and say goodbye to Dakota and her family. Eliana giggles, so cute. She’d have been a perfect friend for Amelia.
I catch up to Carter at the counter, but he’s already paid.
“How much do I owe?”
“I asked you on this date, Kenna.”
“It’s the twenty-first century, Carter. Or hadn’t you noticed? I’m perfectly capable of paying my own way.”
“You can pay on our next date.”
Nextdate. The man is nothing if not optimistic. My half-packed car is sitting in his driveway. This night is basically goodbye. But he keeps making statements like that one. About an impossible future he’s unwilling to accept.
I decide not to ruin the fun by insisting there won’t be any more dates. But I really wish he’d let me pay. From what I’ve pieced together—not only from our conversations, but ones I’ve heard him having on his phone—he owns a business that seems to be on the razor’s edge. He should be putting every penny into that. Which reminds me. I still have to give him the second week’s rent before leaving.
He won’t take it. I’m almost sure of it. The first seven hundred dollars I gave him still sits in a pile in an out-of-the-way place on the kitchen counter. And it actually makes me like this town even more knowing several people—friends, family, and even a pest-control company—have been inside his house, yet the money still lies there, plain as day.
I’ll leave it on the table downstairs, along with the deductible for my car that he never asked for. Maybe I’ll even write a note to go along with the money. There are things I wishI could say to him. But I know if I say them, he’ll try to convince me to stay. He might even be successful. Which is why I can’t, and won’t, reveal my feelings. But I can write them in a letter he’ll read after I’m gone.
It’s not a far walk from the bowling alley to the restaurant. They’re both on McQuaid Circle—the hub of this small town—and share a rear parking lot.
When we enter, it reminds me of an old sitcom where a guy walks into a bar and everyone shouts out his name because they all know him. There are no shouts, but lots of ‘hey theres,’ chin dips, handshakes, and, most notably, glares from a small group of women in the corner booth, all looking at me like I’m the bully who just stole their lunch money.
