“I’m going to have to call it a night.”

Was work waiting for you, or maybe Captain America? I didn’t like the idea of you wedging in a date with me before going to another guy. “Sure, of course.” I rose as you did. “I’d like to see you again.”

You didn’t jump at my offer, which made you cautious and not stuck-up. Selective. Good. Made me want to bend you over a table . . .

“Okay. That would be nice. I’m sure we can work it out.”

“How about Wednesday? Unless you’re on the hook to help with Thanksgiving.”

“No big family gathering for me.”

I wanted to kiss you lightly on the cheek. But your body didn’t angle toward mine, and there was no moistening of the lips or tucking of a strand behind your ear suggesting you’d like me to be more aggressive. That was okay. Meant there likely wasn’t another guy waiting.

“You’ll hear from me soon.”

“Thanks, Jeff, for rescuing me from a boring party.”

A sizzle of desire burned hot in me. The more you held back, the more I wanted you. If I could have taken you in the bathroom then, I’d have put you up against the wall . . .

Slow and steady wins the race, old boy. “Glad to be your knight in shining armor.”

Your laugh was quick, genuine, sexy. I stood and watched you walk out of the bar, your shoulders back, your gaze forward. You were good at pretending you knew where you were going. But I could see through the act. You were lost. Needed guidance. But that was okay. I was here now.

16 MARISA

16

MARISA

Monday, March 14, 2022

6:15 p.m.

Brit texted me midday with an invite for dinner. It would’ve been so easy to drum up an excuse, but I’d finally typed back Sounds fun! The exclamation point was strategic. What can I bring? Nothing was her customary reply. Mine was a thumbs-up emoji.

I was late when I pulled into Brit’s driveway.

Brit had been as attracted to the zip code as she had to the house, which was a one-story brick rancher painted white. There was a large display window, a red front door, and a carport that never accumulated junk. The yard was manicured with purple and yellow winter pansies nestled under the boxwood hedge.

I grabbed my bouquet, checked the cellophane wrapper for a price tag (peeled off, tucked in pocket), made my way down the herringbone sidewalk to the front door, and rang the bell.

Heels clicked in the stone foyer, and the door snapped open. Was there a little tension behind the smile? Safe bet there was. “Welcome!”

“Thanks for having me.” I handed her the flowers, which seemed to lose a little of their glow.

Brit looked past me to the car now parked behind hers. “You got a car?”

“On Saturday.”

“That’s great.”