Victor quickly cuts in. “No, I’ll walk her to her door.”

He reaches for my hand with gentle firmness, easing me out of the vehicle. As we stand by the curb, his gaze sweeps over the modest facade of my home. It’s small but brimming with the warmth and comfort that I cherish…and occasionally share with my ever-present parents. A flicker of concern crosses my face, hoping they remain tucked away inside and unseen.

To preempt any assumptions, I turn to him with a slight defensive edge in my voice. “This is what you call quaint and cozy, Mr. Grimes.”

Escorting me to my door, he looks at me, eyes soft. “I love it.” The way he says it like he means it makes me comfortable. “It actually fits you. Beautiful, welcoming, warm, prim, and interesting as I spot the two people looking at us through the blinds.” He laughs.

His compliment warms me, but the emergence of my parents peeking through the blinds injects a dose of reality. Ugh, my parents! I’m sure they’ve received a million texts by now from everyone in town.

I sigh. “Okay, so I’ve been living with my parents since the divorce. Just to save up and find my footing,” I quickly offer an explanation, feeling the need to justify my life before any judgments form.

“I understand. I was married once, too,” He shares, a touch of melancholy lacing his words. “But let’s save that story for another time, maybe when we meet again?”

Emboldened by his openness, I close the small distance between us, playful yet sincere, “And when might that be, boyfriend?”

His laughter rings out, genuine and contagious. “Maybe at the next town event? I actually have a few events lined up over the next two months. I really hate business dinners and stuffy gatherings, but you may just bring me luck, Ms. Kind. You know, with your local sweetheart status and all. I don’t know why, but it’s easy to play with you. I don’t usually play well with others.”

“Oh really? I find that very hard to believe,” I reply sarcastically. “So, we’re continuing this...charade?” I probe, half-hoping he’d suggest something more genuine.

But then his response is cut short by the abrupt ring of his phone. He pulls it from his pocket, and a flicker of tension crosses his face as he sees the caller ID: Syd.

My curiosity spikes. Is she the ex-wife? A current girlfriend? One of many, perhaps?

He steps back, his tone drops but still audible to my ears. “Uh, hey, hon. Everything okay? I’ll call you back soon. Love you, too.” He mumbles into the phone.