Page 48 of For Fox Sake

I laugh. “Perfect.”

He parks his truck, turning it off and then pointing at me. “Don’t move.”

I lift my hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He jogs around to my door and takes my hand again to help me down.

This time he doesn’t let go, his fingers weaving through mine as we walk toward the restaurant. My stomach dips, my skin tingling from the contact.

InDullgent Bistro doesn’t look like much from the outside, situated at the end of a strip mall, next to a tax preparer office and pet groomer, but it is the nicest and newest restaurant in town.

Inside though, it’s easy to forget the shoddy exterior. Large, plush booths line the periphery of the dining area. The wooden tables are polished to a subtle sheen and set with linen napkins and shiny silverware.

We follow the host around the well-worn dance floor and to our table. Laughter and quiet conversations fill the space. Jake’s fingers are a light pressure on the small of my back as we weave through the building.

Once we’re seated and we’ve put in our drink orders—tea for me and soda for him—I have no idea what to say. My mind blanks. My heart is beating too loud in my ears. How do people do this with people they actually like? What if I open my mouth and say something stupid? More stupid than the past times I’ve opened my mouth and wordgitated all over him. A fake flickering candle sits on the table between us. I stare at it and fidget with the menu.

Jake reaches across the table, his hand covering mine. “Did I ever tell you about how I got into cross-stitch?”

A surprised laugh gurgles out. “Cross-stitch?”

“It’s kind of a funny story.”

He launches into it, telling me how Archer—his sister’s boyfriend—was hell-bent on finding activities to distract him from wanting to drink and forced him into anything and everything he could think of, from bowling to fishing... to cross-stitch. Which was supposed to be CrossFit, but something got lost in translation.

While we’re talking, the waiter comes over to read us the specials and takes our orders.

When he leaves, Jake leans back in the seat, considering me. “We’ve talked so much about our crappy pasts, I haven’t heard enough about all the other things.”

“What other things?” My life has been entwined with tragedy. It’s like wading through a thick swamp, trying to dig for the good that’s been buried under the weight of the sad.

“Like, what’s your favorite color?” he asks.

I consider the question for a second. “Black.”

He blinks. “Black? Seriously? That’s not even a color.”

“Uh, it’s technically all of the colors.”

He shakes his head. “It’s depressing. I said non-crappy things.”

My mouth pops open. “Are you calling my favorite color crappy?”

“Again, not a color.”

I scowl at him. “It is too a color, and it goes with everything. What’s your favorite color?”

His eyes search mine. “I used to think it was green, but now I think it might be blue.”

I bite back a smile. I have blue eyes.

It’s so cheesy. If anyone else threw out that line, I would roll my eyes or make a sarcastic comment, but when Jake says it... it’s real. I can’t explain it, it’s just different.

He drums his fingers on the table, getting back to business. “Next question. What’s the best gift you’ve ever received?”

I give him the first memory that pops to mind. “Last year on my birthday, Ari brought me breakfast in bed. Since her culinary skills were that of a five-year-old, I ended up with a glass of milk, a granola bar, and a banana. And she spilled half the milk all over the counter.” I chuckle. “She also gave me a report card.”

“And how did you rate?”

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