Page 13 of For Now

“Hi,” I managed to squeak out. My hands were trembling just a bit and I was praying he couldn’tsee.

“Hi,” he said. He had an authentic smile on his face that eased me. “You lookbeautiful.”

There went my nerves again. “Thank you. You do, too.” I said.What?! Did I just tell him he looks beautiful?? Dear god.In truth, he did look extremely handsome. And when I say extremely handsome, I mean, he was downright gorgeous. He was wearing dark denim jeans with dress boots, a button up shirt, and a vest. He had his shirt unbuttoned at the top that gave him a more relaxed presence. I liked that. His hair was pushed back in a purposely disheveled way and he smelled like soap andspice.

“These are for you,” he said, handing me a generous bouquet, though I didn’t quite know what they were. They had rather large blooms, with small red petals. “A bouquet of dahlias forDelilah.”

“Oh, they’re beautiful. Thank you so much.” Ismiled.

Emma offered to put them in water for me so I handed them toher.

“Ready to go?” heasked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Isaid.

“Then let’s get toit.”

We walked the short path to the driveway and followed it to the street where his car was parked. He escorted me to the passenger side and opened the door for me. I ducked in, thanked him, and settled myself in as he shut the door.It’s been a while since anyone did that. Oh, man, this is going to be interesting. Stay level,Delilah.

* * *

The car ridewas fairly quiet, and he played music set at a low volume. The silence didn’t seem awkward though. Maybe he was just letting me get comfortable first. We arrived at the restaurant, and he opened my car door again to let me out. Then he opened the door to the restaurant. He may have been on a one-man mission to prove that chivalry was notdead.

Our waiter sat us at a table near the center of the dining room. The lighting was low, and everything was dark mahogany and white linens. The place could probably only seat a maximum of forty people. There was a fireplace crackling on the open wall and small white candles on each table. Classical music played in the background at the perfect volume, and I could hear hushed conversations all around. The waiter left us with menus and water glasses and lit the candle on the table before turning on his heel away fromus.

I looked over my menu. It was quite an interesting selection and I was sort of excited. I hadn’t eaten a full meal allday.

“So where did you move here from?” he asked, interrupting thesilence.

“Nashville. Have you always lived in Louisville?” Iasked.

“No, I was born over the bridge in Indiana. I grew up there and moved to Louisville when I got the job at the university. That was ten years ago, right out of college,” hesaid.

“Did you ever think about being anything else?” Ireplied.

“Well, when I was a kid, I thought I was going to fly to the moon. I had a thing for astronauts,” he said, with nostalgia written on hisface.

“Where’s Mason’s mother?” I asked.Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I just blurted it out with no sensitivity whatsoever! What is wrong with me?! He seemed a little taken back by the question but not offended, which was a relief. “I’m sorry, that was rude. You don’t have to answer that,” I saidquickly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll answer, but after that, I get to ask some questions. Deal?” His eyebrows perkedup.

“Deal.” I smiled and leaned forward in my seat, propping my elbow on the table and drawing my hand up under mychin.

“Long story short, she left. Mason was about two. I woke up one Saturday morning when I heard him awake in his crib and she was gone. A few weeks later, I got divorce papers and a letter stating I had full custody. She’d signed over her rights. That was about five years ago. And that was that,” hesaid.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my throat constricting. I held back saying anything more. Despite the differences, I certainly understood that kind ofdevastation.

“She suffered from postpartum depression. She had a really hard time coping with pretty much everything. Truth be told, she wanted a daughter, and when we discovered Mason was a boy, she took it really hard. Like unusually hard. She saw a therapist for a while and was prescribed anti-depressants, but they didn’t help and she refused to try any others. She said they made her feel like a zombie. And I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry she had to go through that, and I’m sorry she felt she had to leave us. But mostly I’m sorry for Mason. He’s the innocent victim in this. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t do anythingwrong.”

“Neither did you,” I said. Our eyes met for a moment and hesmiled.

“Alright, so my turn,” he said. “How long have you beenwriting?”

“About four years steadily. Before that, I didn’t really write atall.”

“What made you start writing?” heasked.

Oh, god.I certainly didn’t want to tell him the real reason. “I just needed something to fill my time. I had a weird schedule and not much time for anything else,” I reasoned. It was a littletrue.

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