Page 93 of Teach Me How

“I just took a new job in Boulder. I already put a down payment on a condo. It’s a cute little place right over a bookstore. I’m excited about it. About the job.”

“Keep the job. And the condo. We’d need a home base, anyway.”

His hands are warm. Familiar.

Those eyes, the ones that used to get me in so much trouble, implore me. Gray and hopeful. “Most of my shows are on the weekends. I’ll fly you out for them and you can work during the week. It’ll work. Trust me.”

62.

Skyler

The lighting in the restaurant is moody and inviting. Candle lit.

For being home to one of San Francisco’s top chefs, it’s surprisingly welcoming.

I always thought Terry was beautiful. Blue eyes. Elegant bone structure.

The candlelight makes her glow.

But her hair is the same color as Reese’s. Terry’s hair is straight as a pin.

Reese’s hair curls and twines, wild like a summer storm.

Terry sips her wine, scanning my face with those sharp blue eyes. “I wondered when you’d finally get the guts to ask me out.”

I try to pull myself back in. To focus on the person I’m with.

She laughs at my silence. She’s used to me, knows I don’t always favor statements with a response. One elegant eyebrow arches up. “What took you so long?”

What did take me so long?

Terry is beautiful.

But besides that, she’s sharp and funny and just a little edgy. I clear my throat. “Didn’t want to ruin a good thing, I guess.”

She laughs. “Is dating me going to ruin a good thing?”

I smile reluctantly. “I hope not.”

It’s a risky step, though. One I didn’t choose to take on a whim.

She’s not Reese, that’s true, but I need to get Reese out of my head. She’s not an option.

Even if it weren’t just the distance, she’s more or less engaged to boy wonder. The Christian rockstar.

Reese and I had passion, true enough, but chemistry like that can burn. I don’t think I could walk through the flames again. The next woman needs to be a safe place. Terry is a safe place. She knows me. My moodiness. She knows about the ups and the downs. About my general lack of conversational skills. And she tolerates me, anyway.

Our server returns, placing almost a dozen small plates in front of us. Artful bites.

She picks at the one in front of her, half foam, half cracker. “How’s Nebraska?”

“Good. We finished harvest a few weeks ago.”

“Harvest.” She repeats the word with a hint of a smile. “Sometimes, I’m so jealous of you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Living out there with all that space. I pay an ungodly rent for a match-box sized apartment. And the traffic. God, the traffic. Maybe I should just take a page from your book and move out to the wilderness.”

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