Page 22 of The Dallas Dilemma

I repeat the words again in my head as we ride the elevator to the ground floor. Once we’re outside, I immediately forget my own warnings and place my hand lightly on her back as we head for my car. I flinch inwardly at the automatic move, but other than a slight darkening of her cheeks, Josette doesn’t respond. And she doesn’t pull away.

I pump a mental fist in the air as I guide her to the passenger side of my car and open the door for her. She thanks me with softly spoken words before I close the door behind her, and then I jog around to hop in behind the wheel.

“Okay, tour guide,” I say as I start the engine, “what’s the best way to get to the harbor from here?”

“Hop on the seventy-eight west and take it to the five north,” she says, naming the freeways I assumed we’d be taking.

I nod and pull out of the parking lot, turning in the direction of the freeway. I can see Josette’s knee bouncing in my peripheral vision, a clear indication that she’s feeling a bit nervous or stressed. Keeping my eyes on the road, I make my tone light as I speak.

“Thanks for agreeing to join me and be my tour guide today. It’ll be a lot more fun with you there.”

Her knee stops bobbing as she shifts her weight in her seat and clears her throat.

“It’s my pleasure. I love the beach, but I don’t get out there as often as I’d like.”

“I lived about twenty minutes from Venice Beach before I moved. I spent a lot of evenings out there in the sand or on the Santa Monica Pier, watching the sunset.”

“Do you surf?” she asks, and I can practically feel the tension draining out of her as she relaxes into the conversation.

“I did when I was younger,” I say, then bark out a self-deprecating laugh. “I should’ve said Itriedwhen I was younger. I was never very good at it.”

“It’s probably your height,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “Taller people have a harder time maintaining a low center of gravity.”

I glance over at her and grin before returning my gaze to the road. “Are you some kind of surfing analyst?”

Josette chuckles, and it’s music to my ears. “No. Not at all. It’s just common sense.”

I nod as I navigate onto the freeway heading west. Josette and I chat more about the beach, and I find out she and her sister, Callie, spent almost every Saturday at the seaside with their parents when they were kids. They swam and built sand castles and ate ice cream, and those are the memories Josette treasures most. Well, those, and the Christmas they spent in Big Bear, playing in the snow. When I ask if her parents live nearby, she tells me they moved to a senior community near Las Vegas. She and Callie try to visit often, and their parents come to them during the holidays.

“Are your parents close by?” she asks, and I shake my head.

“They passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Dallas,” she says, her voice laced with regret for asking.

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “I don’t mind talking about them. I was a bit of a miracle baby. My parents tried for a child for years before finally accepting that it would never happen, and then, when they were in their mid-forties, she found out she was pregnant with me. I always knew I wouldn’t have them as long as I’d like, but I never expected to lose them both in my early twenties.”

I look over at Josette, and she’s staring at me with empathetic eyes. I smile, hoping to relieve her of some of the sadness she’s feeling on my behalf.

“Mom always said it was the magic of the Pacific,” I go on with a laugh. “They moved to California from Texas about a year before I was born, which means they’d only been here for a few months when I was conceived.”

“That’s kind of amazing,” she says, her voice cracking with emotion.

“It really is,” I reply, looking over at her with a wide smile before clearing my throat and refocusing my gaze on the road. “Okay. Enough of the deep stuff. Tell me something about you.”

“Like what?” she asks, settling more comfortably in her seat.

“Whatever you want to share,” I say.

“I don’t know,” she says slowly, like she’s searching for something interesting to tell me.

What she doesn’t realize is thateverythingabout her interests me.

“What’s your favorite movie?” I ask, throwing her a lifeline before she panics.

“That’s a hard one,” she says with a laugh. When I glance over at her, she shrugs. “It’s hard to choose. I really like older romcoms from the nineties.Sleepless in Seattle. You’ve Got Mail.Stuff like that.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” I say, cutting my eyes in her direction before guiding us off the seventy-eight freeway and onto the five.

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