Page 115 of Deliverance

I clear my throat and take a deep breath, courage and fear within me fighting for dominance. “My name is Drew.” Anxious laughter escapes my lips. “Sorry, I already said that.”

A bout of soft chuckling travels around the circle.

“I’m nervous.”

Mack gives me a silent nod of encouragement. Reagan is quiet too. No one is interrupting.

“I actually have a date,” I finally say.

“Congrats.”

“Nice.”

“Get it, girl.”

When the initial reactions to my news die down, I feel brave enough to go on. “This is my first date since I left my ex, and honestly, I’m terrified. I haven’t dated in years and I don’t know what’s expected of me.” The memories come to me fast, slapping me, twisting me, turning my stomach inside out. “My ex-husband had certain preferences when it came to…” My heart shrivels. “Sex.” This last word is barely a whisper and the silence is nearly absolute. No one speaks, but I can see people's expressions changing. Some show anger, some—disgust, some—confusion. “I really like this guy and I’m terrified of messing it up. I’m terrified I’m not what he expects. I’m also terrified I’m going to hate intimacy after my ex…”

I pause and realize I’ve never said any of this to anyone out loud before, save for a few skimpy hints to Santiago, and there’s a part of me that feels genuinely happy for finally letting go.

I feel lighter. Almost free.

My heart still hammers away once the meeting is over and everyone is congregating near the snack station, sipping on their tea or coffee.

I’m eyeing Mack’s cookies and trying to decide between chocolate chip and coconut when a soft voice off to the side says, “Coconut is really good.”

I turn to look at the person and realize it’s Preston. I’ve never heard her speak before and knowing how she sounds is both strange and thrilling.

My gaze darts to her paper plate and I spot a heap of coconut cookies, then grab a few for myself from what’s left of the pile. “I’m Drew. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I know who you are,” Preston says with a knowing glance. “I saw your collection.Scars.”

My breath is caught in my throat for a second, and I space out. “Oh…Thank you.”

“You’re very talented.”

“We all are. Some people simply refuse to believe it.”

Preston’s face changes a little. “You really think so?”

“I really do.”

She flicks her gaze to the floor, the tip of her boot tapping against the tattered floorboard. “Do you think maybe you can look at my doodles one of these days?”

No one has ever asked me to check out their work and Tina was very clear at the beginning of my career—no endorsing anyone until my publicist gives it the green light, but Preston is just a girl from my support group, so I go against all of my rules.

“I’ll be happy to. Do you have them with you?”

She shakes her head. “Can I bring them next time?”

“Absolutely.”

I wait for that annoying inner voice to start whispering reasons why this is a bad idea, but the doubts never come.

I pride myself on having a great imagination, but by the time the morning of my trip with Zander rolls around, I’ve exhausted all the possibilities and settled on camping.

Although camping usually doesn’t require “something nice to wear.”

Last night, I had a long conversation with Tina about the tour, and when the alarm startles me awake before dawn, it still feels as if I’m on the phone with her, and my head is pounding.

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