Page 22 of Big Pitch Energy

Hope’s house was exactly what I’d pictured, small, cozy, and quietly charming. A white Cape Cod with soft gray shutters, tucked behind a line of holly bushes and a mailbox painted with faded sunflowers.

I made my way up the stone walkway, the soft glow of twinkle lights wrapped around the porch banister guiding my way. Two rocking chairs sat side by side on the porch, one with a folded knit blanket draped over the back like someone had just been sitting out there with a mug of tea.

As I stood in front of the door, I paused and let out a slow breath, trying to settle the nerves fluttering in my chest. It’s beena long time since a first date made me feel like this—off balance in a good way, like something real might be waiting on the other side.

The wreath on her door caught my eye. It’s classic, but still unmistakably Hope. A full circle of fresh evergreen, dotted with bright red berries and little pinecones, tied off with a simple cranberry velvet ribbon.

I finally rang the doorbell, the sound of it echoing faintly from inside while I shifted on my feet and tried not to overthink this. Like I said to Mom, it’s just dinner.

The door swung open, and my carefully planned greeting, the mental note to stand up straight, and even the reminder to breathe evaporated from my mind.

Hope stood in the doorway, lit from behind by the warm glow of her entryway lights. The sage green sweater slipped off one shoulder, revealing a scatter of freckles I suddenly wanted to trace with my fingertips. A wide brown belt cinched the sweater at her waist, the soft knit flowing over a cream-colored skirt that swayed gently in the evening breeze. Her cowboy boots peeked out beneath the hem, worn and well-loved. But it was her hair that stopped me—soft blonde waves tumbling around her shoulders. I’ve never seen it down before, and somehow, it makes her look even more like herself.

I cleared my throat, trying not to sound like a total idiot.

“You look amazing.”

Hope smiled with a quiet warmth that made the knot in my chest loosen just a bit.

“Thanks, Sam. You look pretty good yourself.”

I extended the flowers like an offering.

“These are for you.”

“Sam, they're beautiful.”

Her eyes lit up as she accepted them, and that's when I noticed her jewelry. She had silver rings adorning severalfingers, each one unique. Delicate bracelets jingled softly as she moved, and around her neck hung a silver compass pendant that caught the light when she looked down at the flowers.

“Come in for a second while I put these in water,” she said, stepping aside.

I followed her in, watching as she moved through her house with an easy grace that reminded me of how she looked at her studio. The same fluid movement, but now in cowboy boots and a skirt that swayed with every step.

“Ready?” she asked, returning with the flowers now arranged in a simple glass vase.

“Definitely.”

She set the vase in the middle of the coffee table and we headed out the door.

On the drive to the restaurant, we filled the space with the usual first-date stuff—favorite movies, music, the weirdest things we’ve ever eaten. It was easy and light. By the time we pulled into the parking lot, my nerves had settled into something calmer and more comfortable.

We headed across the street to the seafood restaurant and were seated at a window table with a great view of the river. Being right on the Riverwalk, the place has a great atmosphere. If it were just a few degrees warmer, we might’ve eaten outside, but honestly, this spot’s just as good.

The server handed us our menus and after reciting tonight’s specials, stepped away, giving us a few minutes to decide.

Hope scanned the options, her brow furrowed.

“I’m torn between the grilled shrimp and the crab cakes,” she said, glancing up at me. “What about you?”

“The blackened grouper special is calling my name,” I said. “But the surf and turf is making a pretty strong case.”

When the server returned, we were both ready to order. Hope went with the grilled shrimp over garlic parmesan risottoand a glass of sauvignon blanc. I ordered the blackened grouper with roasted potatoes, a local IPA, and the fried calamari appetizer for us to share.

The server slipped away, but was quickly back before we could fully settle in, placing our drinks in front of us.

She took a slow sip, then glanced over at me with a curious smile.

“So,” she said. “You’re four Reiki sessions in now, how’s the pitching going?”

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