Page 9 of When Ben Loved Jace
“What sort of things do you write for fun?”
“Stories.”
“About what?”
I shrug. “How it feels to be me, I guess. And the way I want things to be.”
Jace smiles at this. “An idealistandan artist. It’s my lucky day!”
“I’m not an artist. Nor do I want to be.”
He tilts his head. “There it is again.”
“What?”
“The edge of sorrow. What was his name?”
Jesus, can he read me that well? “It was a long time ago,” I say dismissively.
“Was it one of the guys you played doctor with when younger? Maybe you should go for a medical degree instead. It sounds like you already have a lot of experience, Dr. Ben.”
This makes me laugh. “Would you be my nurse?”
“I think about that sometimes,” Jace says with a nod. “I could’ve gone into nursing. I like helping people. If you were a psych major, you’d probably diagnose me as having rescuer syndrome.”
I pantomime flipping open a notepad before holding an invisible pen at the ready. “Did that begin after your suicide attempt, when you were rescued? Do you feel the need to repay that debt?”
“Maybe,” Jace says, his green eyes losing focus.
I set my hands on the table. “What was his name?”
“The old man who rescued me? Bernie.”
“No. I mean the guy thatyoutried to rescue.”
His gaze flicks to mine, and I swear I feel an intense connection. A mutual understanding. Maybe we would have gotten to the bottom of it if the waiter didn’t show up then with our drinks. I don’t feel like conjuring up old demons anyway. I’m more interested in the present.
“So why did you decide to major in English?” I ask.
Jace shrugs. “I like to read. It was always my best subject.”
I stare in shock. “I guess we both know how this is going to turn out. Think you can get me a job at the airline you work for?”
“Sure,” he says with a chuckle. “Why not?”
We talk more about his work, and his love of travel. While dining, we compare notes on the literary genres we each prefer. He’s into non-fiction, biographies in particular. I’ve always been prone to flights of fancy, so fiction suits me better. I try to get a sense of his taste in music, but Jace is happy listening to whatever. I don’t reveal how much I enjoy singing. I tend to hold back that information when on a date with someone new. Not because I have performance anxiety or anything silly like that. I just don’t want to retread old ground. I’m looking for a fresh start, not a rerun.
We walk the mall together after dinner, but it closes early tonight, so we’ll need to go somewhere else. I’m not ready for that just yet. For more than one reason.
“Sorry,” I say after yawning. “I had to get up early to pack for this trip. I always do it at the last second.”
“It’s a long drive out here,” Jace says, not seeming offended. “Can I walk you to your car?”
“Sure!”
The exit I parked near isn’t far away. Soon we’re standing in front of each other, awash in amber light, puffs of steam accompanying each breath.
“I hope you bought that used,” Jace says, nodding at my car, which is dinged and dented.
