Page 14 of Love Letters from a Libra
“Okay, one last question before I decide if I trust you.”
“Hit me.”
“Do you eat potato salad from just anywhere, or are you properly trained in the art of unverified dishes?”
Jules paused. “I need to know who made it. How many aunties approved it, and if it has raisins in it, I’m calling the police.”
I burst out laughing. “Okay, okay. You’re invited to the cookout.”
Jules pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. “Whew!” He laughed.
The rational part of my brain was telling me he was too good to be true, but the quieter part was curious. Jules saw me. Something was intoxicating about being seen.
As we approached the exit, an older woman was standing at the door.
“You two make such a cute couple. It’s nice to see young people who look so good together.”
My cheeks flushed. “Oh no, we’re friends,” I corrected.
Jules’s expression was unreadable. Was he disappointed? I couldn’t tell, but the thought of being more than friends both thrilled and terrified me.
“I should probably get home,” I said outside.
“Of course.”
We headed to my car, and he opened the door for me, another intimate and old-fashioned gesture.
I grabbed the paper bag and secured it on the floor on the passenger side.
“Thank you for today,” I said, suddenly aware that we had shifted into awkward territory.
“You’re more than welcome, Zanaa.” The way that man said my name was like he was tasting it, sending shivers down my spine.
Jules closed my door. While I waited for him to get inside his car, I checked my phone, noticing a mixture of missed calls and texts from my parents, Rell, Toni, and even a sponsor for my blog. I would get back to everyone later. I checked my mirror and pulled out.
I knew I would see him again. I wanted to figure out what this was between us. Something that felt dangerously like recognition.
Notes App-Text never sent – I like that you leave space at the end of your sentences. It’s like you’re deciding if I deserve the full version of you.
Three days.That was how long I’d given her to ruminate on our botanical garden outing. Three days of checking her Instagram stories, reading between the lines of her horoscope posts, wondering if she was thinking about me too. I grabbed my phone from its charging station, weighing my decision to send the invite. This kind of fixation wasn’t like me. I was usuallycalculated and strategic. I didn’t spiral over women I barely knew.
But Zanaa wasn’t just any woman.
Me:
Found something more interesting than overpriced cocktails for our second date. Thursday night, if you’re free. [link to Ambient Flow]
I hit send before I could overthink it. The message showed as delivered and was read almost immediately. Those three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again. She was crafting her response carefully. I liked that about her, the deliberation.
Zanaa:
Somatic meditation? You’re trying to realign my chakras on a second date? Bold move, what should I wear?
I grinned in the darkness of my apartment. I knew she’d call me out, challenge the unconventional suggestion rather than just politely accepting or declining.
Me:
Only if you consent to enlightenment. Something comfortable you can sit cross-legged in. And yes, it’s intimate in a way that will allow us to connect without the usual social noise. Pick you up at 6:30?
