Page 47 of You Can't Fight Lightning
We decided on dates and salad to start, and then grilled duck and an Italian sausage pasta dish for dinner. I was glad she’d chosen this place. It smelled wonderful, and talking about the food was making me hungry.
Once our blueberry martinis were served—with a pitcher of water for me, since I couldn’t seem to drink enough of it—Roxy stirred her drink thoughtfully.
I could almost see the questions forming in her head.
Hopefully they were questions I could answer.
“What are you doing here, Z?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know that you came here on what sounds like a whim, but what are you still doing here? Why do you keep asking me out? I mean, aren’t you going to leave soon?”
“My schedule is pretty flexible.”
“That’s not really an answer.” Her eyes narrowed.
I sat back. “I don’t really have a plan in mind from here. Maybe going to some of the parks… like the Grand Canyon? On a tour?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What are you asking?”
“What do you want? Why do you want to go out with me?” A tiny frown moved into her facial expression.
This was the hard part. How could I tell her that I could do whatever I wanted to, and I had no real schedule?
“I’ve never met anyone like you.” That was the honest truth. “I’ve never met anyone who made me feel the way you make me feel.” I wished I could come up with something more original, less cliché. But I couldn’t. For me, this was my truth.
I wished I could tell her how unique this whole situation was, how uniqueshewas.
I wished I could tell her the truth.
“You sound like every guy I’ve ever met who wouldn’t take no for an answer, but you also sound sincere.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t know you well enough to know whether I trust you.” Her words were full of the history of her past.
Okay. Okay. This might be the right time—is this when I tell her? That I know what she’s worried about, and—no. It’s not right. But, is it? I want to ease her worry. I want her to be able to relax, make a decision not based in fear.
I’m going to tell her.
“Listen.” I leaned forward, my arms crossed on the table. “I know what it is you’re worried about.”
Roxy stared at me for a moment that was a lot longer than just a moment. “Excuse me?” Her voice came out sharp and icy, like too many icicles hanging down in front of your door when you’re late.
Even with the warning signs, I pressed on. She had to know. “I know. I know what’s happened in your past. I know what you’re afraid of. But that isn’t going to happen, Roxy. The only way I’ll leave you is if you tell me to go.”
She leaned forward, and then I could sense it.
The anger.
The danger.
“What, exactly, is it that you think you know?”
“That you’re worried about getting involved with someone and then having to deal with their death.”
