I WASN’T A religious person. I never really had been, but after losing someone so incredible to an unconscionable disease, I couldn’t fathom the existence of a being that could be so callous as to extinguish such a bright star from the sky. I did, however, believe in something. A higher power, a universal truth; call it what you wanted. It was simply the thing that was there, floating around us. It was the energy of life, past, present and future, and that feeling that we weren’t alone. We were a part of something bigger, something that our small minds couldn’t possibly fathom. I went to a grief-counselling group at one point, and they called it being agnostic. I didn’t really care what it was. All I knew was that none of us were in control. We thought we were, we puffed our chests out and made arrogant plans that could succeed or fail at the whims of something beyond our control. Fate, the gods, destiny, karma. It didn’t matter what it was called. One day, it would come and fuck with us all, taking the things we cared about most then expecting us to somehow live on.

That was the hardest part—living on.

The knock sounded on my door a little before 8:00 p.m. I hadn’t been expecting anyone and had already changed into a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt after packing away my weekly groceries. I’d also had one small glass of wine and was on to my second, sitting on the white leather couch with my feet curled up underneath me. My curls had been released from the elastic that held them in a tight bun all day and they sat in a twisted mess around my shoulders.

Conscious of looking like a mess, I raked my hand through my hair, padding over the dark slate floors in bare feet to answer the door. I had a fair idea who it was. Without ringing the intercom, there were very few people who would knock on my door from within the building. So the butterflies had started before I had my hand on the door handle.

Looking through the peephole, I could see him, standing there patiently waiting while fidgeting a little—shifting from foot to foot, raking his hand through his hair. He was nervous.

He was nervous. I was nervous.

It had been almost two weeks since I’d spoken to him. Even after talking it over with Janesa, I couldn’t bring myself to go to his apartment or invite him into mine. I’d even gone so far as to drive around the block when I saw his car pull into the parking garage, just to give myself extra time to avoid him, and in doing so, avoid facing any feelings I might be developing toward him.

I liked him. I knew that much. But the idea of doing anything about it seemed impossible.

I waited on the other side of the door, watching him through that little hole, keeping my breathing as quiet as I could. I watched him talk to himself. I watched him rub at his chin, bite the inside of his cheek, frown. Then I watched him lift his hand, ready to knock again. But he changed his mind, instead turning to walk away. I let him get two steps away, expecting to feel relieved. But I didn’t feel relieved at all. Instead, a sense of urgency clawed its way up from the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want him to leave. Shit. Don’t leave.

“Jude.” I pulled the door open before he could get any farther.

He stopped walking then turned, a bottle of wine in hand. He was wearing his glasses, dark rimmed, wide lensed. There was stubble along his jaw, a blue and white checked shirt on his chest and classic denim jeans on the rest of him. Shoes, of course he was wearing shoes, but I didn’t take that part in. I was drawn to his smile and his nervous words.

“I um...thought, that maybe...” He lifted the wine and cleared his throat. “That you might, uh, like to have this. To, ah...share it, perhaps—with me. But, if you just want it and you want me to go away that’s OK too.” He said the last part in a rush, and then he laughed, a sound that bounced along with the nerves that were bouncing along inside me as well.

I leaned my head against the side of the open door. “I’m sorry for avoiding you, Jude.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” he asked, making eye contact with the wine bottle instead of me. “I ah, hadn’t really noticed.” His fingernail picked at the edge of the label and I knew without a doubt that he had noticed. And instead of taking it as a rejection, he had come bearing wine, a hopeful look in his worried eyes. He made my heart happy.

“Have you eaten yet?”

His head jerked up, his eyes meeting mine as those shoulders of his bounced once. “Not really. I mean, I had a sandwich. At, like, one.”

I laughed. “Well then, would you like to go out and get some food with me?”

Live in the moment, I thought.

He nodded, his lips curving into a smile he fought so it didn’t get too broad. “I’d like that very much.”

“Then give me twenty minutes to get ready and we can go.” I stood aside to let him in the apartment, laughing when he realised that I was inviting him inside to wait instead of leaving him waiting in the hall.

“Sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the couch.

“Sit there,” I responded, smiling as I disappeared down the hall towards my bedroom. As I stood in front of the wardrobe with my heart beating a rampage against my chest, I ran my hand across the clothes that hung there. So many dresses that I’d worn with Tyler. It was hard to pick one without a memory attached to it. “It helps that I met him because of a stick of gum,” I whispered. Then I grabbed a pale blue dress covered with little flowers—one I’d never worn before—and pulled it over my head.

He took me to an Italian place where the owner knew his name and was surprised that he was not only eating in, but he was also bringing someone with him.

“Sounds like you live on takeout,” I said with a secret smile as we took our seats.

He grinned. “Is it that obvious?”

“I was like that a long time ago. If I couldn’t order it or open a packet and reheat it then I didn’t eat it.”

“What made you start opening cans and boiling water instead?” he asked, the question playful given the mischief in his eyes.

“Ha ha,” I responded. “I can cook actual meals, you know. I just don’t do it much because it’s just Ty and me. So I go for simple, and as often as possible—nutritional.”

We chatted for a while, talking comfortably while I skirted around any sort of query that might mean I’d have to talk about Tyler. I wasn’t ready to bring up the whole ‘widower’ thing yet. I wanted him to see me without a label for a little bit longer. Just like Janesa had counselled, I was being selfish. It was fun just being me—Sarah. I enjoyed it. Was that so wrong? I was talking about the books and movies I liked and I was laughing. I was actually laughing.

“You haven’t told me how long you’ve been in Australia for,” I said towards the end of the meal while I spooned chocolate gelato into my mouth in between sips of coffee.

Jude had a tiramisu, mixing coffee sweets with the bitterness of actual coffee. He put down his fork. “I was wondering when that question would come along.”

“You don’t like answering it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s just something everyone asks. It’s small talk, the enemy of conversation.”

“I see small talk as ‘how’s your day’ and ‘nice weather we’re having’; meaningless chit-chat. Not as actual getting-to-know-you questions.”

Again, he shrugged. “It just feels like something people ask when they’re searching for something to say. It’s obvious, you know? Like, they hear an accent and ask a typical question.”

“OK. So would you prefer it if we tried to ask things that weren’t so typical?”

“I would love that.”

“What if I asked something you don’t want to answer?”

Another shrug. “Then I won’t answer it.”

I didn’t even have to think about my next question. “Why do you shrug all the time?”

He shrugged. Then he thought for a second and laughed nervously. “I really don’t know. It’s just a movement. Not a tic, but a gesture that seems fitting, I suppose. Does it bother you?”

“No. I just wonder if you’re unsure of what you’re saying or if you’re doing it because you’re uncomfortable.”

Thinking for a moment, he picked up his fork, pressing it into the side of his cake. “Probably the latter. You make me nervous.”

I laughed. “I make you nervous?”

“In case you haven’t already noticed by the amount of babble that seems to spew from my mouth when I’m around you.”

“I thought you just enjoyed talking to me.” I was flirting. I knew I was and for the life of me, I couldn’t stop myself. I was having too much fun, living in the moment.

“I do.” He met my eyes, smiling. “Very much.”

I smiled too, eating my gelato quietly. I think I was blushing. “I like talking to you too, Jude.”

He took hold of my hand when we left, an accidental brush, followed by the catch of fingers. Warmth spread from my fingers, travelling up my arm and throughout my entire body.

This thing between us was something. I didn’t know exactly what, or where we would end up, but I did know that I wanted something. At that point, that was all I knew. I couldn’t think outside that notion, couldn’t entertain thoughts about whether I truly wanted Jude and me to be a thing. But for once, I didn’t feel so conflicted and jumbled in my mind. Being with him, holding his hand and enjoying his company, it was...nice. Right, even.

The night ended at my door. He walked me along the hallway and stopped a step or two away. “Eighteen years,” he said suddenly. At first I didn’t know what he was talking about and looked at him with my head tilted to the side. “I’ve been in Australia for eighteen years. When I was seventeen, my stepmother brought us here to escape our alcoholic and increasingly violent father. I’m not exactly sure how she did it; it’s possible she broke a few laws. But, she took my brother, my little sister and me to the airport one day and we’ve never gone back.”

“And your father never looked for you?”

He shook his head. “No. He was far too lost himself to try and find anyone else. He drank himself into an early grave. Died of liver failure a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, even though that’s the one word I had most hated being said to me. But what else was there to say?

“That’s why I don’t like small talk about when and why I came here. The story isn’t the happiest one.”

“Then why did you tell me?”

“Because I want you to know me.”

His response was so simple, so sincere. It had an immediate reaction inside of me, starting from my stomach and spreading to my extremities. Without giving it much thought, I rose on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips.

It wasn’t one of those crazy passionate kisses; it was a simple lock of the lips that we held for two seconds before moving apart.

It was…something. A very good something.

“I...uh...” Jude stuttered.

“Thank you for dinner,” I told him. Then I turned and unlocked my door, slipping inside. When it closed I looked through the peephole, watching as he stood there for a moment longer, looking a little dumbfounded. He seemed to say something to himself before allowing a grin to spread across his face. Then he nodded once and turned around, walking down the hall with a bounce in his step.

I couldn’t stop smiling.