A hand on my shoulder shocks me into awareness, and I jump up from my seat with a gasp. “Aren't you supposed to be reading that to your grandmother?” Jackson asks me with a raised brow.

“Should you be listening in on conversations?” I question, mirroring his raised brow.

“It's part of my job sometimes,” he argues.

“Right.” With a grin pulling at my lips, I close Grams’s book and slip it into my bag before swinging it over my shoulder. “Normally, I might shower and freshen up before a ‘date,’” I tell him, making sure to air quote the word date.

“Hey, I offered to reschedule,” he says, taking my bag off my shoulder. “What do you have in this thing?” He swings it over his free shoulder, seeing as his backpack is hanging off his other.

“My life,” I tell him.

“You have a heavy life, I guess.”

“Not really, but my laptop is heavy,” I say with a bit of sarcasm.

“Fair enough,” he replies while pulling open the heavy glass door to the outside, unveiling a heavy downpour of rain. I hadn't looked out the window since I tried to get some fresh air earlier, but it was perfectly clear with a blue sky then. The drastic change in whether proves how long my day has truly been. I must already look totally disheveled, but now I’ll be soaking wet on top of it. Not a good look for a first date with a handsome doctor.

“Why don't you wait here, and I'll come pick you up?” I suppose I didn't consider the whole driving situation either. We both have cars here, but it would feel awkward to drive separately to dinner.

“It’s okay, a little rain won't hurt me,” I tell him.

“I insist,” he says handing me back my bag. “Stay dry.”

He runs out, holding his bag over his head as puddles splash up the sides of his jeans that I'm only now noticing he has on. I've only seen him in scrubs, but I like the way he looks in jeans and his leather jacket. I feel my pulse speed up, and I know if he keeps having this type of affect over me, I may need a heart doctor.

I watch him until he disappears into the parking lot across the street, and I quickly power up my phone and flip my camera around to see how bad I look. Please don't have dark circles of worn-off makeup caked up under my eyes. Somewhat surprised, my reflection reveals that my hair isn't too bad and most of my makeup is still on. I could look worse. I guess if he sees me like this, hopefully he’ll be pleasantly surprised if there is a second date—one where I have time to fix myself up first.

A dark car pulls into the main roundabout and parks in front of the doors. I don't know much about cars—it's never been my thing, but I know this car is sleek looking and it’s a Mercedes, and I've never been inside one of one before. I guess there’s a whole list of “firsts” for me today.

I open the door to run out, but Jackson jumps out of the car with an umbrella and runs toward me. “What are you doing?” I shout over the thunder and rain.

“I don’t want you to get wet, I told you.” Is he for real? The men I have come across, don't act like this.

I watch him curiously as he opens the passenger-side door and I slide in, still dry as a bone. He closes my door and makes his way back around to his side, closing the umbrella, tossing it into the back, and sliding in. His dirty blond hair is soaked and spiked in every direction and his jacket has droplets of rain dripping down the sleeves. “You’re drenched,” I tell him, stating the obvious.

“I’ll dry,” he says, glancing over at me with a small smile.

“You are quite the gentleman. Are you always like this?” I ask with a raised brow. That came out a bit sarcastic. I didn’t intend for it to, but I honestly didn’t think there was a man left on earth who acted so cordially. I could easily get used to this.

“What do you mean?”

I settle my bag between my feet, but he picks it up and places it on the back seat. “I wasn't aware there was a man around who still opened doors for women and picked them up in a rainstorm. I thought chivalry was dead.” Dad certainly never did that for Mom when they were together, and through my years of dating in high school and college, I never witnessed such a good-old-boy act of kindness.

“I was raised by two women, so I guess that has something to do with it,” he says through laughter.

“Two women?” I question.

He looks over his shoulder and pulls away from the curb. “Yeah, my dad left when I was two, and my sister is thirteen years older than I am.”

“Wow,” I say. “Are you still close with your sister?”

“Very. She has her own family now, and I like to be around my niece and nephew whenever I can.” All I can think to myself is that he is the perfect man; perfect manners, good looks, a great job, cares about people, and likes kids.

“If you tell me you’re Jewish, my mother might get a Rabbi to marry us in the hospital tonight,” I say, but immediately regret the words. That’s rude. Regardless of what Mom and Grams like to say about me marrying a nice Jewish Doctor, it's something I should probably keep to myself.

“Hmm,” he snickers. “I’m not Jewish; I’m Catholic…and German, so after listening in on some of your grandmother’s story, I’m not sure that’s what you want to hear.” He glances over at me with a quick wink, but his words settle in my head. It’s 2017. Religion and origin shouldn’t determine who we choose to spend our lives with now. Mike is Jewish, and considering how that relationship went, I can honestly say religion will not be the deciding factor in who I end up with.

“I was kidding,” I tell him. “It’s not something I’m concerned about, but my mother can be a little over the top sometimes.” I laugh quietly, hoping to defuse some of the awkwardness I created.

“Actually, your grandmother already knows, and it didn’t seem as though she cared.” With a soft snicker, he squints one eye and leans away from me as if I'd punch him or something, which I briefly consider doing as I remember how this all came together today. “Don’t forget, we shouldn't speak ill of the ill.” His words remind me that I should be nice regardless of this little setup between him and Grams. He did save Grams’s life today.

“Okay, I'll pretend like we were both blindsided by the guilt trip of us going out together.” I press my lips into a straight line, trying my best not to smile, but it’s hard to avoid while looking at him. “So, where to, Prince Charming?”

“I am kind of charming, aren't I?”

“You are kind of charming.” I'll give him that much.

“Well, since I know almost nothing about you, are you the wine and dine type of woman or do you prefer something a little lighter and fun?”

I run my fingertips up and down the smooth leather seat cushioning my legs as I think about his question. What am I? I guess I’m a workaholic that doesn't fit into either category. “I like to experience life, but I don't have the opportunity to do so as often as I'd like.”

“Not that you've answered my question, but you have me wondering why a person couldn't enjoy life as much as she would like to?”

“I work a lot,” I tell him. “I'm also alone a lot and sometimes forget to eat, never mind exploring the big world out there.”

“So, how do you know you like to experience life?” He has a valid point.

“I guess it was more of a wish than an answer to your question. I’ll go with fun. As much as I enjoy wine and food, fun sounds better tonight.”

“My kinda girl,” he mutters as he takes a sharp turn into a different direction. I guess he had me pinpointed as a wine and dine kind of girl.

How did today end up like this? Never in a million years would I have expected to be out on a date with a different man tonight, let alone a great guy. Mom has always told me I give off an uninterested vibe to people, like I'd rather not meet anyone new or interact with those I don't know. I've never tried to be that way, but I'm unintentionally quiet because I like to observe. It's the artist in me, I suppose, plus there’s the whole six-year relationship part I had been dealing with.

As we drive through the city, the street lights and painted lines on the road seem to have a hypnotic effect on me, and I feel unusually relaxed for the first time all day. I gaze out the window at the rain cascading down the glass in a solid sheet of water, lost in thought about Grams and her past. I hope she told that soldier—Charlie—to take a hike. It didn't seem like she was interested in his story, even though it was about him being forced into his position. He was probably up to something. Maybe she keeps calling out his name because she wants revenge on him for being one of the bad soldiers. I would. I could imagine it haunting me until my dying day. “Beer or wine?” Jackson interrupts my scattered thoughts.

“Beer,” I tell him, turning back in his direction.

He looks impressed as his lips purse together. “Light or dark?”

“Dark,” I answer without thinking. “I'm not a big fan of IPAs, and I like the smoky hops.”

“Okay, you might be a little too perfect for me, so I'm not sure this is going to work out,” he says with a sigh that oozes sarcasm.

We pull into a parking lot beneath a glowing sign with a spinning bowling ball. As Jackson puts the car in park, the rain stops abruptly, as if someone were shutting off a faucet. I can even see a few stars poking out from behind some thick clouds. “Perfect timing.”

I let myself out even though he was heading around the back of his car toward my door. “I just have to grab my purse out of my bag.” I pull my seat up and lean into the back where my bag is, grab my small leather satchel, and pull it over my head as it falls diagonally across my body.

We walk side by side around to the front of the building and in through the entrance, greeted by dance music, hundreds of large screen TVs, and more glowing lights.

“What size shoe do you wear?” he asks.

“Seven,” I tell him. “And you?”

“I'll get them, don't worry.” I was trying to be funny, and he's either playing back or taking this date very seriously.

“What size can I get you?” the balding man with a silky, pink button-down shirt asks from behind the counter.

“A seven for her and an eleven for me,” he says. “We'll do two rounds.”

“Here,” I offer, handing him some cash.

“Cut it out.” He pushes my hand away. “I was in on the guilt trip with your grandmother, so I'll pay the consequence.”

“Consequence?” I snap with a smile.

“Kidding.” He gives me a quick wink as he hands over my shoes. This man sure knows how to make a heart flutter. It’s obvious he specializes in that area.

“Lane fifteen,” the guy says, pointing to the right side.

We make our way through dozens of couches and modern chairs, finding our alley capped off with a dining table and menus. “This is pretty cool,” I tell him.

“You haven’t been here?”

“I'm in the suburbs, about twenty minutes away, and I don't get out to the city as often as I’d like.”

“So am I. What town do you live in?” he asks.

“At the moment, I’m not quite sure.” I'm currently homeless unless I count Mom's house as home. “I lived with my boyfriend in Waltham up until yesterday.”

“Oh, yikes, I wasn't aware of how serious it was. You just broke up with him out of nowhere today?” He seems concerned, rightfully so, as I would be if it happened the way he may be assuming it did. I’m sure he’s not up for being a rebound guy.

“Oh, believe me, it wasn’t out of nowhere. It sounds worse than it is,” I tell him. “I've been pulling away from him for a while and spending more time at my mom's than with him. I've been over us for a while, but I wasn't forceful enough to make a clean break. However, today was the day he admitted to cheating on me multiple times, and it was enough of a reason to remove him from my life for good. I just need to get my stuff out of his place, and I'll never have to see him again. So, our “date” happened to pop up at just the right time, I suppose.”

“Wow, so you've wasted no time getting back into the dating scene, huh?” His face has little emotion, and I don't know what to make of his statement until he breaks into a hearty laugh. “I'm kidding.”

“You think you're pretty funny, don't you?”

“Actually, I have been told that I would have been great as a stand-up comedian. It didn’t pay as well as being a doctor, though, so I tried to incorporate comedy into my medical career, and I turned out to be a pretty funny doctor. After all, laughter is the best medicine for the heart, you know?”

“You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” I ask with a grin.

“If I can’t laugh a little each day, I’d be surrounded by sad, sick people, so I do what I do to get by and try to make my patients smile at the same time.”

“That makes perfect sense.” Maybe it’s something I should consider trying out. I don’t leave much time for fun and laughter in my life, and it’s suddenly apparent how much I’ve been missing it.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll grab some bowling balls for our lane.”

The curved bench at the table is welcoming with its plushness, and I stretch out, waiting for Jackson to return with the bowling balls. He somehow manages to do so with one trip, placing them in the holding area of the lane, then slides in next to me. “So, what was this ex-boyfriend’s name?”

“Mike,” I answer, feeling a tightness in my throat just from saying his name out loud.

“I'm sorry you're going through it. Breaking up is never easy.”

“It could be worse,” I tell him. Life could be so much worse.

“You're right about that.”

A waitress comes over to our table with an order pad, but her focus is everywhere except on us. I can understand with how crowded this place is. “Drinks or dinner?” she asks.

“Both,” Jackson answers.

“Do you need a minute with the menu?” she continues.

“Please,” Jackson replies. “We could order drinks in the meantime, though.” Jackson gestures to me, waiting for my drink order.

“Do you have Smoke and Dagger?” I ask.

“We do,” the waitress says while jotting my order down.

“I’ll have a Boston Lager,” Jackson follows. “You like Smoke and dagger?” He hoots with amazement as if my drink choice is a point in the dating game.

“I told you, I like dark beer.”

“I guess so. You have good taste.” Up until today, I'm not sure I'd say that about myself, but maybe I can start fresh tonight. “So, I must ask, since I was listening in while you were reading to your grandmother today. Is Charlie your grandfather? She was asking for him before the second stroke happened too.”

“No, actually, I’m not entirely sure who Charlie is. It's all a little strange. She's never mentioned his name once in all these years, so why now?”

Jackson seems surprised by all of this, just as I am. “The mind works in mysterious ways, and strokes can have an impact on memories and pasts that have been locked away.”

“I suppose. I guess it's just a little unsettling.”

“Maybe you should look him up?” Jackson suggests, like it's just a matter of Googling this guy and finding out who he is and what his story was.

“I can’t even remember his last name, or if it has been mentioned anywhere in the diary so far, and second, he was a soldier. I'm not about to go looking for some guy who may or may not have killed people. What if he tried to hurt her? I really don’t know enough of the story yet.”

Jackson shrugs. “I suppose. You should keep reading, but you have to tell me what happens because I’m kind of intrigued now.”

“You kind of got yourself intrigued when you decided to eavesdrop, don't you think?” I playfully nudge my elbow into his arm, teasing with a smirk.

He pulls back with a cute smile. “Hey, hey, be gentle. I’m a doctor.”

I roll my eyes, “I wouldn’t want to damage your arms. Do you have them insured?”

“Maybe,” he says with a sigh. “In any case, please keep me posted on the next entry. I am curious about where it all goes.”

I open the menu to distract myself from this man’s flawless smile and the effect it clearly has on me. I have been easily distracted by Jackson all day.

Focus, focus. Menu. The appetizers seem like the easiest thing to go with since we'll be bowling at the same time I assume. “Hmm…nachos and mozzarella sticks.”

“You speak my language too. How amazing is this?” he jokes. “Want to share?”

“I suppose I could do that.” I feel like I may be sounding too serious rather than just pushing the dry humor. I’m trying too hard, which is why dating is a bad idea. I’m bad at it, and I end up with men like Mike.

“You don’t like me, do you?” he blurts out.

“What?” I ask with a squeak accenting my question. “What would make you say that?” Besides my not-so-funny sense of humor and ridiculous awkwardness. It’s so obvious how nervous I am. I must look like a fool right now.

He opens his menu, but it seems as though it’s just to busy his hands as a distraction. “You seem like you're trying very hard to figure me out.”

“I like to do that. It's like a guessing game for me—you know—if I'm right or wrong on certain aspects,” I tell him.

“So, you do like me?”

I can’t hide the smile threatening the corners of my lips. “Do you have a confidence issue I should be aware of?” I'm going to go with no on this one, but I'm toying with him.

“I do, and you're messing with it, big time.” I release the smile I've been holding back and feel a blush warm my cheeks. “Oh, you’ve got game.”

“How else will I win?” he asks.

“Well, you haven’t hit a strike yet, so I don't know.”

“That’s gutter talk right there,” he says through laughter.

“Oh, you are a corny one.”

“I have no comeback for that,” he snickers. “But how about this, if I get a strike with my first ball, you have to tell me exactly what's on your mind at that exact second. That way I'll know what it is you’re observing about me.”

“Deal,” I say, trying to appear unfazed.

Jackson stands up from the bench, leaving behind a scent of some type of delicious-smelling cologne. The fragrance grabs my senses, and it takes everything I have to hold myself back from running over and wrapping my arms around him. We’re basically still strangers, though, and that would be taking things a little too fast for this set-up date we’re on.

He picks up the bowling ball and eyes the pins carefully before swinging his arm back. “Don't miss!” I yell at the exact second he drops the ball, but I don't think it had much effect.

“Really?” He turns around and lifts his hands in the air. “You pulled that move?” Without looking at the pins or the destruction of his swing, the word “strike” blares in fluorescent letters on the screen above his head and bounces around amid digital confetti. He just knew.

“Okay, Emma, spill it. Pause your thought and hand it over.”

“Wow, I'm impressed with your bowling skills.”

His arms drop to his sides. “Really? That's it?”

He's kind of too cute for words, and I hate the thought that this might not move past tonight since this date wasn't exactly our idea. I’m also afraid that he may not want to date someone who might be on the rebound. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that I just broke up with Mike, but I wouldn’t want to start something new without being honest. My timing has never been great.

“Fine,” I tell him. “I'm worried that I'm having fun with you.”

“What? Why?” he asks with a surprised look and a pinched tone to his words.

“You weren't wrong with what you said earlier. I just got out of a long and unfortunate relationship, and here I am on a date with you, just hours later.”

“You do know you deserve to have fun, right? We're celebrating your decision to move on with your life. It’s that simple.”

“I like that,” I tell him. It makes me feel better, less like a desperate woman looking to fill a void.

“When your feelings are dead for so long, and someone or something sparks your interest, it’s only natural that you're going to have a good time. I’ve been there.”

“You went on a date the day your wife left you?” My curiosity is at an all-time high with this one. He seems to be speaking from experience, but I doubt it’s very common to be dating within twenty-four hours of a breakup, especially if it’s the breakup of a marriage.

“No, this is actually my first date since then.” After all this time, I’m the lucky girl who unintentionally sparked his interest? How did that happen? Is this all Grams’s doing? Not that I’m complaining, but my life does not go that way. At least, it hasn’t up until now.

I stand up, needing to end this conversation because I don't know what to think, or I don't know what I’m thinking. I’m not sure which. “Now, if I get a strike, you need to tell me why, of all the strangers in the world, you chose to go out with me after being single for so many months. We both know you could have told my grandmother you were busy or taken.”

“Deal,” he says, adding the tone of challenge to his voice.

I dig my fingers into the holes of the ball and close my eyes, doing nothing but wish for a miracle because bowling is not a talent I have been gifted with, and I don't want him to know that just yet.

I swing the ball, lining it up with the center guide, and release it. I cover my hand over my eyes and wait with anticipation for the sound of my ball crashing against the pins. It sounds loud, so I open my eyes, shocked to see all the pins knocked over. You’ve got to be kidding me. No way.

I turn around and hold my chin up with a proud smile. “That was totally by luck,” he says. His wry little grin is totally calling my bluff.

“What? I don’t think so!” I argue. “Are you questioning my bowling skills?”

“When your eyes were closed, you missed the part where your ball did this cute little swirl into the gutter before jumping back onto the alley and hitting the pins, but hey, that was impressive.”

“It doesn't matter how it was done. It was done, so now you can confess the reality of ‘why me.’”

“Why you?” he begins. “Your grandmother told me she knew what true love was and that so few people get to experience it in life because they're too busy settling for the wrong person. She said you were one of those people...too busy settling. Then she asked me about my story, and she told me you would be the perfect one for me. Since the woman seems to know what she’s talking about, I took her advice. Plus, you’re drop-dead gorgeous, so that helped.”

I’m so surprised and embarrassed by his response that I swat my palm against his arm.

“Wow, I tell you that you’re beautiful and you hit me. Geez, no wonder you’re single.” I teasingly hit him again because I like the way he flinches and how his dimples deepen as his smile plays against his laughter.

Somehow, between dinner, a couple of beers, and two rounds of bowling—Jackson taking the game by storm—it’s midnight, and it feels like only a minute has passed since we arrived at the alley. Jackson pulls into the parking lot at the hospital and leans his head back into his seat. “I'm going to be so tired at seven tomorrow morning, but it was worth it. I had more fun tonight than I've had in as long as I can remember,” he says.

“Me too, Jackson.”

“I'm not going to kiss you or anything because I know you’re on the rebound. So, don’t get nervous or anything, okay?”

“I can’t believe you,” I groan. “You just can’t stop yourself for trying to make things awkward.”

“I can’t,” he says. His smile has captured my attention too many times tonight and I’m falling weak for it. “Oh, don’t forget your bag back there. I assume you have a date with your grandmother’s diary.”

“Is it bad that I’m reading it without her?” The thought has crossed my mind a few times, but I’ve tried to push it out of my head and replace it with the undying curiosity I’m feeling.

Jackson leans back into his seat and rolls his shoulders back. “Personally, I think it’s best to know someone—their past and present—before they're gone. Plus, I think you need to find out more about this Charlie guy.”

“I know, right?” It's like I’ve been let off the hook for spying. It is the reason I began reading without her. If she's asking for this man, I need to at least understand why.

I watch Jackson’s gaze float to the time on the dashboard. “You know, I have to be back here in just a few hours so I might just spend the night at the hospital. Therefore, if you want to read out loud, I'm kind of curious to know what happens—or at least find out more about Charlie.”

“You’re as bad as I am,” I tell him.

“Look, I’m surrounded by emergencies, surgeries, and upset family members daily, and sometimes, even the funniest doctors need an escape too.”

“I can see that,” I agree with his argument.

“Why have I not asked you what you do? I must be very self-absorbed,” he jokes, chuckling at himself. It didn't come up, but I hadn't thought much of it. I'm glad I had a mental break from almost everything tonight, including work.

“I'm an artist,” I tell him, keeping it vague.

“An artist?” he asks. “I've never gone out with an artist.”

“We're an odd breed,” I digress while fiddling with the dangling bracelet on my wrist.

“Doctors are a little weird too.”

“Touché,” I agree.

“What kind of art?”

“Graphics mostly, with some illustration mixed in. I work with a couple of ad firms in the city, consulting mostly—it keeps me busy.”

“That's amazing.” His brows rise and his lips part, appearing enamored by what I just call work. It’s sweet. “I’d love to see your work sometime.”

“I'd say the same to you, but seeing as you saved my grandmother's life today, I guess I already have.” I reach out in front of me and trace the Mercedes logo on the dashboard, busying myself as I consider all the strange thoughts racing through my mind. My heart is beating a little faster than usual, and it’s from such a simple conversation we’re having. It feels almost strange that he has this kind of effect on me. I wonder if it’s just a relief to feel good for a few moments after such a horrible day, or maybe it’s the start of something good.

“Well—” He reaches into his back seat and he grabs my bag. After resting the bag on my lap, he reclines his seat back a bit to relax. “Read me an entry before you go.” He looks at me with a strong gaze, affirming his seriousness in hearing more about Grams’s life.

“Are you sure you want to listen? It's not exactly bedtime story material.”

“I'm sure.” His words sound like a hush as he as he places his hand down on my knee. The warmth from his skin melts through the denim material of my pants, and I find it both comforting and arousing. The mere touch from any part of him makes my entire body shiver.