The three days seemed to simultaneously creep by with a pace similar to a snail and fly by as if powered by rocket fuel. Unsurprisingly, Emma was excited and here just an hour before Samuel was scheduled to come by and pick me up, helping me decide what to wear.

“How about this?” she asked, holding up a black lace top.

“It screams ‘I want to be more than friends’. No way.”

“How about this then?” She held up a thick green turtleneck.

“That says ‘I’m trying too hard to cover every inch of my skin and I’m scared of you’. It’s perfect!”

“Absolutely not. My best friend is not going out with a guy for the first time in forever dressed like a nun.” She stomped her foot. She was going to get her way no matter what.

“We aren’t going out! We are going to be friends. Just friends! This is hopeless.” I buried my face into my mattress as she rifled through my closet.

“Oh, wait a minute, wait a minute. Here we go! Now this is perfect!”

I could hear the excitement in her voice as I lifted myself up. She held out the long sleeve, short number I’d purchased upon her insistence shortly after I arrived here. Oh, god. “Oh, I don’t know, Emma,” I said, hesitating. I knew purchasing that thing was going to come back to bite me in the ass. And now here we were, the perfect opportunity to wear it and there it was, hanging in Emma’s outstretched hands.

“Why not? It’s cute. Not too formal, not too casual. It’s stylish. Perfect for the weather and we can dress it up! We’ll add a belt, leggings, and boots. You’ll look gorgeous!” she said. She looked like a kid waiting in line for Santa at the mall. Her eyes beamed with way more excitement than I had.

“Fine,” I said, with about as much enthusiasm as a tree stump. She won. She always won. I have to figure out how she does it.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Emma had really done a number on me. From head to toe, I could have been modeling for a fashion blog. The beige scoop neck dress was accented with maroon leggings, a brown belt, and brown boots. She opted to put a simple silver necklace on me rather than a scarf. I wore a matching petite bracelet and earrings. She did my makeup perfectly. Not too much, but certainly not too little. My hair, for once, didn’t look like I just came out of a wind tunnel. It was getting long. The ends brushed the bottom of my shoulder blades. I was wearing it down, and she’d taken a curling iron to it, and created a gentle wave.

There was a knock at the door. Fuck. It was too late to call it off now. Emma bounced over to the front door and pulled it open without hesitation.

“Hello! You must be Samuel! Come in, come in. She just finished getting ready.”

I could tell Emma was being polite but also sizing him up. She looked him over like a hawk looked at food. She could certainly be protective when it came to me, which is why I hadn’t really told her about everything that happened in my marriage.

“Hi,” I managed to squeak out. My hands were trembling just a bit and I was praying he couldn’t see.

“Hi,” he said. He had an authentic smile on his face that eased me. “You look beautiful.”

There went my nerves again. “Thank you. You do, too.” I said. What?! Did I just tell him he looks beautiful?? Dear god. In truth, he did look extremely handsome. And when I say extremely handsome, I mean, he was downright gorgeous. He was wearing dark denim jeans with dress boots, a button up shirt, and a vest. He had his shirt unbuttoned at the top that gave him a more relaxed presence. I liked that. His hair was pushed back in a purposely disheveled way and he smelled like soap and spice.

“These are for you,” he said, handing me a generous bouquet, though I didn’t quite know what they were. They had rather large blooms, with small red petals. “A bouquet of dahlias for Delilah.”

“Oh, they’re beautiful. Thank you so much.” I smiled.

Emma offered to put them in water for me so I handed them to her.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

“Then let’s get to it.”

We walked the short path to the driveway and followed it to the street where his car was parked. He escorted me to the passenger side and opened the door for me. I ducked in, thanked him, and settled myself in as he shut the door. It’s been a while since anyone did that. Oh, man, this is going to be interesting. Stay level, Delilah.

* * *

The car ride was fairly quiet, and he played music set at a low volume. The silence didn’t seem awkward though. Maybe he was just letting me get comfortable first. We arrived at the restaurant, and he opened my car door again to let me out. Then he opened the door to the restaurant. He may have been on a one-man mission to prove that chivalry was not dead.

Our waiter sat us at a table near the center of the dining room. The lighting was low, and everything was dark mahogany and white linens. The place could probably only seat a maximum of forty people. There was a fireplace crackling on the open wall and small white candles on each table. Classical music played in the background at the perfect volume, and I could hear hushed conversations all around. The waiter left us with menus and water glasses and lit the candle on the table before turning on his heel away from us.

I looked over my menu. It was quite an interesting selection and I was sort of excited. I hadn’t eaten a full meal all day.

“So where did you move here from?” he asked, interrupting the silence.

“Nashville. Have you always lived in Louisville?” I asked.

“No, I was born over the bridge in Indiana. I grew up there and moved to Louisville when I got the job at the university. That was ten years ago, right out of college,” he said.

“Did you ever think about being anything else?” I replied.

“Well, when I was a kid, I thought I was going to fly to the moon. I had a thing for astronauts,” he said, with nostalgia written on his face.

“Where’s Mason’s mother?” I asked. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I just blurted it out with no sensitivity whatsoever! What is wrong with me?! He seemed a little taken back by the question but not offended, which was a relief. “I’m sorry, that was rude. You don’t have to answer that,” I said quickly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll answer, but after that, I get to ask some questions. Deal?” His eyebrows perked up.

“Deal.” I smiled and leaned forward in my seat, propping my elbow on the table and drawing my hand up under my chin.

“Long story short, she left. Mason was about two. I woke up one Saturday morning when I heard him awake in his crib and she was gone. A few weeks later, I got divorce papers and a letter stating I had full custody. She’d signed over her rights. That was about five years ago. And that was that,” he said.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my throat constricting. I held back saying anything more. Despite the differences, I certainly understood that kind of devastation.

“She suffered from postpartum depression. She had a really hard time coping with pretty much everything. Truth be told, she wanted a daughter, and when we discovered Mason was a boy, she took it really hard. Like unusually hard. She saw a therapist for a while and was prescribed anti-depressants, but they didn’t help and she refused to try any others. She said they made her feel like a zombie. And I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry she had to go through that, and I’m sorry she felt she had to leave us. But mostly I’m sorry for Mason. He’s the innocent victim in this. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you,” I said. Our eyes met for a moment and he smiled.

“Alright, so my turn,” he said. “How long have you been writing?”

“About four years steadily. Before that, I didn’t really write at all.”

“What made you start writing?” he asked.

Oh, god. I certainly didn’t want to tell him the real reason. “I just needed something to fill my time. I had a weird schedule and not much time for anything else,” I reasoned. It was a little true.

“Why did you get a divorce?” he asked.

There it was. It was only fair, I supposed. “Well, since we’re being really honest, he left. Much like your situation. Except it was a Tuesday. He left me a note that said he had been seeing someone else and he left.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m not. I mean, I used to be, and it still sucks, but I’m not really all that sorry. It turns out he’d been seeing her for a while. I was sad but relieved at the same time, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, I think it does. Had it been rocky for a while?” he asked.

“Yes.” Something like that anyway.

“Well, I’m certainly glad you decided to move here.” He smiled.

“Me, too,” I said, blushing. And I was. I was glad to be near Emma. I was glad to be away from Nashville. I was glad to have a fresh start even though sometimes that was hard to see. And I was glad I met Samuel. Really, Delilah?? I still didn’t think I was ready for anything romantic, but having more friends couldn’t hurt.

After getting the heavy questions out of the way, we settled into lighter conversation. When our food came, we ate mostly in silence and enjoyed the soft music. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about Samuel put me at ease. Everything about him felt so genuine and warm. He was safe. I could feel it.

On our way to the car, it was the same routine. He opened all the doors. When he climbed into the driver’s side, he put his arm on the center console and it brushed against mine. I felt warmth radiate from the place where we made contact and my breath hitched. I tried to play it cool so I didn’t move my arm. It’s no big deal. It’s just an arm, Delilah.

We arrived back at my house, and he walked me to my door. I turned toward him on the porch and he had his hands in his pockets, smiling like he always seemed to be doing.

“Thank you for taking me to dinner. I had a good time,” I said.

“It was my pleasure. I had a wonderful time as well.”

There was a pause. Oh my god, is he going to try to kiss me? Jesus, what do I do? Oh, please don’t try to kiss me, Samuel.

“I’m glad we became friends, Samuel,” I said.

“Me, too, Delilah,” he said. He leaned in, slowly, and panic rose in my throat. I stood stone still. He gently turned my face by my chin and kissed me on the cheek. “At least for now,” he whispered against my skin. He pulled back and then turned and walked away. He called over his shoulder “Oh, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I stood here. I put my hand over where he had kissed. I unlocked my door, went inside, and locked the door behind me. I’m so screwed.

I sat on the sofa and my phone dinged. I looked down at the front screen. It was a text message from the same unknown number as before.

I texted back, insisting to know who it was. Nothing. I called. No answer and no voicemail. What the hell is this? I walked around and checked all the doors and windows. I peeked out the windows and looked down the street, but there was nothing there. You’re just being paranoid, Delilah.

I changed into my sweatpants and hoodie and crawled into bed, leaving the hall light on. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to sleep too well. I tossed and turned for about an hour before I finally fell asleep. Right before my eyes finally shut, I reached up and rubbed my cheek where he had kissed me. I smiled a little. That night I dreamt about a little boy left alone. A woman was walking away from him. She didn’t even look back.