WHILE I WAS getting ready for work this morning, I made up my mind. There’s no sense in hanging onto Leo. I’ve thought about calling him or sending him a text more times than I can count over the last several days, but my fear of rejection is too strong. Something tells me that even if I was brave enough to try and make contact, his silence would take me right back to that hotel room, and I’d have to start the healing process of getting over him all over again. I don’t want to do that. I see no point in doing that—not when someone else, someone kind and chatty, has expressed interest.
From the moment I unlock the front door and open the shop for business, my stomach is knotted with nerves. It’s silly, really, given that the odds are most likely in my favor, but that doesn’t make me any less anxious. When Ruth arrives, I don’t tell her that I plan on taking her advice, just in case I chicken out; but I hope that I don’t.
The morning seems to move by at a snail’s pace, even when business picks up and the construction crew breezes through. With no sign of Henry before or after his men have dropped by, it’s not nervousness I feel so much as disappointment. Then, right when I’m about to take it as some sign from above that I was wrong for even considering the date, the bell chimes, announcing another customer—and there he is.
“Um, I’ve got this one,” I tell Ruth, indicating that I’d like to switch places with her.
She grins at me, stepping aside as she murmurs, “By all means.”
“Good morning,” says Henry, greeting me with his usual, friendly smile.
“Good morning. Large coffee?”
“You got it,” he replies, reaching for his wallet.
I ring him up, all the while combatting the butterflies in my stomach as I try and think of what to say. It isn’t until Ruth sets his coffee on the counter that I work up the nerve to blurt out, “Henry, I think I might be feeling hungry.”
“Yes!” Ruth hisses in excitement.
I can’t stifle my laugh as I turn to swat at her, my cheeks heating up in embarrassment. Henry’s chuckle steals back my attention. When my eyes meet his warm, brown irises, my heart beats a little faster in anticipation of what he’ll say next.
“I was hoping that appetite of yours might come back,” he teases. “How about tonight? Seven?”
“Okay,” I agree with a nod.
“You have my number,” he starts to say, backing his way toward the door. “Tell me where, and I’ll be there.”
He winks at me and then turns to make his exit. The second he steps foot outside, Ruth lets out a squeal from beside me. Hoping that if I ignore her for a moment, she’ll calm down, I watch Henry climb into the cab of his pick-up truck. It isn’t until she bumps her hip against mine that I offer her my attention.
“’Bout damn time.”
“All right, oh-wise-one, stop giving me grief, and help me decide where we should go.”
“The Steakhouse, duh—he’s buying, remember?” she says with an eye roll. “Now, onto more important matters. What are you going to wear?”
I CHANGE MY outfit three times. In the end, I’m not at all convinced that one is better than the other; but if I don’t go, then I’ll be late. After adjusting the spaghetti straps of my short, navy dress, I slip my phone into one of my front pockets, grab my purse, and take my leave. I gave Henry the address to the restaurant instead of my apartment, sure that I would feel more comfortable if tonight was more casual than formal. Not to mention, parting ways at the restaurant leaves no room for an effort to come up to my place.
I’m not entirely sure what Henry’s intentions are. He certainly seems like a nice, genuine guy; I’ll give him that. A meal and pleasant conversation could be all that he’s after, for which I would be grateful—but you never know. The last guy I was involved with was after everything but conversation.
Then again, I set a precedent. This time, I know better.
It only takes me ten minutes to reach The Steakhouse, and I see Henry’s truck in the parking lot when I pull in. The nerves I felt earlier are back in full force, and I allow myself an extra moment to take a couple deep breaths before I climb out of my car and head inside. I find him sitting in the front waiting area, and he stands when he spots me. He doesn’t look much different than when I normally see him, dressed in jeans and a button-up shirt, but he’s still incredibly handsome, so I can’t complain.
“Hi, there,” he says, approaching me with a smile.
“Hi,” I manage.
“I like your hair loose. You look beautiful.” He shoves his hands into his pockets the exact moment that he delivers his compliment. It’s almost as if he’s afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself, otherwise. I decide that I like this about him.
Sweeping a bit of hair behind my ear, I reply, “Thank you.”
He nods toward the hostess station and informs me, “They already have a table for us. Shall we?”
His hands still in his pockets, he offers me his elbow. I smile at him, accepting the gesture as I fit my hand in the crook of his arm and allow him to guide me toward the hostess, who then escorts us to our table.
“So. You’re the connoisseur here. What do you recommend?” Henry asks as soon as we’re left to ourselves.
“They have a really great salmon,” I tell him, not even bothering to look at the list of dinner options. “And there’s this chicken pasta dish my dad absolutely loves.”
A small, amused smile plays at his lips as he looks up from his menu and over at me before he asks, “You brought me to a steakhouse, and you’re recommending chicken and fish?”
Playfully rolling my eyes, I mutter, “Well, if you like that sort of thing—the sirloin is the most popular.”
He shakes his head at me, which makes me laugh, and then our waiter arrives to take our drink order. Henry requests wine, so I follow suit. Before the waiter has a chance to leave, Henry places an order for two salmon dinners. When he looks across the table at me to ensure that I’m okay with that, I nod enthusiastically and then complete my order with my desired sides.
As soon as we’re left alone again, I decide to avoid an awkward silence by kick-starting the conversation. The first thought that comes to mind is, “How long have you been working in construction?”
“I was actually lucky enough to step into my field right after college.”
“Oh, wow. That’s nice. And how old are you?”
Chuckling, he replies, “I’m thirty.”
“And your crew—well, Monte says he’s from Denver. Is that where you’re from, too?”
He grins at me, leaning against the table as he whispers, “Jill?”
Mimicking him, I lean against the table as well before I whisper, “Yes?”
“Am I on some sort of interview right now?”
I suck in a quiet gasp as I sit up straight in my chair, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “I’m asking too many questions, aren’t I?”
“No, never. Never that.” He extends his arm across the table, offering me his hand, palm up. I hesitate for a second before I slide my fingers against his, and he holds them gently. “I don’t mind you asking questions. But you seem on edge. Just relax. This is supposed to be fun.”
“You’re right,” I say on a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“How about you don’t be sorry, I’ll tell you a little bit about me, and we’ll go from there.”
Feeling relieved by his willingness to be open, and calmed by his kind reassurance, I give his fingers a squeeze and murmur, “That sounds perfect.”