Jon drives into the city and parks in front of a store where half a dozen male forms sport the latest designer looks. I glance at the pizza shop next door and assume we’re headed in there. Jon races around to open my door as a valet waits to take the car. Jon holds out his hand and smiles down at me. I slip my palm into his, and he helps me out. The little sports car sits low to the ground and, since I’m wearing a sundress, it’s difficult to get out without flashing everyone on the sidewalk.

Seriously, the dichotomy between when to expose myself and when to keep it covered should have me acting like a crazy person by now. Maybe I crossed the line a long time ago, and it’s so far behind me I can no longer see it.

Jon’s thumb rubs the back of my hand, and he watches me for a moment. His blue eyes are flicking between our hands and my face. He’s wearing a sapphire-colored button-down shirt tucked into a pair of slim-fitting black pants. With his other hand, he tugs against the open collar at his neck. He clears his throat before saying, “I need to ask you something. I didn’t want to put any pressure on you, and things with my family are shit right now, but I have to—I need to be there for Pete. He’s getting married, and I’m a groomsman.”

I glance up at the tux shop again, and it dawns on me that he must need to run inside for a fitting or to pick something out. “Right. I nearly forgot. Peter seems like a nice guy. He obviously loves Sidney.”

“He does.” Jon’s eyes are on the side of my face. I drop his hand and take a step toward the window, studying the woven textures, pinstripes, and varying shades of gray. My wedding pops into my mind, unbidden, and I banish the thought before it fully materializes.

Jon steps up next to me. I glance down at the sidewalk and his shiny black shoes. He wanted to get dressed up today. Actually, I didn’t realize he planned to look so fancy. Feeling a little self-conscious, I was surprised when he handed me a dress bag and asked if I’d want to wear its contents. When I unzipped it to reveal the dress inside, I nearly cried. His gift is a perfect mix of past and present. Cut from seersucker fabric, the cotton sundress is ruched across the chest and bodice, with tiny rosebuds spilling across the skirt. A wide, feminine ruffle swishes from the hem just above my knee. Miniature daisies are embroidered on the straps and scattered along the neckline. He removed the tags, but I know it’s not from G&G, where everything is less than twenty bucks. The bag this dress arrived in probably cost more than that.

It’s so pretty and soft that it makes me feel something I haven’t experienced in a long time. Now, as I gaze into the store window, enjoying the sensation of the soft fabric caressing my thighs as I move, I feel the rest of it. It’s not only the appeal of looking ahead and hoping for the best, but it's also living in the moment without worry. It’s as if I stepped out of the shower and stayed clean. There’s no residue from my past clinging to me like old grime. The things I’ve done, the situations I’ve endured, they leave a haze that doesn’t scrub away. It lingers and grows.

Some people can’t endure it. They fall and never come up for air again.

I’ve been bobbing somewhere in the middle for a long time. Today I don’t feel like I’m bobbing, no more gasping for air before I sink again. I feel good, and I know why.

It’s Jon.

The way he treats me is refreshing. I’m not a skank, but I’m not the nun I used to be. To him, I’m Cassie. No strings, no labels, and no treating me like I might break. At the same time, he doesn’t belittle what’s happened to me, what I’ve experienced. It’s like he understands on some level. Maybe it’s empathy, but I suspect there’s more story there—something he’s not told me—an incident that happened a long time ago, changing him. There are moments in life that alter everything. I know. I feel like I’m standing in one now.

Jon slips his hands into his pockets, pushing back the cuffs on his shirt to reveal a chunky watch. It’s white and rose gold with exposed gears. I don’t recognize the brand. It’s French, something I’d never see, never mind own. It suits him. I glance up at his clean-shaven face, which is a rare sight to see. His usual grin is gone, and I feel the tension flowing from his body. He wants to say something but seems hesitant.

“What is it?” I turn toward him. “Your mother won’t keep you out. Peter won’t let that happen.” I guess at his concerns but miss the mark. I can tell by the way his lips part and then close again.

He glances at the shop window, then cuts his eyes back toward me. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t have a date. I never asked anyone. Someone from my past appeared, and I couldn’t think of anything else. Then more shit happened and the next thing I know, I’m standing with you outside the tux shop a few days before the wedding, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to ask you.” The corner of his mouth pulls up on one side as he speaks, and it sounds like he wants to laugh it off but can’t. Those bright blue eyes lock on mine. Vulnerability spreads across his beautiful face as he tucks his chin and finally asks, “Cassie, will you be my date?”

It’s sweet and incredibly unlike him to be anything but confident. I take his hand, lean in and peck his cheek. He could have said any other word, but he chose ‘date.’

“I’d love to go with you. I can discuss the weather with your mother. It’ll be awesome.” I joke about the sore spot and squeeze his hand.

Relief washes over his face, and he looks down at me. “You make everything awesome, Cass.”

A smile spreads across my face, and I wish he’d kiss me, but he doesn’t. He stands there, watching me in a way I can’t understand. It’s equal parts affection and distance. I wonder about kissing him again, but I can’t understand why he’s not touching me. He said he was interested in me, but he’s not acting like it. Old Jon would have been trying to talk me out of my panties from the first second. This man doesn’t do that. It’s like he’s going slow on purpose.

I need to stop over-thinking everything. My emotions have been shocked too many times, too close together. It’s like my heart took a flying leap onto the third rail and stayed there. It shorted out my ability to sort through everyday feelings, disconnecting and jumbling everything.

I take his hand again, wanting more of his tender touches. I weave our fingers together and enjoy the sensation of warm skin on skin. It’s okay to revel in it, to enjoy it at face value. For once, a person in my life doesn’t have an ulterior motive to be here, to want to know me. I can’t concoct one that would have him sleeping on the floor this long, dealing with a neurotic girl that runs hot and cold all the time. Nothing is worth the trouble I put him through, the pain I cause, and yet—when he looks at me like that from beneath those dark, thick lashes, I melt.

Does it matter why he’s here? Can’t I just enjoy the moment? That’s all life is, a series of moments scattering to the wind on a whim. At times, getting from dawn to dusk is hard enough. I can’t think ahead at all. I’m always running, even in my mind, racing through life trying not to feel anything anymore. I can’t take another heartache. I can’t fathom surviving another devastating loss. I should push him away, make him keep his distance.

It’s safer. It’s smarter.

But it doesn’t lead anywhere. This path dead-ends with me alone, forced into a cul-de-sac of regret.

“Cass?” Jon’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You’re thinking too much.”

“No, I’m not.” I smirk at him and duck my eyes to the side. “I’m just pondering.”

“All right. I’ll bite. What are you pondering, Miss Hale?”

I make a face. “You sound like Sean when you speak like that.”

“God knows we don’t want that!” He chuckles, tucking his arms into the crooks of his elbows and leaning his shoulder against the brick on the storefront next to the window. “Spill. Inquiring minds want to know.”

My fingers play with the flowing fabric of my skirt. I look down at the pavement, watching the ruffles wiggle as I swish the fabric while I speak. “Have you ever wondered what your life would be like—who you would have been—if a certain crappy event hadn't happened?”

I glance up at him in time to watch his face fall. He nods once.

“I do that a lot, and if I’m not careful, I get stuck there, wondering about things that will never happen. My life went down a different road I would have never taken. I mean, who wants to roll around naked in a cactus field for years?”

Jon smiles, tucks his chin, and lifts his eyes to mine. His guard is up, but he seems like he’s trying to fight it back down. Like he’s not sure where I’m going with this.

“It hurts. I’m covered in scars no one can see, but for once—without even trying—I feel normal. Standing in front of a shop in this dress, talking about your brother’s wedding,” I shrug my shoulders and let out a content sigh. “It’s something from the normal road. No cactus patches in sight. I’m not sure how I got here, but I’m glad I am, and I’m happy that it’s with you.”