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“A law student, huh?” She considers this. “Interesting.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?” I ask, all too aware of the stigmas some people have when it comes to lawyers and hoping that’s not the case for her.

“Oh definitely good,” she says with a laugh. “I have two younger sisters and one of them, Hannah, is probably going to need the services of someone like you at some point.”

I chuckle. “A rebellious teen?” I ask.

“Not particularly; she just tends to think with her imagination rather than her brain and it can get her into trouble. God forbid someone sneak up on her while she’s holding scissors, or she may end up on trial for involuntary manslaughter.”

“Oh I could definitely get her off for that,” I tell her, “though I should tell you that I plan to go into corporate law, not criminal.”

“Ooh,” she sucks in breath, feigning displeasure. “Well,” she hums, tapping one finger distractedly against her chin—mere centimeters from her pretty pink lips, “I suppose you’ll be able to help my other sister, Brooke, then should she need any legal services. She plans to start her own dance studio.”

“So you’re only willing to date me for free legal services?” I tease, ripping my gaze from her mouth to see her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“It would appear so,” she muses. “One should always consider whether a potential date has chosen a career path that could benefit one’s family, don’t you think?” She smiles saucily at me, and I’m a complete goner. “But if that’s a problem for you we don’t have to do this…” she trails off, moving a finger demonstratively between the two of us.

“Oh no,” I hurry to say because even though I’m pretty sure she’s messing with me, if it did take me providing her family with free legal services to get her to date me—I’d provide them in a heartbeat. “Not a problem. You just send Brooke my way after my bar exam and I’ll help her with any legal services she requires.”

Jill grins. “Perfect. I’ll remember that. Of course I should mention that Brooke is only 14, so she’ll have to graduate high school first, then probably take a few business courses.” Shestudies me, her blue eyes full of question— or maybe challenge. “That’s at least 6 to 8 years you’ll have to stick around to make good on your promise. Are you sure you’re up for that kind of commitment?”

It should scare me that she’s discussing commitment before we’ve even had a first date, but I can’t shake the feeling that the two of us are meant to be. I always thought love at first sight was a silly cliche that never truly happened, but I think Jill might be changing my mind on the topic…So maybe Iama little scared. But it’s in the best, most exhilarating way, like the feeling you get as you travel up that first tall curve of a roller coaster preparing for the rush of the descent.

“Hmm, 6 to 8 years, you say?” It’s my turn to pretend to think about her words.

“You make it sound like a prison sentence,” she grumbles.

I chuckle. “In that case I’d prefer a lifetime sentence.”

Jill’s eyebrows pop up. “Bold statement.”

“Not really. Why would I want to spend 6 to 8 years of my life with someone only to turn around and let them go? No, once I know for sure about a woman, then our relationship will be for life. Just as God intended.”

A blush of pleasure rises up Jill’s neck. “A Christian? Wow, that’s even better than the lawyer thing.”

“Why— do you have a family member that needs to be saved?”

Jill laughs. “Funny. No, I just don’t date men who aren’t Christians. I think it’s a waste of time, since I won’t marry anyone who’s not.”

“Same.”

“You also don’t date men who aren’t Christians?” she quips, laughing at her own joke. It’s endearingly adorable, so much so that I can’t help but laugh too.

“So, Jill,” I get back to the very important matter at hand, “what do you say, will you go out with me?”

She lets out a long breath, eyes darting to the book she left behind on the table. “When were you thinking, because you should know that I have classes Monday, Tuesday and Thursday evenings and I don’t miss class for anything.”

“Not for anything?” I repeat.

“I’m like Michael Jordan playing in game five of the ‘97 NBA finals with the flu,” she says seriously.

“I see.” I hold back my laugh. Once again, she’s being adorable—but this time I’m pretty sure she’s not trying to be and might bite my head off at the suggestion.

“I also have family dinners every Sunday evening. I don’t miss those.”

“So that leaves Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday evenings free,” I say optimistically.

She shakes her head. “Wednesdays I have my small group at church and it would be horribly impious of me to be willing to miss that but not class.”