Page 19 of Delayed Intention

“Oh my God, I’m sorry. It’s been a day already, and I was just trying to bring it down a notch.”

“Rough drive?” He looks concerned, dispelling my idea that he just invited me for a meal to mess with me.

Finally, after what feels like 150 years, I remember how to use my phone and stop the auditory trip down memory lane.

Maybe Josh doesn’t remember what album we were listening to the last time we hung out. But I certainly do.

Josh clears his throat. “So, I realized, I didn’t ask you if you keep kosher, but I was going to take us to Libby’s. Does pizza sound okay?” Libby’s is the vegetarian pizza place in town that also happens to be certified kosher.

“Pizza sounds great!” Ew, why am I talking so loudly? I take a breath and force myself to turn my volume down. “I don’t eat meat or shellfish, and I’m okay eating at non-kosher places too, but Libby’s is perfect. Let me just grab my purse.”

Turning around in a circle, I look down too late and realize the purse is already on my arm.

I don’t know what else to do, so I just shrug and attempt to smile.

“Ready, I guess.” I watch as the corner of his lips twitch.

I guess I’ll have to settle for being amusing rather than pulled together and sophisticated.

“So first things first, and I need to formally introduce you to my best girl, Ginger, since she’ll be joining us for dinner.”

Waiting patiently in the back of his truck is the medium-sized, brown and white, pit bull-looking dog from his social media profile. Ginger jumps down and sits at my feet, politely.

“Ginger, this is Lily.” The dog looks like a pit bull in her face, but is smaller than any pit I’ve seen, and she has longer legs.

The hair around her neck is wavy, and her tail has longer hair than I’d expect for that breed.

She has almost gold-colored eyes, which I’ve never seen before on a dog.

As if reading my mind, Josh explains, “In case you are trying to figure her out, Ginger is a border collie-pit mix.”

“She’s so cute. Can I pet her?”

“Sure—she’s friendly—she’s even trained to be a therapy dog, so I can take her to the clinic.”

As if on cue, Ginger lifts a paw for me to shake, which I do. “Wow, you are a pretty girl, aren’t you?” She looks like she is perpetually grinning, which makes me smile in turn, and I reward her cuteness by scratching behind her ears, which she seems to like.

“Ginger, up.” With that, the dog jumped back into the truck and climbed into the back seat after looking to see if I was joining them.

Meanwhile, I struggle to get up and into the front seat.

What is wrong with me? Except I know exactly what it is.

Being in his presence has reminded me that I have always carried a torch for him.

A torch currently flamed by a magnetic attraction that is stronger than anything I remember feeling.

To say Josh is good-looking is like saying Jane Austen was kind of important to the genre of romance.

Both things are true, and both are wildly understated.

I’m so screwed.

Some part of my brain decides to fill the space in the truck with mindless babbling before I can stop myself. “So, you live here now.” What the hell, Lily? Sometimes it is better not to open your mouth at all, I think in my mother’s disappointed voice.

He ignores that I’m a complete novice at making conversation happen by responding. “Sure do. Settled here once I was done with the PHS—it’s been almost five years now. I love it—even the winters. I am a bit far from Mom, though.”

Meanwhile, I’m struggling to think about what to say next and not sound like I have zero socialization, so I just turn and look out the window.

I take deep breaths. I try to think about what a normal person would say in this situation.

For now, all I can think about is how hot he is, which I don’t want to discuss.

And he’s so fit. And tall. I’m not a short woman, but I have to look up at Josh unless I want to just stare at his shoulders.

Or the base of his neck. Which I could probably make an argument for. If I could think straight.

We were parking a block from Libby’s before I knew it because Estes is so small.

“Here we are.”

Josh hops out, while Ginger looks at me from the back and waits for me to descend before she hops down, her leash in her mouth. Josh leashes the dog so that the three of us wait for the light to change at the crosswalk.

“Look, Lily, you seem a little nervous. It’s just me, remember? I meant what I said in the letter—I’m looking forward to this week. He is standing just to the left of me, and I have to tilt my head up to look at him.

“Thanks,” I grimace. “Josh, it isn’t just you. I meant what I said about my anxiety. It’s a big part of me, sometimes it’s my whole personality, you know? I’m sorry, I’m so awkward.”

He reaches over and puts a hand on my forearm, turning me back so I face him. Whatever he’s about to say is lost when Ginger barks. The light had changed, indicating the time to cross. Meanwhile, the spot where he had his hand on my arm felt warm, like a glow on my skin.

That’s different. Rubbing my arm, I follow Josh and Ginger across the street.

I’m struck by what it may mean that Josh’s touch feels warm.

Most of the time, the touch of another person makes me feel like pulling away.

In the past, I had been comfortable with Josh, but I don’t really know the man next to me—I need to be careful.

Fighting the urge not to take his hand and put it back on my arm, I walk alongside Ginger to Libby’s.