in exclusivity and neither do I.
“You aren’t as ill-suited for Lilly’s attire as you’d like to think. Frankly, when you aren’t in a sweatshirt and jeans you’re…”
The way Joe was looking at me, I was afraid his next word might be “delicious,” so I hurried to interrupt. “Care for some appetizers? A soda?”
“We’d better get going. I made reservations for seven.”
Joe drives a Jaguar XK convertible, elegant yet sporty, just like he is. He’s also charming, funny, generous, smart and a whole host of other good things. Maybe, I thought, as we careened, top down, toward his favorite little Italian restaurant, I’ve held too tough a line where Joe is concerned. Some women would saw off an appendage to claim he was theirs and here I am, fending off his advances and trying to be his friend when he wants more.
It must have been the top down on the convertible that scrambled my brain because I decided that, for the night, I would play with the idea of spending the rest of my life with Joe. I’ve spent so much time pushing him away, that it seems only fair that I give him at least a chance at proving he’s the one for me.
If I were rating him on good manners, looks, charm and the ability to order great Italian food, he’d get an A+.
I was still picking at my tiramisu when Joe asked, “What is Lilly doing tonight?”
I leaned back and nearly purred, like a kitten sated on warm cream. Actually, most everything we’d eaten—shrimp pizza in white sauce, ravioli, fettuccini—has been made with pure cream, so the metaphor wasn’t that far off.
“Lilly? She had a date.”
“With that engineer she was seeing?”
“Oh, no, as far as I know, he’s history. You aren’t keeping up.”
“I don’t have enough time to do that and run my business,” Joe joked.
It’s true. No one does. Lilly plays dating “catch and release.” Like the fishermen who populate Lake Zachary, she wants the thrill of the catch, not the fish itself. We tried to count one day, just how many men Lilly had dated in the past two years and even she couldn’t remember. Lilly depends upon the cliché “there are always more fish in the sea” and she’s always on the lookout for a new variety.
“I think Lilly has her eye on Connor Trevain,” I commented as the waiter poured me another cup of coffee.
“He’d be an exotic catch if there ever was one.” Joe pinioned me with his gaze. “Is that what you want, Norah? Someone exotic?”
“Me?” I squeaked. “Do you think he likes jeans, sweatshirts covered in dog hair and eau de parfum of Fish Food? I don’t think so.”
“But what do you want in a man?”
I felt an earnestness descend over Joe. The conversation was going in a direction I hadn’t expected. Still, I had promised myself I’d give Joe this chance, so I didn’t brush him off.
“You can almost guess, can’t you? He has to be a Christian and love animals as much as I do, for starters. And he has to dote on Bentley. That’s a given. Anyone who fills those qualifications has potential.” I tried to keep my voice casual, but the thickly curtained, muted booth in which we sat seemed to suck up the lightness and made me sound grave.
“I know you wouldn’t take a second look at someone who didn’t share your faith, Norah, but an animal lover like yourself? Do other people as passionate as you exist?” He was smiling a little, half curious, half amused.
“I hope so. I believe I was put on this planet to care for God’s vulnerable creatures, Joe. I can’t turn my back on that.”
“I’m a Christian and I like animals. Especially Bentley.” He said it so softly that I barely heard his words. “Where does that put me?”
My hand moved of its own accord to his cheek. “It puts you in a very select group of my precious friends, Joe.”
“Just friends?”
Oh, oh. Here we go.
“I know I’ve been pushing back whenever you try to approach this, Joe. The shop, the renovations in my home, the business decisions…”
“Norah…” he chided.
“Okay, so I’m scared.” I crossed my arms over my chest feeling suddenly very vulnerable. “How’s that for honesty? Finding a life-partner is a big deal. What if I make a mistake? What if my choice is bad? Then what?”
He looked at me so gently that I felt like crying. “Where is God in this process?”
I felt a warm rush of humiliation spurt through me. Some big talker I am! All this stuff about meeting a man who loves God and yet I really hadn’t consulted Him about it other than a drive-by prayer or two.
“Hypocrite in the room, I admit. It just seems so permanent. I know I can’t have anyone in my life that doesn’t understand how I feel about—” I paused, feeling a pun coming on “—the underdog!”
“Are you scared of me, Norah?”
I certainly am when he looks at me like that, I thought. My defenses start crumbling like Hoover Dam being hit by a nuclear weapon.
“Okay, okay. I get your point. No more playing games with my emotions—or yours. I’ll quit stuffing it when I’m attracted to someone—even you.”
“Even me? What a romantic you are, Norah.” A smile played on his beautiful lips and his eyes twinkled. “I’ll take these as words of hope.”
I punched him in the arm. “Just because I promise not to play games with my emotions doesn’t mean anything will come of it, you know.”
“I’ll take that chance.” He picked up my hand and gently kissed each knuckle.
When he dropped me off at my front door and drove off, I stared after Joe for a long while.
“Well,” I muttered as I let myself in and prepared to have Bentley slam into my kneecaps in a frenzy of glee, “we’ll see what comes of this.”
It wasn’t until I was snuggled into bed with Bentley under the covers with me—he has his own pillow which he uses just like humans do—that I began to think about the ramifications of my conversation with Joe.
Then Bentley began to snore beside me and I was reminded that there wasn’t anything to worry about. It would have to be one very special man who’d be willing to share his bed with my dog—and that was a requirement I didn’t plan to bend easily.
Chapter Five
My phone rang at six on Monday morning. Fortunately I was up, showered and making myself a cappuccino to go with my bagel. The animals have no concept of “sleeping in” so they’re training me to get up earlier and earlier. Someone once asked me if I’d ever consider having a rooster around the Ark. No way. If I want another alarm clock, I’ll go to Target.
“Hi,
