Page 26 of Courage, Dear Heart

“And . . .” I prompt her.

“Sorry, I’m babbling. I do this when I’m nervous.” Her hands twist in her lap.

I tap her hand. Catch her eyes. “You’re safe. Jamie is safe. There’s nothing to be nervous about. Okay?”

“Says the guy with a dozen women on his heels.”

I glance at her and back at the slow-moving traffic. “What do you mean about a dozen women on my heels?”

“Can I be brutally honest with you?”

Nothing good ever comes after a question like that. “Yes, please.”

She swallows. “We have a nickname for you at the shop.”

“A nickname?”

“Mr. Monday.” She blushes a deep crimson and looks down. Eyes fixed on her lap, her face now hidden behind a curtain of soft hair.

“Mr. Monday?” It clicks in then. My habit of sending flowers to dates on Mondays. For years I’ve done that. How heartless I must have looked. Sending flowers that never meant anything to me. A polite brush-off. “I guess I can see why. But I’m not like that. Not really.”

She peeks at me, head tilted my way and eyebrow raised.

I grip the wheel, eyes on the road. This is something that feels oddly important to explain. “About those dates and the Monday flowers...”

She turns her full attention to me.

I pause, choosing my words carefully. “They weren’t really dates in the way you’re thinking. Not the majority of them anyway. Some were friends or colleagues I called on when I needed a companion for an event. A lot of those were client dinners. Some were women my father set me up with. The last two are the ones I tend to send the flowers to. I try not to ask them out more than once. I don’t want to give the wrong impression.”

She narrows her eyes at me like she’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or not. “You’re telling me nothing ever happens with these women?”

I press my lips together. “For the most part, no. Not with my friends or colleagues for sure, and they’re far happier with Starbucks gift cards than flowers. Sorry.”

“That’s it?” She pressures me.

I lower the music. “I mean, I’m thirty-three, not eighty. I’ve had some brief, mutually agreed on, casual relationships,but I’ve never led anyone on, and I’ve never sent those women flowers. We parted ways amicably.”

She’s fully turned my way now. “So you’ve never had a serious relationship?”

I wasn’t prepared to go down this road today, but it’s a fair question. “Not since law school.”

“How come?”

“I didn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea. I don’t have the energy for complications.”

“What happened in college?” Her voice is soft, kind.

I glance at her, a little self-conscious. “The short version? I thought I loved her. She loved my money and my best friend. We didn’t part amicably. Let’s say I lost my girlfriend and my best friend of seven years on the same day.”

She’s quiet, her hand resting on her lap, absorbing this. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “It was a long time ago.”

Jillian studies me with too perceptive eyes. “Some hurts last a lifetime.”

“True. I think what hurt the most was not even her taking advantage of me to pay for her tuition or vacations. What hurt the most was that of all the men she could have chosen, she went after my best friend and he went along with it.”

She reaches out and touches the back of my hand on the steering wheel. The briefest of touches. A way to show me she’s here, she understands.

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