Page 27 of Courage, Dear Heart

I relax my grip. “I don’t make friends easily. I may appear to be outgoing, but honestly? I’m a pretty quiet guy. My sisters are the people I’m closest to. And my grandma.” I shake my head. “I sound pathetic.”

“No, not at all. It’s much harder to make friends as an adult than it was in school or college. Sometimes having a kid helps to make friends with other parents, but all it takes is for one of the kids to have a fight to break up that mom’s friendship.”

I chuckle. “That I know. Elsa—my older sister—has told me many stories like that. Some parents think their kids can do no wrong and instead of using the situation as a teaching moment and correct the behavior, they choose to go feral on their kids’ behalf.”

“Yes. Sad but true. I lost a few”—she makes air quotes—“friends when CJ died and Jamie stopped talking. They acted like it was contagious.”

I slow down to make a turn. “Those were not friends. You’re better off knowing who you can count on.”

She sighs. “‘When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.’”

I nod. “Maya Angelou.”

She smiles. “Yes, I’ve read a couple of her books. This quote is from one of her biographies.”

I glance at her. “She has a bunch. Imagine having a life so rich you have multiple autobiographies.”

“Seven! This quote is fromA Song Flung Up to Heaven.” There’s awe in her voice.

Silence fills the car then. She watches me for a long time, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You know, you’re kind of a rare find, Elliott.”

Her words find a hidden corner of my heart and make a nest in it. I glance over, meeting her eyes briefly before turning back to the road, a smile tugging at the corner of mymouth. “Maybe I was waiting for the right person to find me.”

She nibbles at her bottom lip as if trying to hold back a laugh and then goes for a full smile. It hits me like a shot of adrenaline. Being on the receiving end of that smile—her eyes bright with mirth—it does things to me I don’t have names for. I squeeze the steering wheel and curb the urge to grab her and tug her mouth to mine.

I check the rearview mirror. Jamie is sound asleep.

“How much longer?” She looks sad again.

“We probably have another fifteen or twenty-minute drive.”

“In New York City, distance is always measured in time, never in miles.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s something CJ used to say whenever I asked how far he was from home.”

I nod. “Makes sense.”

“That’s the measure of my life, too. Distance calculated in time. I’ve walked hundreds—maybe thousands of miles within the same space. Inside my flower shop, around the block, to Jamie’s kindergarten, to the park and back, and I’ve gone nowhere. I’m still stuck on April twenty-seventh, three thirty-two p.m. It’s been two years and seventeen days without my husband.” She looks at her hands, rubs the empty spot where a wedding ring should be.

I swallow. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure of what to say. I’ve never lost someone so significant before.” I think of my grandfather, but I know it’s nothing like losing a spouse in the prime of their life. Grandpa’s death was expected. We allknew it was coming and had time to prepare to say our goodbyes. This is different.

We stop at another red light, and she faces me. “You’re very lucky then.”

I stay silent.

Her lips tremble, but this time there are no tears. “You asked me on a date, and I don’t know how to respond. A part of me wants to say yes, and another wants to retreat into the security of the life I know. Work at the store, spend time with my son. Do it all over again the next day. But I saw how happy he was today—he was almost like the Jamie before the accident. He deserves more than a mom who’s always sad and grieving.”

“If you’re not ready, I understand. We can be friends.” The knot in my stomach rejects this. I want more than friendship.

“Would you be happy with being only a friend? Is that even possible for you? The thing is, I’m not available to you like the other women you date. I’m not built for casual.”

“I didn’t think you were.” And that’s also what I like about her. I want some permanence in my life. And someone who’s not after my family name, status, and money.

“What is it you want from me, then?”

I open my mouth to tell her how she makes me feel, but I cower at the last second. “I . . . don’t know. I’m attracted to you. I want to get to know you better.” How can I tell her all that I’m feeling when I myself don’tunderstand it? That seeing her with her son has created a wanting in me I’ve never felt before. That I’m drawn to her quiet strength. That I find her beautiful, yes, but it’s so much more than her physical appearance. That there’s something in her that speaks to me in a way I’ve never felt before.

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