Page 36 of Courage, Dear Heart

She laughs. “Oh, I don’t have to. Every so often, I mention I’m thinking of retiring and he throws more money at me.”

I grin. “Megs, I love you.”

She pats my cheek like a grandma would. “I know, my boy. I know.” And with that farewell, she leaves me with the folder from hell.

I take a seat at my desk and stare at the folder. Fuck it. I open the bottom drawer on my desk and drop the folder inside. I don’t want to play this game my father set up for me. Whatever this deal is, it can wait. I grab my phone and text Jillian instead.

Elliott: What are you doing for lunch?

SIXTEEN

Jillian

I’mglad for our casualfirst datealone. As far as first dates go, it’s been relaxing. More like old friends having lunch together than a date. El Habanero is small. We sit at one of the booths along the wall. The tables in the middle are mostly full. The colorful walls and decorations don’t detract from the feel of coziness. There are paintings by local artists hanging on the walls with discreet price tags attached. I sip at my virgin piña colada and Elliott drinks some kind of Mexican orange soda from a glass bottle. He nudges the chips and guacamole my way.

I take a chip, still warm from the frier. I could never say no to guacamole. “This is really good. I’ve never been to this restaurant before.” He was welcomed by name when we walked in. But they were surprised to see me with him.You brought a señorita, Mr. Elliott?“You come here often?”

“I do and also get a lot of takeout since it’s close to my apartment. Thefood is amazing.”

I cover my mouth after taking a bite of my quesadilla, chew, swallow. “It really is. I’ll have to come back.”

“I’ll come with you.” Elliott sits back. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the food. It’s nice having someone to talk to during lunch. I usually come here alone.”

“How come?”

He tugs at his tie and loosens it. “The people I work with are into fancy restaurants.”

I tilt my head. “And you’re not?”

“I’ve had enough fancy restaurants to last me a lifetime. I prefer more authentic flavors.” His smile is mischievous even though his words and tone are innocent.

My imagination runs away from me with all kinds of wicked ideas I thought long gone.Not gone. Dormant.I clear my throat. “What kind of kid were you?”

He scratches the back of his head. “I was a brat growing up. Always getting into trouble. I was invincible. A superhero. Broke both my arms at eight jumping off a swing. I thought I could flip in the air, roll, and land on my feet.”

This makes me smile. “Oh, gosh. Don’t let Jamie hear you say that. He might think he can top you.”

“What kind of little girl were you? Into Barbies or a tomboy?”

“Neither. I liked books and gardening. I found escape and refuge in books and plants.”

He grabs a chip. “I guess that explains the flower shop. What else?”

“I was a shy kid, definitely didn’t feel invincible. I was afraid of everything.”

“Really? I don’t see that in you.”

My shoulders slouch, weighted by thousands ofmemories competing for space in my mind. “My parents—well, my mom. Dad went along with whatever she decided. I know they love me, but there were so many rules. I was the kid whose eyes were always downcast and who never spoke up or disobeyed.” They didn’t raise a child. They raised a good little soldier who followed the rules and was never allowed to question anything. “My mother didn’t like to get her hands dirty or bugs. The garden was the one place she didn’t follow me. Much to her consternation, I was not interested in the things she was. But as the garden grew beautiful and neighbors commented on it, she stopped complaining about how much time I spent with my hands in dirt. I was free to be myself when I stepped outside. Of course once the dirt was washed off my hands, I reverted to being her good little girl.”

“You seem to be managing pretty well with clean hands now.” He leans in, gaze intense. “How did you break free?” The question feels loaded with intent, more than simple curiosity.

I drag in a breath, memories flooding back into me. “CJ.”

I check to see how saying my husband’s name affects him. When I find nothing but interest in his eyes, I keep going. “CJ changed me. He was the opposite of me. Looked everyone in the eye, held himself high, facing the world like he owned it. Every day was an adventure for him. He lived in the moment.”

Elliott watches me with a tender expression on his face.

I gaze out into the distance. “We met in first grade. I don’t remember exactly when, but it had to be within the first few days of classes starting—before it got cold because Iremember what I was wearing. A purple dress with butterflies all over. It was my favorite.”

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