Page 44 of The Good Guy on My Porch

“What?”

“I closed my eyes on your hike, you can close your eyes for me now. At least here you don’t have to worry about spiders or biting ants or vampire bats.”

“Bats only hunt at night. And vampire bats live much, much farther south.”

She waved a hand. “Whatever. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and her citrusy scent surrounded me. I swear I could feel the heat of her body as she spoke near my ear. “Just breathe,” she said. “And take in the sounds of the orchestra warming up in the pit, of the people around us chatting, of the anticipation for a good show.”

I was feeling anticipation, but not for the show. I shoved my hands into my pockets to keep from pulling her closer.

“Breathe in and smell the scent of clean and gussied up people.” She hesitated and I could sense her looking around. “It’s a matinee, they aren’t really gussied up, but they’re clean. Feel the heat of the lights and prepare to lose yourself in another world, in someone else’s story, in magic.”

I was losing myself, but it had nothing to do with the theater and everything to do with the woman next to me.

“Okay,” she said. “Open your eyes.”

I opened my eyes and all I saw was her. She had flecks of amber and green in her brown eyes and her lips were shiny, like she’d just licked them.

“Are you ready?” she asked. “Can you feel the magic?”

I was certain she didn’t want to know what I was feeling. “I feel it.”

She grinned and clapped. The music began and the lights dimmed overhead. She spun in her seat. “It’s starting,” she said, all her attention focused on the curtains as they slowly rose.

Down on the stage there was music and singing and probably some dancing, but I didn’t see much of it, because I was watching Dilly. She was entirely transfixed by the show, watching with wide eyes. When tears trickled down her cheeks near the end, I got so close to reaching over to wipe them away that she noticed my hand out of the corner of her eye and glanced over at me. She gave me a watery smile and then she reached for my hand, squeezing it tight.

She held my hand for the rest of the show. I tried to get some idea about what the play was about, in case she asked me about it, but all my attention remained on her, on the feel of her small hand in mine, on the pure joy on her face as something good happened and the play ended.

She dropped my hand to clap and rose with the rest of the audience to give the cast a standing ovation. I stood with her and clapped for a show that might as well have been a rock concert for as much attention as I’d paid to it.

After the clapping was done, we moved out of the theater with the crowd and onto the street. The day was getting cooler as the sun drifted toward the mountains, and Dilly shivered next to me as she smiled and waved at people she knew. She didn’t speak until we’d driven back to our house and I’d parked on the street. “Want to watch the sunset?” she asked, still glowing with happiness. “I’ll get Buddy.”

“Sure.” In that moment, there was nothing else in the world I’d rather do than sit on the porch with her and watch the…Okay, fine, I could think of one or two or ten things I’d rather do with her, but if I suggested those, she’d never speak to me again.

She hopped out of the car and hurried to the house. I got out and followed her more slowly, sat on the porch, and waited for several long moments before she stepped outside, Buddy next to her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I needed to make a quick phone call.”

She sat on the top step, Buddy between us, and sighed. “Okay, I’m ready. Tell me what you thought of the play.”

“It was a much less painful experience than I’d expected.” I kept my gaze on the mountains. I needed a break from looking at her, from wanting her, because it was becoming painful.

She groaned and swatted me on the arm. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say about it?”

I couldn’t help it, painful or not, I couldn’t not look at her. I shifted in my seat and faced her. “I’m not a theater guy. You knew that going in. I didn’t hear you gushing over how wonderful the hike was.”

“But I did.” She chewed on her bottom lip, considering. “Okay, fine. I didn’t gush, but I did enjoy it and I said I’d go again.”

I looked into her brown eyes and whatever boundary I’d been clinging to disintegrated and I fell. I just fell completely into that woman. “I enjoyed it and I’d go again.” I spoke in a teasing tone, but I meant it. I would go just about anywhere she asked.

“I’m serious,” she said. “What did you really think?”

“I’m serious, too. I’ll never claim theater is my favorite activity, but I’d go again. When’s the next one? Just go ahead and sign me up now.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes big. “You’d go again? With me?”

“Of course. It’s not any worse than a root canal.”

She sighed, linked her arm through mine, and laid her head on my shoulder. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

---