Page 11 of Someone Like You
Dawson’s heart skipped a beat. He smiled. “Unbelievable.”
London raised her brow. “You know I’d rather spend a day with you than him … Right?” She put her head on his shoulder as they walked. “You do know that?”
“You’re crazy.” He shook his head as she pulled her car keys from her backpack. He would never understand her. But with the conversation they’d had on their way up the trail, maybe they actually were getting closer to the relationship he’d always wanted.
They were quieter on the drive back. London played a ballad playlist through her phone and halfway back to Portland she glanced at him. “What’s your favorite church song?”
He knew what she meant. But again, she had never asked a question like this before. “Right now? Probably ‘Give Me Jesus.’ It’s an older song by Jeremy Camp.”
“That famous guy, right?”
“Yes.” Dawson stifled a laugh. “It’s not really a church song. But I like it.”
“Play it.” She handed him her phone. “Would you do that, Dawson?”
His heart stirred. What was this sudden interest in all things faith? The topic was one she’d avoided ever since he’d met her. Whatever was happening in London, Dawson didn’t hesitate. In a few clicks he found it on Apple Music and hit play.
The haunting melody filled London’s car and every word seemed to mean more. As if he were hearing it through London’s heart. For the first time. The song spoke about needing Jesus in the morning and when you felt all alone. And finally, in the last verse, it talked about death.
“When I come to die … give me Jesus.” He sang along, quieter than usual. “ …You can have all this world … just give me Jesus.”
As the song ended, tears slid from beneath London’s sunglasses and onto her cheeks. She sniffed and dabbed at her face. “That’s beautiful.”
Dawson wasn’t sure what to say. “The words are simple.” This was new ground for them. He didn’t want to rush the conversation. “With the craziness of our world, He’s everything that really matters.”
She was still composing herself. She sat a little straighter. “I have questions, Dawson. Maybe one of these days we can talk about that.” A quick glance at him. “You know, about Jesus.”
This was the conversation Dawson had wanted more times than he could remember. He decided to play a few more songs by the same artist. “Walk by Faith” and “I Still Believe” and others. For a while they were quiet, lost in the serenity of the afternoon, caught up in the view of a million evergreens and the windsurfers on the Columbia River.
The lyrics were saying everything that needed to be said.
Originally they had planned to go back to her apartment in Portland, but before they reached the exit she gasped. “I know …” Her hair spilled over her shoulders as she turned and grinned at him. It was getting dark, so she took off her sunglasses. “Let’s get ice cream.”
London rarely wanted ice cream—especially when it wasn’t quite sixty degrees out. He grinned at her. “How about coffee instead.” He removed his own glasses and set them on the middle console. He crossed his arms. “I’m still freezing from the hike.”
“Well … there’s a little spot in Vancouver with tables. My mom and I walked by it the other day.” She raised one shoulder. “Maybe we could talk a little. About my questions.”
Nothing on Dawson’s list this Sunday night was more important than having that conversation with London. He laughed. “Ice cream it is.”
She talked about her mother’s coffee shop. “We’re getting new T-shirts. Pale blue. Good for summer.” A slight groan came from her. “Mom’s making me do a photo shoot to model them.”
“The place is named after you.” He imagined her face on the wall of the trendy spot. “You in a pale-blue T-shirt?” He studied her delicate profile. “Better tell her to order a lot.”
“You’re too kind.” She drove to Vancouver’s narrow Main Street and parked along the curb in front of the ice cream shop. Traffic buzzed by them inches from her car. The way it always did here.
With the engine off she turned to him. “This is it.”
He peered out the passenger window at the storefront.ICE CREAM RENAISSANCE, the sign read. “I’ve never been.” Through the glass he spotted the tables. She was right. Perfect for a long conversation. “Looks amazing.”
“It is.” She stared at him, her expression more serious than usual. “It’s been a great day.”
“For me, too.” They could talk here as long as she wanted to.
“I have to say something.” She took a slow breath. “Thanks for putting up with me. I know how you feel, Dawson. It’s just … I’m not ready.” Without hesitation she took his hand in hers. “I might never be. Like I told you the other night.”
“I know.” He didn’t want to rehash that. Instead he looked deep into her amber eyes. Things were changing for her. He could see it in her face. A thrill of hope filled him. “We can talk inside.”
She smiled. “Let’s go.”
