“Oh, they are.”
There.
A glimmer of a smile.
I wish he’d do that more. It makes his eyes sparkle. Makes his face light up. There’s kindness in him, even if it’s buried under a whole lot of reserve and guardedness.
I hope whomever he ends up with can see that too. I mean, sure, it sounds like he’s not looking for a loving, caring marriage, but I get the feeling he deserves a break.
The waiter returns with our food in boxes.
It’s time to end this weird date.
I offer my hand. “Even if it was under these circumstances, I’m glad I met you again, Brogan.”
“You too, Elizabeth.” His fingers are long. Soft. I’d expected his hands to feel as rough as his appearance, but they’re surprisingly free of any callouses. Apart from the scars on the back of them, they’d be completely normal.
“Let me get your number,” I say suddenly.
He arches an eyebrow what for?
I don’t know.
I’m not even sure where the words are coming from.
But we exchange numbers and then I leave Brogan at the front door.
On the drive home, I keep sighing.
My mind keeps flashing back to Brogan’s sad, hopeless eyes.
“Get it together, Liz,” I command myself as I hold the steering wheel. “You don’t marry someone because you feel sorry for them. That’s a recipe for disaster.”
My pep talk does nothing to make me feel better. It’s like Brogan’s proposal got under my skin and is rattling around in my stomach.
Or maybe it’s just early signs of food poisoning.
Who knows?
I park in front of my apartment building.
A fleet of compact SUVs with Caribbean-themed bumper stickers grab my attention.
Immediately, my shoulders tense.
This should be fun.
Stepping out of my car, I plod the flight of stairs to my third-floor landing, dreading each and every step and taking long pauses even though I’m pretty fit and can run up these with my hands full of groceries every week.
There’s light coming from under the scarred door.
Of course Mama let herself in.
Easing closer to the door, I press my ear against it.
Voices chatter back and forth.
A loud cackle.