In my head, he was still Paterson, friend and confidante, but in my heart he had changed. I looked at him differently, seeing the width of his shoulders, the broad canvas of his back, his square bearing and self-assured demeanor, the strength of character, all things that fit snuggly into the empty slots of my life.

  I glanced at my mom. She had one hand on the steering wheel and the other in her lap. “Mom? When did you know Dad was the one?”

  Her eyebrows rose and she flicked me a look.

  “Humor me,” I said.

  She smiled and inhaled. “Oh, about a month into dating, but we were ten months getting engaged.”

  “What was it … that made you know?”

  She lifted her free hand and scratched the side of her head. “No one thing. More like a lot of little things that all meshed together.”

  “And you never looked back?”

  She shook her head. “No, I never did. Can I ask why this is coming up?”

  “Just thinking, you know, about me and Paterson.”

  “Good or bad?” she asked.

  I reached out a finger and tipped the air vents upward into my face. “Good, I guess. We talked last night, and something he said …” I didn’t feel like saying exactly what, so I quieted for a moment. “I’m not used to thinking of him like this.”

  She switched her hands on the wheel and patted the back of mine. “I can imagine you aren’t. I was scared near to death about being serious with your father, and I didn’t have all the memories to contend with that you do. But think of it like this – there aren’t any secrets between you. You know exactly who he is and how he’ll react, and none of that has run you off so far.”

  She was right. That was what had gotten me so worked up over this in the first place.

  She returned her hand to the wheel. “So what do you think? Merlin’s or Eastman’s?”

  “Eastman’s. Paterson likes their clothes.”

  ***

  How was it possible for me to be nervous about Paterson after seeing him every day for over half our lives? Yet come Friday afternoon, I was jumpy and bouncy and wound tighter than a top. I fixed my hair and re-fixed my hair, did and re-did my makeup, and fidgeted and fussed until my mom told me to take a deep breath and relax. Yet I couldn’t and so the only breath I caught was the one right before I opened the door, and that one fled at the first sight of him.

  “You’re … you’re … dressed up,” I said.

  He looked fabulous. I’d never seen him wear anything fancier than a button up shirt and a pair of khakis. But there he stood, black dress pants, long-sleeved shirt, and a tie.

  “I’m trying to look as nice as you. Oh well, I tried,” he said with a smile. He took my hand and spun me around. “You fixed your hair like I wanted.”

  I ducked my head, my cheeks warming at the appraising look in his eye. “You asked me to,” I said. He’d never asked me that before.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  I paused from my spin, gulping down the wad of emotions filling my throat. He had that look in his eye again, the one that made him so much more male than he’d ever been to me.

  He took hold of my hand, without doing the hand thing, but at that moment it wasn’t necessary as I was overcome by him; and he drew me toward the door. “We don’t want to be late,” he said.

  We weren’t late, but right on time. The hostess, a twenty-something wearing too-tight black slacks and a white oxford shirt, led us to the corner booth, and all the eyes in the place swiveled our direction. I knew what all the other patrons were thinking because I’d thought the same thing myself sitting in their places.

  The corner booth was reserved for couples in love. You knew this by the design of it. It was a round table, instead of a rectangular one, with a curved, cushioned seat. Overhead hung a pendant light in Valentine’s red, and draped over it was a matching tablecloth. But it was the decorations on the wall and the center table display that told you what it was for – shiny metallic hearts, photos of couples kissing, a vase of roses.

  Old Man Frizelli, whose restaurant this was, always said, “Red is for lovers,” in his heavy Italian accent.

  Maybe it was or maybe it wasn’t, but given the number of couples who’d sat in that booth, the atmosphere of it tonight, and the way we were dressed, I was self-conscious, to say the least.

  Paterson didn’t act like it was any big deal, but slid in the booth after me, releasing my hand. A waitress appeared and handed us a pair of menus, then took our drink order before leaving. I buried my head in the plastic wrapped pages, though I knew what I wanted, only looking up at the thunk of glasses on the table.

  We placed our order and were left with minutes to fill. I fiddled with my skirt beneath the table. “What do we talk about?” I asked.

  We talked all the time about anything at all, but this was different. It being a first date, we should share something of ourselves with each other like ordinary couples, but trouble was, we already knew all there was to know.

  “The future?” he suggested.

  I cupped my fingers together in my lap. I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk about the future because at this point, it was uncertain. I didn’t even know how this evening would end, much less what would happen tomorrow or next week. But I had no other suggestions, so I went with it.

  “Okay. What about it?” I asked.

  “Well, we talked about college,” he said.

  Yes, we did, ages ago, and we agreed we’d go locally. I had no desire to run off to the state university and live with somebody I didn’t know. Besides, that would separate me from Paterson.

  At that thought, I tilted my head. Had I planned to be with him even then? I had. I hadn’t thought about any separation of us even in our college years.

  “What does that look mean?” he asked.

  I offered him a modest smile. “I just realized something.”

  “What?” He’d curled a hand around his glass and my gaze was drawn to the condensation pooling at his fingertips.

  “When we talked about college before, we’d agreed to go together.”

  “Yes, we did. How’s that a realization?” he asked.

  I moved my gaze from his hand along his arm, stalling at his shoulder. “Because I never thought about going a different direction from you.”

  I altered my view again, to his neck and then his face. He was smiling, a teasing smile that I recognized as the one he used when he was amused.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  He lifted his glass and took a swig. “Only that you pictured us together, and I can imagine how.”

  “Not like this,” I said. No point in not admitting that.

  He released his drink at last and dried his fingers on the table cloth. “No. You had us good friends, never growing up.”

  Growing up. Was that what this was? Was I that little kid telling her parents, ‘I never want to grow up?’ yet all the while things were changing around me. Including Paterson.

  “How did I get into this mold?” I asked. “That I actually thought things would never change.”

  “Because you’re Nadia Asbury,” he said. “Nadia Asbury likes things the same. She eats her cereal at exactly 7:03 A.M. After which she circles the center island, walking to the left, stopping at the sliding glass doors to look out over the back yard. Then she runs upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and throws something on, only to come back downstairs and call me. It’s 7:43 by then.”

  “How is it you know this and you’ve never been at my house at that hour?”

  “I know a lot about you.” His smile changed, from the teasing look earlier to one that said a myriad of things. “But isn’t that what makes this work? That even without being near you I know exactly what you’d do.”

  My hands were trembling. Why did the change in him scare me so? Was it because of what he’d said, that I was so predictable? Or was it more complicated than that?

  The waitress arrived with our food and our conversation was cut off. But taking a bite, I couldn’t help but watch him and wonder. There was a lot of evening left and the kiss we hadn’t had two days ago. Was I ready for that?

  Something way down deep, some incredibly female part of me said I was, and my hands shook again, so much so I paused in my eating. I wanted him to kiss me, wanted it in the worse way possible.

  But I couldn’t because this was Paterson. Paterson who asked for a new toothbrush at the first of every month. Paterson who always set his dirty glass in the sink upside down. Paterson whose every habit and mood and inclination I knew as well as my own.

  Yet that boy, the one I’d stood in the frog pond with was no longer that boy at all, but a handsome man who more and more blew me away.

  ***

  “If I hold you, you can’t back off,” Paterson said.

  They’d left the restaurant and driven to Coachman’s Park. Coachman’s Park was built about five years ago to accommodate the city’s growing Little Leagues, but since then, they’d added walking paths, a xeriscaped flower garden, and a handful of covered picnic tables.

  He leaned against a wooden railing encircling the drop-off to a small pond and settled his hands at her waist. Nadia shifted, as if the slightest movement would make her collapse.

  She’d gotten edgier after dinner, probably anticipating whatever she’d decided he was going to do. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do, only that at this moment, he wanted to put his arms around her.

  Not like he hadn’t done that before. They’d watched movies together, half draped over each other, and there was the time she’d sprained her ankle. He’d held her pretty tight while she’d cried. In many other moments over the years they’d had physical contact, except none of it for the purpose this was – simply to be doing it.

  He tugged her closer, but she kind of jerked, her body stiff and spine rigid, her arms straight at her sides.

  “Relax,” he said.

  “I can’t. This feels weird.”

  “Okay, close your eyes again,” he said. “Remember that time at the barbeque?”

  She grasped a wad of the fabric of her dress. “Which one?”

  He scooted her a few more steps. “The one about three years ago when my mom was wearing that ghastly green dress.”

  “That dress really was ghastly.”

  He laughed softly. “Dad wouldn’t let her wear it ever again, but I think she still has it in the closet.”

  “That’s what girls do,” Nadia replied. “We don’t want to throw it away, so we let it hang there.”

  He laid his left palm in the small of Nadia’s back and pressed. She slid another few steps. “Boys put it in a drawer,” he said, “then drag it out three years later and try to wear it again.”

  She laughed, and he slipped his other arm behind her and brought her to him. The tail end of her laughter blew moist on his skin. He joined his other hand around her waist and pulled her tighter to his chest. She tensed. “Anyhow,” he continued. “Dad was cooking the burgers.”

  “Burning the burgers,” she corrected. “They were more like charcoal briquettes at the end.”

  “Saved only by the sugar-free ketchup.”

  They both shivered then. Sugar-free ketchup was … simply wrong. Blech to the person who’d invented it.

  “Didn’t your dad put peanut butter on his?” she asked.

  Paterson laughed softly. “He did. Not the first time either.”

  “That was really gross,” she said. “But the coleslaw was good. I’ve always liked your mom’s coleslaw.”

  “It’s the pickles. She uses these kosher ones and chops them up real fine.” He slid his hands upward, one midway, the other near the back of her head.

  Nadia raised her chin and opened her eyes. “How’d you get so close to me?” she asked.

  “Magic,” he replied. “It’s not so bad. Is it?”

  “No. Oh …” Her eyes widened. “That feels good. What are you doing?”

  He chuckled, and twirling her hair around his fingers, kneaded her neck. “You like that, huh?”

  “Y-yes,” she mumbled. “Wh-ere’d y-you learn it?” She breathed her words out in pulses.

  “Natural talent, of course. You’ve just never noticed.”

  “I notice things,” she said. “Like right now, you’re wearing that cologne I bought you.”

  He smiled. “I am. You’re right. What else?”

  “Your shoes.”

  He glanced down at his feet. “What about them?”

  “Your mom bought you those after your dad poured paint on your others.”

  “She was so mad,” he said. “They didn’t speak for a week. But I did get nice shoes out of it.”

  She glanced down. “Where’d the rest come from? The shirt and tie.”

  “I bought them. That’s my other news.”

  He stopped working his fingers and cradled her head in his hand.

  “What news?”

  “I have a job.”

  “A job? A real job?” Her voice changed and she pulled back.

  He sighed and tucked her against him again. “No leaving. I’m not done.”

  She turned her head, laying her cheek against the base of his neck. Her lashes brushed the hair on his chest. “What job then?”

  “Working for Mr. Evers, repairing small appliances. I am good with my hands.”

  She exhaled loud and long. “You are. I never knew that would have good benefits until now.”

  She folded her hands to her chest, her nails pricking his skin, and he returned his hand to her head. He noticed things too, the curve of her hip, the brush of her leg on his knee, the contour of her shoulders and that lovely expanse of her neck.

  Emotion swam upwards from his heart into his mind, and overcome, he released himself to float away on it, conscious of the flowery scent she wore in her hair, the flex and bend of her spine, the velvet caress of her skin. She might doubt this, but he did not. This was right, and she was everything. God bless Evelyn for making him see it.

  He closed his eyes and rested his chin on Nadia’s head. “This isn’t so bad. Is it?” he asked, his voice emerging a croak.

  Nadia stretched an arm out around his side, wrapping her fingers in his shirt. “No, but … it lacks one thing.” She leaned her head back and their eyes met.

  He gazed down at her. “What’s missing?” he asked. How could this moment be any better than it was?

  She called his name. “Paterson?”

  He wrinkled his forehead. “What?”

  “Kiss me.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Kissing Paterson was everything a first kiss should be, one of those staggering moments when everything in you stands to attention then melts away, and it did what great kisses always do, it fueled another and another. Soon I was pasted to him, not caring to come up for air but only to feed this new longing growing within me.

  We did part eventually, and he laughed at me, calling me voracious, and so I was. But life was good at that moment, and I couldn’t believe I’d ever have to come down from my emotional high.

  He drove me home and walked me to the door where we parted quietly. The porch light was on and the drapes open, which mean my parents were watching. I said I’d call him the next day, and he laughed and said, “At 7:43.” That being the time he’d said earlier. Then I went indoors and raced up the stairs.

  I dreamed about him, his hand on my face, like he’d done just before he’d kissed me, and the look in his eye, the new one that said he was thinking about me like that again. I awoke in a state of complete relaxation, my every muscle warm and placid, my mood almost indolent. It took me a good thirty minutes to pull myself up, run in the bathroom, and go down the stairs.

  My mom was in the kitchen in her gown and fuzzy blue robe. She had this patch of hair sticking up on one side like a peacock feather. She brought her cup of coffee to her lips and slurped, then gave me a smile. “How was your date?”

  I settled myself on a stool, wriggling my bottom for a secure purchase. “Good.”

  Her smile became wider. “Only good?”

  “Great. Perfect. Wonderful.”

  She raised a hand to my head and patted it. “That’s what I thought. He’s a charmer, your Paterson.”

  My Paterson. He’d become mine somehow over the last week, and I’d opened my heart wide and allowed him inside. Then last night had sealed the deal, I was in this for good, ready to fall completely head over heels for him, if I wasn’t already.

  I was so lucky and blessed.

  Mom poked the cereal and the milk my way then handed me a bowl. I made my breakfast, my mind working constantly toward seeing him again. A plan set in my thinking. I glanced at the clock. 7:30. It was perfect, and I had thirteen minutes to pull it off.

  I dashed back up the stairs, ducking in my closet and searching amongst my jam-packed clothing for the top I had in mind – the tank top he’d said he liked the day we went to the fair. I matched it with a pair of jean shorts and sandals, then zipped back downstairs, through the kitchen, and across the yard, right for the hole in the fence.

  It took some wiggling to make it through. I was bustier than I was at age ten. Climbing the neighbor’s fence was also entertaining, especially since the neighbor was in his yard staring at me. I waved on my way over and landed myself to the right of the pond. I checked the time on my cell, one minute left, and rounding the corner of his house to the front, took a deep breath on the stoop and rang the doorbell.

  Their dog barked and scrabbled his claws on the inside of the door. They had some half-Schnauzer, half-poodle mixed breed. Paterson yelled, “Hush,” and the door swung open.

  I lost my breath looking at him. He really had to stop doing this to me. One eyebrow raised, he leaned a shoulder against the door frame, his naked chest staring back at me. Not that I hadn’t seen him without a shirt because I had many times, but never after kissing him and never with my heart so tied up in seeing him.