Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dallas
My eyes blink open, and I’m already thinking about Josette and our date last night. I had such a good time, and God, I really like her. A lot.
She seemed to have a good time, too, but by the end, she was acting a bit skittish. It didn’t matter how badly I wanted to kiss her. She was obviously feeling nervous, and I didn’t want to do anything that might threaten this thing between us. Whatever it is . I know what I want it to be, but until I figure out if Josette is on the same page, I’m going to have to move slow.
I got the sense that it’s in her nature to be wary of any new people or situations. I also got the sense that my patience and any extra work I’ll need to put in will be utterly worth it in the end .
God, I wish I’d gotten her number instead of giving her my card. Now, I’m at her mercy. All I can do is sit on my thumbs and wait for her to reach out. Unless…
No. I can’t keep popping over to her place to borrow dry goods. Can I?
My phone chimes, and I pluck it off the nightstand. My eyes widen when I see a number I don’t recognize, and my mouth cracks into a wide grin when I realize it’s her. Like I somehow willed her into texting me.
760-555-2132: Hey, Dallas. It’s Josette. I just wanted to thank you again for dinner last night. I had a really good time.
I continue to smile as I save her number and text her back.
Me: I had a really good time, too. The tacos were delicious, and the company was exquisite.
I hit send, and my smile drops as I bite my lip. Was “exquisite” too strong of a word? I mean, it’s how I feel, but… I just don’t want to scare her off.
A reply comes through, and my smile is back in an instant, accompanied by a bark of laughter.
Josette: Exquisite, huh? Well, I don’t know how to put this, but…I’m kind of a big deal.
Me: Okay, Ron Burgundy, no need to get a big head.
Josette: People know me.
I search my brain for the next Anchorman quote, but I can’t remember for the life of me.
Me: Line?
Josette: It’s “Well, I’m very happy for you. ”
Me: Right. You got me on that one, ha-ha. I’ll have to come up with a quote equally as hard for you next time.
Josette: Bring it.
Me: Ha! Easy. Bring It On.
Me: So, what are you up to today?
Josette: Nothing much. I’ll probably catch up on some of my T.V. shows. What about you?
Me: Well, since today is my last day before I start my new job, I thought I’d get out and have some fun. I’d really like to explore the local beaches. I know the harbor is only 20 mins away, so I thought I’d check that out first. Care to join me?
I hit send on the text, my heartrate spiking with anticipation as I wait for her to answer. And I wait. And wait. And wait.
What feels like an hour––but is probably only three minutes––passes, and I’m second-guessing the invitation. I’m pushing too hard, too fast. I try to compose a message that backpedals while at the same time doesn’t push her away, but before I can come up with a single word, a reply comes through.
Josette: Sorry, my sister called, and I just saw your invitation. I love the harbor. I can be your tour guide.
I blow out a breath of relief while my heart slows down to its regular rhythm. She said yes. She’s going to spend the day with me. I’m fucking ecstatic, but I try to appear chill when I text her back.
Me: Great! I can be ready in half an hour. Does that work for you?
Josette: That works for me. See you soon .
Me: See you soon.
Hopping out of bed, I rush through my shower and wrap a towel around my waist. I check out my reflection while I brush my teeth and decide the scruff on my jaw looks good, so I don’t need to shave and risk being late. I dress in a pair of board shorts and a t-shirt before grabbing a hoodie to throw in my car. It’s almost summer, but California beaches are notorious for being downright chilly, especially in the morning before the overcast skies burn off.
Slipping my bare feet into a pair of flip flops, I grab my keys and step out into the hall. Locking my door behind me, I turn, take a deep breath, and approach Josette’s door. She answers a few seconds after I knock, opening the door with a smile. I smile back at her, then have to clear my throat when my gaze takes in the rest of her. She looks amazing in a pair of tiny denim shorts and a white tank top. The blue straps of her bathing suit emerge from the neckline of the tank to tie behind her neck, and her hair is tied up in a shiny, messy bun on her crown.
“Hi,” she says when I continue to stare down at her, and I shake my head to clear it.
“Hi,” I reply, keeping my voice light. “You ready to go?”
She nods, and I step back, giving her plenty of space to exit her apartment. After she locks her door, she moves in beside me. It’s torture to not take her hand as we walk toward the elevator. But I know that even though this is definitely a date in my mind, it might not be the same thing to Josette.
Remember to take things slow. Don’t be pushy, Dallas.
I repeat the words again in my head as we ride the elevator to the ground floor. Once we’re outside, I immediately forget my own warnings and place my hand lightly on her back as we head for my car. I flinch inwardly at the automatic move, but other than a slight darkening of her cheeks, Josette doesn’t respond. And she doesn’t pull away.
I pump a mental fist in the air as I guide her to the passenger side of my car and open the door for her. She thanks me with softly spoken words before I close the door behind her, and then I jog around to hop in behind the wheel.
“Okay, tour guide,” I say as I start the engine, “what’s the best way to get to the harbor from here?”
“Hop on the seventy-eight west and take it to the five north,” she says, naming the freeways I assumed we’d be taking.
I nod and pull out of the parking lot, turning in the direction of the freeway. I can see Josette’s knee bouncing in my peripheral vision, a clear indication that she’s feeling a bit nervous or stressed. Keeping my eyes on the road, I make my tone light as I speak.
“Thanks for agreeing to join me and be my tour guide today. It’ll be a lot more fun with you there.”
Her knee stops bobbing as she shifts her weight in her seat and clears her throat .
“It’s my pleasure. I love the beach, but I don’t get out there as often as I’d like.”
“I lived about twenty minutes from Venice Beach before I moved. I spent a lot of evenings out there in the sand or on the Santa Monica Pier, watching the sunset.”
“Do you surf?” she asks, and I can practically feel the tension draining out of her as she relaxes into the conversation.
“I did when I was younger,” I say, then bark out a self-deprecating laugh. “I should’ve said I tried when I was younger. I was never very good at it.”
“It’s probably your height,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “Taller people have a harder time maintaining a low center of gravity.”
I glance over at her and grin before returning my gaze to the road. “Are you some kind of surfing analyst?”
Josette chuckles, and it’s music to my ears. “No. Not at all. It’s just common sense.”
I nod as I navigate onto the freeway heading west. Josette and I chat more about the beach, and I find out she and her sister, Callie, spent almost every Saturday at the seaside with their parents when they were kids. They swam and built sand castles and ate ice cream, and those are the memories Josette treasures most. Well, those, and the Christmas they spent in Big Bear, playing in the snow. When I ask if her parents live nearby, she tells me they moved to a senior community near Las Vegas. She and Callie try to visit often, and their parents come to them during the holidays .
“Are your parents close by?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“They passed away a few years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Dallas,” she says, her voice laced with regret for asking.
“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “I don’t mind talking about them. I was a bit of a miracle baby. My parents tried for a child for years before finally accepting that it would never happen, and then, when they were in their mid-forties, she found out she was pregnant with me. I always knew I wouldn’t have them as long as I’d like, but I never expected to lose them both in my early twenties.”
I look over at Josette, and she’s staring at me with empathetic eyes. I smile, hoping to relieve her of some of the sadness she’s feeling on my behalf.
“Mom always said it was the magic of the Pacific,” I go on with a laugh. “They moved to California from Texas about a year before I was born, which means they’d only been here for a few months when I was conceived.”
“That’s kind of amazing,” she says, her voice cracking with emotion.
“It really is,” I reply, looking over at her with a wide smile before clearing my throat and refocusing my gaze on the road. “Okay. Enough of the deep stuff. Tell me something about you.”
“Like what?” she asks, settling more comfortably in her seat.
“Whatever you want to share,” I say.
“I don’t know,” she says slowly, like she’s searching for something interesting to tell me .
What she doesn’t realize is that everything about her interests me.
“What’s your favorite movie?” I ask, throwing her a lifeline before she panics.
“That’s a hard one,” she says with a laugh. When I glance over at her, she shrugs. “It’s hard to choose. I really like older romcoms from the nineties. Sleepless in Seattle. You’ve Got Mail. Stuff like that.”
“I’m sensing a theme here,” I say, cutting my eyes in her direction before guiding us off the seventy-eight freeway and onto the five.
“Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan movies are my favorites.”
“You forgot Joe Versus the Volcano ,” I say, and the hair on my nape prickles for some reason.
She twists her upper body in my direction. “You know that one? Most people I know have never seen it.”
“You’re afraid of commitment?” I quote. “You’re going to have to love and honor me for about thirty seconds.”
“Wow,” Josette says with a laugh, and I laugh with her.
That eerie feeling from before vanishes, and we both fall silent as the ocean comes into view. Josette only speaks to tell me to get off on the next exit and turn left. It’s only a couple of more turns before we’re pulling into the parking lot at the harbor.
After grabbing a parking pass from one of the electronic podiums and sticking it on the dash, we head down toward the water. I kick off my flip flops and pick them up, and Josette follows suit. At the edge of the tide line, water tickles our toes. It’s cold, and Josette squeals before skipping away. I laugh and follow her into the soft, drier sand. We walk for a long time, talking and laughing, then spin around and walk back the way we came. We find a small ice cream shop and pop in for some waffle cones before walking back across the street to the sandy beach.
I stop a stranger, asking him to take a picture of us holding our ice cream cones with the ocean in the background. Josette looks a bit startled and more than a little uncomfortable, but doesn’t comment while the man snaps a few pics and hands my phone back to me. I tuck the device into my pocket after thanking him, not even glancing at the pictures.
“You okay?” I ask her as we walk toward the parking lot where we left my car. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked your permission before I did that. I can delete the pictures, if you want.”
“No,” she blurts, then shakes her head and continues in a softer voice. “No, don’t do that. I just…”
“What?” I ask when she doesn’t finish the thought.
“I’d just never stop a stranger like that. I,” she pauses to inhale deeply, then blows it out before continuing, “wouldn’t want to bother or annoy anyone like that.”
“I get it,” I say with a nod, and Josette’s head turns in my direction, staring at me with wide eyes.
“You do?”
“Yeah. I really do. Are you ready to head back?”
Josette looks disappointed, but she clears her expression quickly. “Yeah. Sure.”
She starts to walk faster, and I grab her hand, pulling her to a stop. She looks at the connection for a few beats, but doesn’t pull away. Then, she meets my eyes.
“I’m not suggesting we leave because I want to,” I say, my tone firm as I hold the eye contact. “I was asking you if you’re ready to leave. If you need to.”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
I tighten my grip on her hand. “You’re not entirely comfortable out in public, and your apartment is your safe space. I asked if you were ready to go to let you know that we can head back whenever you want or need to. To let you know that leaving won’t annoy me or disappoint me in any way. That hanging out with me doesn’t have to be an all-day thing. I’ll take eight hours or eight minutes. I just want you to be comfortable and have a good time.”
I used to know someone who suffered from social anxiety, and I recognize the signs. Josette’s anxiety seems to be a much milder case than my friend’s was, though. He had trouble leaving his room for any reason. But the signs are there, and I just want to make sure she feels comfortable.
She stares at me for several beats, then her lips turn up into a ghost of a smile. “Maybe we can just walk on the beach for a while longer?”