“Go for it.”

“Will you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

The leash I’m holding falls to the counter. “What?”

“Will you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“A date?”

“Yes,” he answers.

I’ve done a lot of new things since I’ve been on my own, and I’ve had some new experiences, but I’ve done nothing resembling a date.

“Uh...I’m ... I should be.... I think....”

“Athena, it’s just dinner. I promise.”

I’m free the next night. I’m free most nights. And I’ve never been on a date.

“I’d really like to go on a date with you.” My words come out in a rush, and I’m a bit embarrassed, but Harris doesn't act like he notices.

“I’ll pick you up at your apartment at five?”

I’m going on a date.

My brain is still processing that information.

“Athena?”

“Yes. Five.”

He smiles and says he’ll see me then.

***

I’m a complete wreck the next day. Because I’m working the weekend, I have the day off. It really would have been better if I didn’t have the day off. By noon, all my clothes are on top of my bed, and by two, I’ve vetoed every outfit I own. At three, I stand in front of my bathroom mirror and give myself a good talking to.

It doesn’t work.

Nothing can erase the fact that I’m twenty-six and I’ve never been on a date. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been with a lot of men. Not one of them stood before me and asked me to dinner. Not one of them wanted to spend the evening with me just because I’m me and not because I’d be naked at some point.

I walk back into my bedroom and shuffle through my clothes once more. It’s another reason to hate Mike. The fact that I missed so much. For me, there had been no prom, no graduation, no first date. Nothing. But it’s a conscious decision I make not to let that anger rule my life. To do so is to give him even more power over me, and I refuse to do that anymore.

When Harris rings the doorbell at five, I’m wearing jeans and a green silk top. It’s not too casual and not too dressy. I open the door, and he’s standing there, smiling and holding flowers.

Flowers.

“Hi,” he says.

Flowers.

“These are for you.” He holds them out. It’s a combination of blue and white violets and they’re the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen.

I tentatively take hold of them, supporting the glass vase they came in with one hand. “Thank you. I’ve... I’ve never gotten flowers before.”

I can’t stop looking at them.

“The white means ‘take a chance on happiness,’ and the blue means ‘watchfulness.’”

“Appropriate,” I say, catching his gaze and smiling. I step out of the way. “Would you like to come in while I put these down?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll stay out here.”

He’s being respectful, and I appreciate that. However, I can’t help but remember the way he kissed me and his promise after. My fingers remember the heat of his skin, and my body wants his hands on me again.

I place the flowers in the middle of my two-person kitchen table and hurry back outside. He’s waiting with his hands in his pockets, and when he looks at me, there’s a heat in his eyes I know I’m not making up.

“Ready?” He holds out a hand.

I nod and place my hand in his, and as our fingers entwine, I’m shaken once more because I can’t remember the last time I simply held someone’s hand. He squeezes his fingers briefly around mine as if he knows what I’m thinking.

“I made us reservations,” he says.

We drive to a new restaurant not far from my apartment. It’s an intimate bistro, and nothing like anything I went to when I was working for Mike.

In the last five months, I’ve gradually gotten over the fear that everyone who looks at me knows what I once did for a living. I remind myself I’m not the same person I was then and starting over means starting over.

Hardest to take are the looks men give me, though those are different now as well. Harris pulls out my chair when we’re shown to our table, and I sit down with a sigh.

He raises an eyebrow as he takes his own seat. “Are you okay?”

I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Yes, first date jitters.”

“We’ve had a few meals together. This one just happens to be out in public.”

“Not just first date with you. First date ever.” I frown. “Well, if you don’t count Mike, and I don’t.”

His eyes dim a bit at the mention of Mike, and I could slap myself for bringing his name up. I try to think of something — anything — to say to move the conversation in a different direction, but Harris beats me to it.

“Green is definitely your color. You look lovely tonight.”

I feel my cheeks heat, and I dip my head. Holy shit. I just blushed. And I’m lovely. He thinks I’m lovely. I wouldn’t have had the same reaction if he’d called me beautiful. Lots of men have called me beautiful, but he’s the first to say I’m lovely.

“And the flush on your cheeks is charming,” he says.

I look up. “Thank you.”

The conversation could have gotten very uncomfortable after that, but he picks up the menu. “I have no idea what I want. What are you in the mood for?”

Living on my own and doing work I want to do has completely changed my outlook on things. I no longer fear sharing my opinion or speaking up about what I want. And as I’ve moved further and further away from the me of years past, I’ve learned I like the me I’m becoming.

I pick up my menu and scan it. “Know what I’d really like?”

“What?”

“A huge burger with lots of cheese and pickles and mayo. French fries. And any soda that’s not diet.”

He laughs, and I forgot how his laugh made my insides warm. “I think that might be last thing I expected you to eat.”

“How about you? What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

He looks back over the menu. “Club sandwich. Extra bacon, cooked to where it’s almost burnt. Honey mustard to dip it in. French fries with pepper and a beer.”

I wrinkle my nose at the mention of beer.

“You don’t drink. I noticed that.” He places the menu down and folds his hands on top.

“I did at one time, but then I didn’t. I found that while the alcohol deadens the pain, it messes with your mind too much. Or at least it did mine.”

“Why not a diet soda?”

“I don’t like artificial sweeteners.”

The waitress stops by to take our orders, and after she writes down my burger and his sandwich, she steps back. “You look familiar,” she says to Harris.

Harris had been in the news shortly after rescuing me. He wasn’t one to like being the center of attention, and he’d hated it.

“I just have one of those faces,” he says.

“The papers said you were rescuing a woman from a trafficker,” she replies, like he didn’t say anything.

“I read that story, too.” He glances at me. To make sure I’m alright?

“That poor woman. I hope she’s doing okay.”

“Me, too,” he says and coughs.

The cough reminds her of where she’s at and what she should be doing. “I’ll go put this order in.”

He leans back in his seat, exhaling deeply.

“You’re a hero,” I tease.

“Nah. Just doing my job.”

“I think they’re one and the same.”

Our conversation over dinner is light and easy. Harris is easy to talk with and quick to joke and smile. It doesn’t take long before I don’t feel nervous at all. We finish eating, but we’re still talking. He tells me about growing up in foster care, and I tell him stories from my childhood in the South.

He asks why I went to work at a pet store when I’d mentioned before I wanted to work in a bookstore, and in a soft voice, I share what happened with Mike and the books. And, I tell him that working around animals was a close second to owning one.

We arrive back at my apartment hours later, and my heart is racing as we walk up to my door. I’m not sure how to end the date. I don’t want him to leave just yet.