soaking up the moment, that’s all.”
“I know what you meant. You’ve soaked for about three minutes now. That’s plenty. I want details!”
I plopped myself down on the sofa next to her. Finally cracking a smile, I said, “It was pretty fantastic.”
“Because . . .” She prompted.
“Because we had a great time. He set up a baseball game between some kids in his ward and brought me all kinds of ballpark food to eat while we watched. He acted like a total gentleman. He opened doors, made sure I stayed warm. He even spilled first.” The look on Sandy’s face was priceless. I had probably circumscribed several of her least favorite things into one afternoon.
“Trust me,” I told her. “It was perfect.”
“Knowing you, it probably was. So when’s the next date?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
She stared at me in surprise. “He didn’t ask you out again?”
“Well, yeah. For tomorrow.”
“A Sunday?”
“His ward’s having a fireside.”
“That makes sense. Except for the part about why you’re not going.”
I shrugged. “It’s all part of the balance and moderation thing I’m doing,” I said.
“Maybe you’d better define those words for me because we clearly don’t think they mean the same thing.”
“I saw him Thursday, I saw him today, and that’s kind of a lot. I think things could use a breather, that’s all.”
Understanding and a hint of impatience dawned in Sandy’s eyes. “You mean you could use a breather,” she said. “Why? You don’t work on Sundays, so it’s not like you have that to distract you.”
I opened my mouth to defend my decision, but I realized she had a point. I closed it again and thought for a minute. I didn’t have to try hard to change my own mind. “You’re right,” I said.
“You should never sound surprised when you say that. It’s a statistical probability any time I speak, accountant girl,” she teased me. “So what are you going to do?”
“I guess call him?”
“Ding, ding, ding! Tell her what she’s won, Don Pardo. Why, it’s a fun-filled evening with a hot guy!”
“Oh, I remember now.”
“Remember what now?” Sandy asked.
“I remember why I keep threatening to kick you out.”
“You’ve never threatened to kick me out.”
“I haven’t? I keep meaning to say it out loud.”
“You’ll never do it. What would you do with me gone?”
“I don’t know, maybe get more work done? I’d never have to hunt for my Pottery Barn catalog. And the pantry would stay organized by alphabetical order.” I considered the possibilities and added, “You’d better stay. But you can’t have my magazines until I’m done.”
“Deal. You should call Ben now.”
“I will, but again, I’m only doing this because I want to, not because you told me to.”
“Okay. Call Ben now. That’s me reaffirming your great idea,” she said.
“Uh, what do I say? Inviting myself over for something I already declined is flaky.”
“Did you or did you not have a great day today?” she demanded.
I thought about the afternoon again and the hour we had lingered after the game had ended, slowly packing up our picnic and laughing. I thought too about the quickly hidden surprise and disappointment that had flashed across Ben’s face when I told him I couldn’t make it to the fireside the next day. Our easy rapport stayed intact through the car ride home and his warm hug at the door. But he hadn’t promised to call me about setting something else up either. Which meant he had placed the ball in my court.
I weighed everything out in my mind once more. Stay home all Sunday afternoon by myself and take a break from Ben or hang out with a hot, funny guy who I didn’t want a break from anyway? When I looked at it that way . . .
I leaned over and rummaged through my purse. When I straightened with my cell phone in hand, Sandy murmured, “Good girl.” As I scrolled through my phone book to find Ben’s number, she
“I know what you meant. You’ve soaked for about three minutes now. That’s plenty. I want details!”
I plopped myself down on the sofa next to her. Finally cracking a smile, I said, “It was pretty fantastic.”
“Because . . .” She prompted.
“Because we had a great time. He set up a baseball game between some kids in his ward and brought me all kinds of ballpark food to eat while we watched. He acted like a total gentleman. He opened doors, made sure I stayed warm. He even spilled first.” The look on Sandy’s face was priceless. I had probably circumscribed several of her least favorite things into one afternoon.
“Trust me,” I told her. “It was perfect.”
“Knowing you, it probably was. So when’s the next date?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
She stared at me in surprise. “He didn’t ask you out again?”
“Well, yeah. For tomorrow.”
“A Sunday?”
“His ward’s having a fireside.”
“That makes sense. Except for the part about why you’re not going.”
I shrugged. “It’s all part of the balance and moderation thing I’m doing,” I said.
“Maybe you’d better define those words for me because we clearly don’t think they mean the same thing.”
“I saw him Thursday, I saw him today, and that’s kind of a lot. I think things could use a breather, that’s all.”
Understanding and a hint of impatience dawned in Sandy’s eyes. “You mean you could use a breather,” she said. “Why? You don’t work on Sundays, so it’s not like you have that to distract you.”
I opened my mouth to defend my decision, but I realized she had a point. I closed it again and thought for a minute. I didn’t have to try hard to change my own mind. “You’re right,” I said.
“You should never sound surprised when you say that. It’s a statistical probability any time I speak, accountant girl,” she teased me. “So what are you going to do?”
“I guess call him?”
“Ding, ding, ding! Tell her what she’s won, Don Pardo. Why, it’s a fun-filled evening with a hot guy!”
“Oh, I remember now.”
“Remember what now?” Sandy asked.
“I remember why I keep threatening to kick you out.”
“You’ve never threatened to kick me out.”
“I haven’t? I keep meaning to say it out loud.”
“You’ll never do it. What would you do with me gone?”
“I don’t know, maybe get more work done? I’d never have to hunt for my Pottery Barn catalog. And the pantry would stay organized by alphabetical order.” I considered the possibilities and added, “You’d better stay. But you can’t have my magazines until I’m done.”
“Deal. You should call Ben now.”
“I will, but again, I’m only doing this because I want to, not because you told me to.”
“Okay. Call Ben now. That’s me reaffirming your great idea,” she said.
“Uh, what do I say? Inviting myself over for something I already declined is flaky.”
“Did you or did you not have a great day today?” she demanded.
I thought about the afternoon again and the hour we had lingered after the game had ended, slowly packing up our picnic and laughing. I thought too about the quickly hidden surprise and disappointment that had flashed across Ben’s face when I told him I couldn’t make it to the fireside the next day. Our easy rapport stayed intact through the car ride home and his warm hug at the door. But he hadn’t promised to call me about setting something else up either. Which meant he had placed the ball in my court.
I weighed everything out in my mind once more. Stay home all Sunday afternoon by myself and take a break from Ben or hang out with a hot, funny guy who I didn’t want a break from anyway? When I looked at it that way . . .
I leaned over and rummaged through my purse. When I straightened with my cell phone in hand, Sandy murmured, “Good girl.” As I scrolled through my phone book to find Ben’s number, she
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