crazy on you again—this way you’ll know why. Not that I’m planning on it, but . . .”
“What are you saying, Shell?”
I stopped fidgeting and took a long moment to look him in the eyes. I decided I liked his eyes. They made me feel brave. “What I’m saying,” I said in a mock-annoyed tone, “is that you’re welcome to pursue me if you still want to.”
He imitated my mock annoyance and said, “Oh, well, fine then. I’ll pursue you, okay?”
“Really?” It was the six-year-old voice again—the one that showed up when I didn’t dare hope for something.
“Shelby.”
“But I can’t promise anything,” I added hastily. “I can’t promise that I’ll be any good at . . . at anything. Or that this will become something serious. Or—”
“I’m not looking for promises.”
“And there’s a good chance you’ll realize I’m not what you thought I was, and you need to know that that’s okay. Just tell me, and . . . and I’ll get out of your hair. Because I know I’m not, well, normal. Not where stuff like this is concerned and . . . and that’s all.” I took a deep breath. “For now.”
“Done?”
“One more thing.” I paused, taking the time to reduce my swirling thoughts into words that would make sense to Scott. “I don’t want you to think that I’m expecting you to fix me,” I said, my breathing shallowed by the statement. “I mean, you don’t need that kind of pressure, and I don’t need that kind of dependence.”
“What makes you think I’m capable of ‘fixing’ you?” he asked in a voice that held neither condemnation nor condescension. “I’m not here to change you or undo anything someone else has done to you. I’m here because I want to be near you and know you and, well, pursue you. So how ’bout I just concentrate on that and leave the fixing to God?”
I had a flash of certainty just then—as though God said, “Maybe bringing someone like Scott into your life is just one small part of my plan for healing.”
I wanted to believe it. “You’ve got a deal,” I said to Scott. “But,” I added hurriedly, before the last shreds of my courage dissolved, “I really want you to know that it’s okay if you decide you don’t want to pursue me anymore. I mean, once you get to know me better, if you change your mind . . .”
“Shelby . . .”
“I’m serious, Scott. There have been some guys who . . . who thought they liked me. And then they didn’t anymore. And that’s just the way things go sometimes, so if you change your mind, just tell me.”
“Did any of them ever keep liking you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I never stuck around long enough to find out.”
“I see.”
“So this is a bit of a new approach for me.” I attempted a smile and found that it felt good.
“Well, here’s to new approaches,” Scott said with an answering smile as he pushed off the couch. “Wanna start with a cup of coffee?”
I was torn. “Actually, I left Shayla with Bev, and . . .”
He sighed and shook his head. “The downside of pursuing a woman who has a daughter.”
“A half sister that I’m raising as my daughter.”
“Your daughter, Shell. Take a look at yourself when you’re with her.”
I recognized his good intentions, but the statement struck me as odd. “How exactly does a person look at herself in your scenario?” I raised an eyebrow as I stood. “I mean, it’s a good suggestion and all, but do I have to carry a mirror? Or just look at my bottom half? ’Cause from this vantage point,” I said, looking down at my feet, “all I can see are shoes that need polishing and a couple of things in between.”
He was laughing when he pulled me in for the kind of hug that had my blood singing “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.” It was a really nice hug. I especially enjoyed the arms-around-me part, which made me feel a little like a roasted marshmallow squeezed between two yummy wafers. It was “lumpscious,” to use one of Shayla’s words. But my daughter was waiting for me at Bev’s and it was way past her bedtime, so I levered myself away from Scott and did an awkward hair-tuck gesture. “I’d better be going.”
“Yeah?”
The happiness in his eyes made my heart crinkle.
“Thank you for coming. Really.”
Okay, so I’ve got to admit that the combination of the, well, affection in his gaze and the