step. As they reached the door, another couple had arrived. The man opened it for his wife, and then gestured to Daralyn. She glanced at Rory, and he gave her a nod, then offered the guy a thanks as he followed her in.
He handled things like that fine, but she knew it still bugged him. The man was in his seventies, a person Rory would have held the door for, as a sign of respect for his elders. But the man held the door for him, compassion for someone with limited mobility.
If they did something like this again, she’d adjust so that when they came off the ramp into a wider space, she was beside or behind Rory, so he could hold the door for her.
He and his family had done many similar things for her, adjusting their habits and routines to help her develop those things for herself in the way she could best manage it. But that wasn’t why she wanted to do it. It was the thing inside her that told her she wanted to meet his every action like a dance partner, a give and take of motion that made them seem as if nature had brought them together for that. She’d never danced before, but that was what it looked like, when she’d seen it in glimpses on television.
The hostess seated them. Just like the last time she was here, Daralyn was delighted by the mural on the back wall, swans floating in a lavender tinted lake, reflecting the hue of the clouds above. Their waitress introduced herself as Lobelia.
“Do all the waitresses use purple flower names?” Daralyn asked. Lobelia was about Daralyn’s age, with abundant dark hair bound up with a lavender scarf. It matched the restaurant attire of black slacks and purple blouse.
“Not everyone realizes it is a purple flower,” Lobelia said, with an easy smile. “And no ma’am. It’s my real name.”
She took their drink orders, and then Daralyn was looking at the menu. “What looks good?” Rory asked.
He did, but she didn’t say that. Most people’s way of interacting was so unconscious and natural, but from listening to them a lot, she knew the things she thought, the way she thought them, would be considered out of place if she said them aloud.
“Daralyn.” He’d held her hand from the moment they’d sat down and now he squeezed it again, drawing her gaze. “What I’m looking at looks good to me, too.”
She bit her lip. “Was I that obvious?”
“I made a guess, and I’m glad I’m not wrong, because I would have sounded like a conceited ass.” His wry smile didn’t dilute what was in his gaze. “I’m not complaining. You don’t look me in the eye much, but when you do, I think you should take a good, long look. See what’s there.”
He reached out with the other hand, touched her jaw, so she lifted her gaze. “It’s difficult,” she said low. “When I look, I can’t look away. I get lost there…in the right ways.”
He stared at her, and a muscle flexed in his jaw. “I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her gaze again. “Dr. Taylor says I need to talk, try to work on not being afraid to speak my mind. But when I do, I tend to say—”
“The truth. Unembellished, straight from your heart. I get what Dr. Taylor wants you to do, and it’s smart. But Daralyn…” that insistent touch on her jaw again, reminding her to bring her eyes back up. She didn’t know why it was particularly hard to meet Rory’s gaze, but when he clearly wanted her to do so, it was easier. She drew in a breath because his dark brown gaze held powerful things. “When it comes to you and me,” he said, “You say it just like you think it. Understand me?”
She swallowed. “When you talk like that, I get really lost.”
His gaze sharpened, spearing her straight through the heart. “That’s not lost. That means you’ve come straight to me.”
The drinks were brought, and the main task she’d dreaded was here. What to order. She couldn’t waste food, but everything except appetizers would have portions far too big for her. And then there was the worst part. Having to choose. Nothing could paralyze her more.
Rory said he needed a few more minutes and sent the waitress away. He gestured to the menu. “Since I’ve never been here before, tell me what looks good.”
She could handle that. It was like a customer asking