a window, but I never noticed what was happening outside. There could have been a hurricane going on, and it likely would not have registered with me during lunch.
“No umbrella?” he asks, looking down at me in the doorway.
I shake my head, noticing that he hasn’t brought one either. “It’s just water. We won’t melt.”
“I’ll be right back.” He turns and goes back inside the main room of the brewery. I see him talk to the bartender. The bartender then exits through a door in the back. He quickly returns and hands something to Ryan who has joined me again in the doorway. He starts to unfold an oversized black garbage bag. “I can hold this over us and run you to your car,” he offers.
I just look up at him as my surprise renders me speechless.
He’s staring down at me expectantly.
“Um, that’s okay,” I hear myself say. I’m too shocked by the gesture to think clearly. I know it’s not really a big deal, but no one I’m not related to has ever offered to do something this nice for me.
Ryan glances out at the rain and eyes me speculatively. “Are you sure?”
I’m getting a second chance to change my answer. “Well, if you don’t mind? I’m just down the block. Where are you?”
He points toward the same parking lot I’m in. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says, raising the bag up over our heads.
“Ready,” I state and I take a breath, preparing to get soaked.
We dash outside, moving together in a slow jog. The rain plays a steady staccato rhythm on the plastic bag as we huddle underneath it. I have to stay close to Ryan in order to remain dry, and the side of my hip is bumping against his leg as we move down the sidewalk. The humid air carries the clean scent of his soap to me.
“Right there.” I direct him, pointing to my silver car by the entrance of the lot.
I have my keys in my hand, and my thumb finds the remote unlock button. “Thanks,” I say a little breathlessly, turning toward him in our rain-free bubble as I grip the door handle. “Still nice and dry,” I announce, although my feet in my sandals are pretty soggy. Then I notice that he’s kept the bag mostly over me. Damp hair hangs down over his ears and onto his wet shoulders.
“You’re soaked,” I accuse, feeling badly.
“I won’t melt.” He gives me a lopsided grin and pulls my door open, motioning for me to get in. “I’ll talk to you soon, Andrea,” he says, before dashing off. Through my rain spattered windshield, I watched him disappear to the other end of the parking lot.
“Maybe that’s how he meets women.”
“You’re saying he hit me on purpose?”
“It’s a possibility.”
Tiger rubs the top of his head against my hand as I refill his dish with food. Tiger is on a diet. He gets two small helpings of his dry food a day, one in the morning and another in the evening. His hunger drives him to rapture each time I withdraw his food from the cabinet. His nature is so gentle that it nearly brings me to tears thinking of him living with an inconsiderate owner. I rescued Tiger from a shelter when he was six weeks old. Since then, we’ve had a few mishaps. Since he is often underfoot, I have inadvertently stepped on his paws every so often. I also hit him on the head once with a closet door because I hadn’t realized he was right beside me when I pulled the door open. But he never holds a grudge. Rather he looks to me for reassurance and comfort, even as I’m the one inflicting his injuries. There is a lesson to be learned from Tiger and his ability to love unconditionally.
“I really don’t think he drove into me on purpose,” I tell Katie, holding the telephone in one hand while trying to close the cat food bag with the other. Tiger is now going to town on his dinner.
“Well, be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I promise I won’t give him my ATM pin number or my Social Security number--no matter how nicely he asks.”
“Aaaandy,” she drones, “you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know. I need to walk a fine line between seeming friendly and open, while actually being completely paranoid and closed off. Dating is so complicated.”
“Being engaged is pretty complicated, too,” Katie says.
I get the cat food put away and sit down at