She nodded.
“But I can promise that I won’t hide you. I won’t treat you like a secret. And I won’t ask you to make yourself smaller to make other people comfortable.”
Her eyes shone.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear someone say that.”
I reached for her hand.
She let me take it.
“The divorce is almost final,” she said.
“I know.”
“And when it’s final, I want to have a conversation with you.”
“About what?”
She smiled.
“About whether the man who once thought terrible diner coffee was a personality trait is worth taking a chance on.”
I laughed.
“That seems like a fair question.”
“It is.”
“What’s your preliminary assessment?”
“Under review.”
“Brutal.”
She laughed again.
Then she grew serious.
“Alex, I don’t want you to love me because I was hurt. I don’t want to be a rebellion against Michael or a way for you to prove something to yourself.”
“Neither do I.”
“I want to be with you because you know who I am.”
I squeezed her hand.
“I want to be with you because I’m still discovering who you are. And every time I learn something new, I like you more.”
She stared at me.
Then she stepped around the counter.
For a second, I thought she was going to kiss me.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around me and held me tightly.
I closed my eyes.
It wasn’t a romantic kiss.
It wasn’t a promise.
But it was the first time in months that I felt we were moving toward something rather than away from it.
When she pulled back, she smiled.
“Go home, Alex.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Go home. I have to close the store.”
I laughed.
“You’re kicking me out?”
“I’m a business owner now. I have standards.”
I walked toward the door.
Then I turned around.
“Karen?”
“Yes?”
“When the divorce is final, can I take you to dinner?”
She pretended to consider it.
“Will there be terrible coffee?”
“I can arrange that.”
“Then yes.”
I left the store smiling like an idiot.
