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“And does she?” “Does she what?” “Does the woman find her way in life?”
“I don’t know.” I bite my bottom lip. “I haven’t gotten that far.”
“So what’s happening here?” Mark questions, waggling a finger between the two of us. “It’s our first date,” I say, lifting my chin and maintaining eye contact. “You don’t say.” He beams. “Well, then, my friends, it’s on the house.” “What?” I look at Joey, who’s biting back a smile. “No—” He shoves two extra black-and-white cookies in the bag and announces, “Next!” effectively dismissing me. “Thank you,” we say in unison. He puts his hands over his heart, and when we’re halfway to the door, he calls out her name. He points to me. “He’s one of the good ones!”
when we’re driving toward our destination in the dark, even with the headlights on, we can only see a few yards in front of us.”
“Anything beyond the headlights is dark. We can’t see whether there’s a bridge ahead, and we can’t tell if the road will be closed. We don’t know yet. But despite the uncertainty, we keep driving.”
The fear that getting involved with him will pull me away from my writing career has yet to come to fruition. If anything, he’s intentional when making plans, and he’s always sure to check in about my availability and whether I have the mental capacity to hang out. He didn’t even seem upset when I canceled on him last-minute because I was deep in my metaphorical writing cave. Instead, he had Mark hand-deliver food from Bubbe’s Nosh Pit, with extra black-and-white cookies.

