Page 62 of Legs

“Love is beautiful,” he said. “It is the heart of life. Show your mother your heart, and she will understand.” His eyes were a light blue, clouded with age, a red rim often at the edges. Today they glistened, as though he were choked up. Discussing my love life probably reminded him of his wife.

I also didn’t contradict him and claim I was still waffling in the maybe love column. It would have felt like a lie.

“This man,” he added, “he is lucky to have you, and my wife was right to send me here.” He stepped off his treadmill and patted my arm, a sweet gesture I hadn’t expected.

“Thank you,” I said.

He offered a thin smile and left. I had no idea how his wife sending him to exercise figured into anything, but his touch eased my churning stomach, as did his words.

Until Ainsley bounded over and smacked my butt. “Two hours until D-day. You ready to puke yet?”

I rubbed my backside. “I was doing fine until a second ago. And is that sweat on your forehead? Did you actually work out?”

She rubbed her towel over her face. “Emmett was in the class, behind me, so I had to show him I’m into those stupid breathing exercises, and that I can bend.” She winked.

“Did you ask him out?”

She tossed her towel around her neck and held each end. “Sadly, I did not. He left before I had the chance.”

Gwen snuck up behind her and tugged her ponytail. “He rolled his mat in record time and bolted, to avoid her.”

“Says you,” Ainsley huffed.

“Honestly, you need glasses. Emmett is gay with a capital G, and Ainsley here”—she poked our friend in the side—“is in denial.”

Ainsley scrunched her button nose. “I still think you’re wrong.”

“I am not wrong. Have you seen him eye other dudes? Totally scopes them.”

“Whatever. Gay or not, drooling over him helps pass the time.”

Gwen ran a hand up the back of her neck. “I’ll give you that. Gay, straight, or bi, the man is fine. Speaking of fine men, have you prepped Jimmy for the interrogation he’s about to face?”

The girls knew how to ratchet up my stress levels. “As much as I can.”

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall when your mother sees him,” Ainsley said.

“A video would be awesome.” Gwen’s heartfelt contribution.

“You two suck at pep talks, and if I don’t get home soon, we’ll be late. I need to start this night on the right foot.”

As I pushed past them, Gwen said, “Tell him to wear a tie.”

The image of Jimmy in a tie was ridiculous. And hot. Especially if he were shirtless. I fanned my face.

“Have him wear a cup,” Ainsley added. “Your mother is skilled with her kitchen knife. One look at his tats, and she could ‘accidentally’ circumcise him.”

My cackle exploded, a blast of sound that had all heads swiveling our way. “I’ll keep that in mind.” But my man was circumcised, and if I told them about his jewelry, they’d ask for photos and a life-sized sketch.

* * *

Jimmy threaded our fingers as we neared my mother’s front steps. “I’ve always loved these houses. The Painted Ladies, right?”

I nodded. “My father admired them for years. It was a big deal when he bought it.” The street was quiet, the pastels of the row houses blanching under the setting sun. My father had loved the nickname attributed to the Victorian homes. The day he’d bought our yellow and red slice of real estate, he’d popped a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and offered me my first sip of Champagne. It had tasted like sunshine.

We paused on the top step and Jimmy spun me to face him. “You ready for this?”

With his unshaven face and motorcycle boots, Jimmy was still Jimmy. But his jeans weren’t ripped, and his black T-shirt didn’t have band logos or sayings splashed across the front. He wanted to make a good first impression. The effort swelled my heart.