Next to Me

by AnnaLisa Grant

  “Wow. You look incredible,” he says. “These are for you.” He hands me the flowers and I’m immediately impressed. The bouquet is filled with tulips and irises, my favorite flowers.

  “Thank you. That was so sweet of you,” I tell him, feeling the petals of the flowers. I’ve never had a guy bring me flowers. Even Brian Parker who took me to my senior prom didn’t get me a corsage or anything.

  “I’ll take those and put them in some water for you,” Spring says.

  “Oh…I’m sorry. Landon, this is my roommate, Spring. Spring, this is Landon,” I say a bit flustered.

  “Yeah, we met at the door when I opened it for him, Jenna.” Spring gives me a sideways look and the two shake hands anyway before Spring says her goodbyes and goes into the kitchen.

  “I guess we should be going?” Time for me to regroup from my frazzled state.

  “Yes. I made a reservation. I hope you like insanely good Mexican food,” Landon tells me as I open the door.

  “It’s my favorite, so that’s perfect.” I smile and let Landon open doors for me as we make our way outside.

  “I thought we’d take a cab there, and then maybe you’d let me take you for a walk after.” He smiles at me and I’m distracted for a moment. He crooks his head as if to ask me again and I’m brought back to the moment.

  “Can we walk now?” I smile hopefully at him.

  “Yeah,” he smiles, pleasantly surprised at my suggestion.

  We’re quiet for about a block before I have to break the silence. It’s hard to concentrate on anything with Landon’s scent lingering in the air and him walking so close to me. I’m trying not to be alarmingly distracted by him, but it’s difficult.

  “Carina said it was your first time at the studio, but it clearly wasn’t your first time doing the Salsa. How long have you been dancing?” I ask.

  “You picked up on that, did you?” There’s that smirk. Must…look…away. “My mom was a dance teacher. She used to take me to her studio with her when I was little. I watched in between coloring. Then when I got older, she made me learn all the dances she taught. Everything from Salsa, to Swing, and even some ballroom dancing.” A soft expression covers his face as he recalls those days with his mom and my heart swells a little.

  “So how long has it been since you danced or took a lesson?”

  “I haven’t really danced in about seven or eight years. I moved to Chicago about a month ago and thought I’d give it a shot. I was actually pretty surprised at what I remembered,” he tells me as we continue to walk.

  “Well, you were pretty great for a guy who hasn’t danced in that long,” I say.

  “I knew you were watching me,” he teases.

  “I was only watching you because you looked like you were so nervous you were going to pee your pants. I didn’t know if you were going to fall on your face and, as a nurse, I would have been obligated to help bandage you up!” I say in my defense. It’s only partially the truth, though.

  “I was only nervous when you looked over at me,” he says quietly. “I told you I was immediately drawn to you, Jenna.”

  I smile shyly at him and watch the curb as we cross the street. I try to think of something clever to say, but Landon puts his hand on the small of my back as we cross the street. Now I’m too consumed with the warmth of his touch.

  “How long have you been dancing?” he asks.

  “I used to dance when I was little, then I took a break after my mom died,” I tell him.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Can I ask how old you were when she passed?” He’s walking and looking at me with concern at the same time. It’s nice.

  “I was ten. She had breast cancer and it was pretty aggressive. It took a

  while after I she died for me to be ready to get back into dancing. When I did, I danced all the way through high school and after.”

  “What about your dad?” he continues.

  “He died a while ago. Can we not talk about my depressing past, please?” I beg. This is about the time I stop giving information about my past. It’s generic enough. I mean, lots of people lose their parents. Lots of little girls take dance.

  “Sorry. I just…I just want to know you, Jenna,” he tells me with a bit of an apologetic tone.

  “It’s ok. I want to be known.” Did I just say that? And mean it?

  We continue to walk and talk about various things. He tells me he grew up in Miami, which explains his mom’s love of Latin dance, but that he went to college in Michigan. He has an older sister who still lives in Miami with her husband and kids, whom he adores. His grandparents played a pretty heavy roll in his life. With his mom being Latina, it’s very much a part of their culture. They both passed away several years ago. His grandfather had a heart attack while scuba diving, which I think it pretty remarkable for a 70-year old man. Landon’s face shows his sadness when he tells me that his grandmother died just a few years later. His grandparents were so close he believes she died from a broken heart.

  “Can that happen?” he asks, stopping me to ask again. “Can someone die from a broken heart?” He’s being so transparent with me, so real. I’ve seen people watch their loved one die right in front of them and they’ve not been this real about their emotions.

  “Actually, yes. Well, it’s not a medical diagnosis, so a lot of doctors and nurses don’t believe in it. But…I do. When the love someone had that was keeping them going is no longer there, it’s hard for some people to want to exist in a world that doesn’t include that other person. They just give up their will to live. They become weaker, and sometimes get sick. Without the

  will to live, the sickness takes over and they die. If you trace it back, past all

  the medical stuff, they really did die of a broken heart.”

  Landon stares at me, his brown eyes diving into my ocean blue ones. He takes a step closer to me and moves a piece of my hair out of my face before he runs his hand down my arm. My heart is racing. Now I know I’ve never felt this.

  “I think we passed the restaurant,” he says softly, holding his gaze for only a moment longer.

  “I think we did, too,” catching my breath and looking around. “Oh, my gosh, we walked all the way to Navy Pier!”

  “It’s a good 12 blocks from the restaurant, and your place was nine blocks! Your feet must be killing you in those shoes,” he says, noticing the heels I’m wearing.

  “Oh, please! I walk 21 blocks in these shoes all the time!” I tease.

  “I have an idea. What do you say we skip the restaurant, grab a burger and park it on a bench on the pier?” His eyes are hopeful and I can’t think of a better way to improvise our date.

  “I say that sounds great.” I smile and hope I’m not being too agreeable. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date where I think I care if there’s a second date. I don’t remember the rules of playing hard to get.

  “Awesome!” Landon grabs my hand and leads me down the pier. He’s threaded his fingers through mine, which in my mind has always seemed like a much more intimate grasp. We stop at a burger place with outdoor seating, but Landon places our order to go. I don’t hear him order because it’s pretty loud, but figure he just ordered a couple of regular burgers and fries.

  We walk the length of the pier to the last bench facing the water. It’s a gorgeous night. The pier is lit up by all the restaurants and attractions. There’s a special light hovering over the pier from the Ferris wheel, while the dinner cruise ship on the lake is adding a romantic glow to the water.

  “Well, this is some first date, Landon Scott,” I tell him while I unwrap

  my burger.

  “You said first,” he says flirtatiously.

  “I…uh…” I let out a defeated breath, not knowing how to recover from that.

  “It’s ok, Jenna. I’ve already been thinking of where to take you on our second date.” He’s smiling this ridiculously sexy smile and I realize I want to kiss him. I mean, really kiss him. But…I contain myself and take a s
ip of my soda.

  “This is Dr. Pepper,” I say in shock.

  “Yeah…is that not ok?” Landon looks worried.

  “It’s my favorite,” I tell him with a grin. I take the bun off the top of my burger to pick off the onions, but there aren’t any. In fact, it’s made just the way I like it. No onions, extra pickles, one super fresh tomato slice, ketchup, mayo, and extra mustard. “How did you…”

  “This is the part where I ask if you would find it sweet and charming, or creepy,” Landon says tentatively.

  “Just be honest with me, Landon. You’ve hit the nail on the head with my favorite things, down to how I like my burger. What’s the deal?” How could he possibly know how I like my burger, or that Dr. Pepper and Mexican food are my favorites?

  “I…dug a little deeper than the resume Carina gave me. I hope you don’t think I’m some kind of creepy stalker. I just really wanted to make sure that if you let me take you out, that it would be perfect for you.” He looks nervous now, maybe a little afraid that he’s blown it.

  “Who did you talk to?” I ask. I haven’t decided if this will be a list of

  people to thank or punch.

  “The cook at Duke’s knows how you like your burger. And, uh…I talked to the guy at your grocery store. He’s how I knew you were a Dr. Pepper girl,” he tells me.

  “What about the Mexican food?”

  “According to your grocer, you make a lot of guacamole.” Landon looks at me with hopeful eyes, wanting to hear me tell him again that his efforts to meet me and get to know me are sweet and charming. They are…mostly.

  “Ok. Let’s just…now that you’ve met me, you ask me anything you want to know. No more snooping around. Do what normal guys do and unknowingly make a reservation at a restaurant I hate…and don’t have a plan B. Can you do that?” I tell him, satisfied with his answer.

  I’m not concerned about Dellinger. If Landon was working for him, a list of my favorite things would be the last thing he’d need to confirm who I really am. That, and Dellinger wouldn’t use such benign tactics. No, Landon is just a guy smitten with a girl. It’s kind of nice to have a guy be this interested in me. I wonder if any of the guys I gave a date to would have become this interested had I given them the opportunity. I really like Landon and, oddly enough, I do think it’s sweet that he tried so hard to meet me and make sure this night was perfect.

  “I can do that. No more snooping. Scout’s honor.” He lifts his hand and gives the Boy Scout sign. We both chuckle nervously, and I make a conscious decision to move forward.

  “So…you know what I do…why don’t you tell me what you do, Landon?” I ask. I pick through my fries finding any that are overdone and super crunchy. Those are my favorite.

  “I work for a securities company,” he says.

  “Like, installing security systems?” I inquire between crunches.

  “No, more like protection. For example, a company might be bought or sold and dismantled into several smaller companies. There’s always information that can’t be leaked to the new facets of the agency, so I work with the CEOs to protect them and the information their company values,” he explains.

  “Sounds boring,” I tease with a straight face.

  “Oh really? What would be more interesting to you to talk about?” he

  asks, laughing with me as I break my poker face. The last guy I teased about having a boring job took it very personally and developed a sudden headache, thus ending our date before either of us had finished our dinner. It’s nice to see that Landon doesn’t take himself too seriously.

  “I want to hear about your dancing!” I tell him.

  “Great! I knew that was going to come back and bite me in the ass!”

  “It’s too late now, Fred Astaire! I want to hear about your ballroom dancing days,” I declare with a huge smile.

  “I am not going to tell you anything. I’m going to show you.” Landon stands and holds out his hand to me. “Dance with me.”

  I don’t hesitate for a second and immediately take my shoes off and stand up, taking Landon’s hand. He leads me to a more open area of the pier near where we’ve been sitting. People are looking at us, but I don’t care. There’s something about being with Landon that makes me want to embrace all the things I’ve been holding at arm’s length.

  “Waltz?” he says, wrapping his hand around to my back above my waist and holding our extended hands together. His touch is amazing.

  “Tango.” I counter with a smirk of my own.

  “You’re killing me here, you know that.” He tosses his head back and laughs. “What the hell! You ready?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing?” I raise my eyebrows and realize that I am officially flirting. I position my hand on his shoulder and we bow our arms, putting ourselves into proper dancing posture.

  Landon starts counting and we start to move. He stops counting after a few sets as we both realize that we’re moving together perfectly, both hearing the music in our heads. A few more passes like this, and with our eyes locked on each other’s, Landon lets go of my hand and puts his arm around my waist. I move my arm to his waist and we spin, Landon still holding onto my eyes with his.

  I’ve danced this dance a hundred times with Marco and other

  experienced dancers at the studio and it never felt this way. I’ve heard professional dancers say that dancing with a partner should be almost as emotional as having sex. You have to connect with your dance partner so that the emotions and message of the dance come across to your audience. If this isn’t a connection, I don’t know what is.

  This connection seems apparent to the onlookers around us on the pier because as we stop and I don’t remove my eyes from Landon’s, whistles and clapping erupt. I’m trying to catch my breath when Landon’s mouth is suddenly on mine. I part my lips to receive his kiss, but hold back, unsure of myself. I feel our bodies move in line with each other, his arms wrapping around me.

  “I don’t usually do that on a first date,” he says, now catching his breath.

  “Tango?” I smile.

  “I definitely don’t Tango on a first date. Then again, I’ve never had such a worthy partner.” Landon’s face is still so close to mine. I can feel his breath against my mouth and all I want to do is kiss him again.

  “Well, you did refer to our meeting yesterday morning as the best coffee and croissant date you’d ever had. So, technically, this would be our second date,” I reply softly.

  “Well played, Jenna, well played.” Landon kisses me again and this time I don’t hold back. I part my lips again, letting us explore each other in a kiss that’s a show in and of itself for the onlookers. He grabs the back of my head and a fistful of my hair with it and a noise escapes from the back of my throat. I have never, ever, been kissed like this.

  More clapping and whistling brings us back to reality and we both

  chuckle with just a bit of embarrassment.

  “I really hadn’t planned on that, Jenna. I just want you to know that…considering our earlier conversation. It was a bonus, though,” he says. I think he’s sincere. I look into his eyes and think he’s just one of those passionate guys, and when he wants something, he dives right in.

  “I believe you. It’s been a while since…well…it was nice,” I tell him.

  We pack up our leftovers and walk back down the pier to the circle where there are a dozen cabs waiting. Landon suggests we take a cab back to my place since he’s thinking neither of us is up for walking 21 blocks back. I agree and scoot into the cab first.

  “This night was way more than I expected, Jenna. I hope you had just as great a time as I did.” Landon takes my hand and threads his fingers through mine and a shiver runs across my body.

  This is insane. How could I possibly have this kind of reaction to someone I just met? This has never happened before. I’m giddy and excited and totally acting like a 16-year old girl on the inside.

  “I did. I had a really great time,
Landon. Thank you,” I tell him honestly. I like being open to more than just a date or two. I like the hopeful feeling that comes with being willing to look at the potential in a relationship. Regardless of what happens with Landon, it feels good to be here in this emotional place.

  “I want to see you again, as soon as possible,” he says sitting up as if this is an epiphany.

  I smile at his enthusiasm. “I’d like to see you again, too.”

  “Tomorrow,” he declares. “Are you working tomorrow night?” He looks at me with anticipation of my answer and I feel myself fill with as much anticipation for when I’ll get to see him again, too.

  “I’m not working tomorrow,” I tell him, still smiling. “Oh, but wait. I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Disappointment coats these two little words.

  “Um…I have a date.” I watch for his reaction, not sure what he’ll say or do. He doesn’t say anything, but sits back against the seat. “It’s one of the doctors at the hospital. I agreed to the date the other night, before I saw you at the coffee shop. He’s kind of been asking me out for a while, so I’ll feel bad if I back out.” Why did you tell him that?

  “I understand, Jenna.” He takes a deep breath and lets out a rush of air. “This is just our first, uh, second date. I don’t have any expectations.”

  I cock my head to the side, questioning his statement. I don’t believe him. I think he felt the connection between us as much as I did. That kiss he planted on me said as much.

  “Ok,” he says, giving in to my questioning look. “I have an expectation, well…more of a hope. I didn’t want to say anything after our whole conversation about what I did to meet you. I don’t want to scare you off, Jenna.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to scare me off,” I say quietly. I want to tell him about the connection I felt so he knows the lengths he went to get to know me weren’t in vain. That right now I really wish I wasn’t going out with Adam Fisher tomorrow night. That, in fact, I wish tonight would never end so I didn’t have to eventually say goodnight to Landon. But it’s too soon and saying any of those things will only paint me as some desperate chick that doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing.