Phillip has been staying at my house all week. We’ve been getting along very well and managed to fly under everyone’s radar, except for Danny, Lori, and Phillip’s parents. I mean, I’ve always been comfortable around him, but Danny’s right. This way has many benefits, and I am really liking them. Phillip has been good and hasn’t told me he loves me, and I haven’t been letting my mind screw things up.
So far, so good.
We’re sitting on the floor in front of the TV on Wednesday night when Phillip says, “Princess, let’s go on a real date this Saturday. You free?”
“I don’t know,” I say, but then he grabs me and tickles, so I scream, “Yes! Yes! I’m free!” When he finally lets me up from tickling and kissing me, I say, “So, where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere nice,” he says, not really answering. “Well, a little nicer than Hooters anyway.”
“Phillip,” I whine.
But he just sits there with his arms crossed in front of him.
“Fine. No more kisses for you until you tell me.”
“Oh, okay. I thought The View Room. So, do I get a kiss now?”
The View Room is our city’s nicest and most romantic restaurant. It sits at the top of a local hotel and overlooks Omaha and the Missouri River, which, from that far up, actually looks pretty instead of yucky and muddy.
“Yes, that sounds perfect,” I say and kiss him, “and romantic.”
“That’s kind of the idea.”
When I wake up on Saturday morning, Phillip’s not in bed, but there’s a little note lying on my nightstand that says, Be here at 5:00. Can’t wait!
There’s a little heart drawn above where he signed his name.
I should mention that I’m very proud of the fact that I don’t freak out and try to analyze or interpret all the possible meanings of the heart.
Because it just doesn’t matter.
