December 2018
Leominster, MA, USA

Even though bad luck often comes in threes, it seems good luck does as well. When I look out the window on December the Twenty-First, I find my third Christmas miracle. Just in time for my first date with Ian.

It's snowing.

Not so hard that it's treacherous. But just enough to stick and make things super romantic.

Bundling myself up nice and warm with a scarf, my hat, and velvet gloves, I don my winter peacoat which covers up my black cocktail dress. Only my black tights and black leather boots are visible.

"He's gonna die a thousand deaths," exclaims Lina as she drops me off at the train station. "Call me when you get the train back and let me know when ya want me to pick ya up. If ya want me to pick ya up."

"Thanks, Aria."

"Anytime." She grins. "Go get 'im, tigress."

"Rawr!"

"Hellz yeah!"

After I grab my tiny little purse with my phone, a tiny wallet, my pink lipstick, and a little packet of tissues. In cold weather like this, my nose runs like crazy, especially after eating hot food.

Let's avoid any embarrassing moments, shall we?

During the hour-long ride to South Station, my heart thuds against my ribs. This is it. My first proper date with Ian since we parted ways. I can't believe he wants to meet. When I saw him at the chapel, I expected him to chew me up and spit me out. And not in a good way. Part of me wanted him to do it to punish me for my mistake.

Instead, he sang to me and began to melt away my fear.

And here we are...meeting again as though it's for the first time.

When the train finally arrives, I find him waiting for me on the platform. Ian stands tall and proud as always, striding purposefully when he realizes that I'll alight from the train a few cars ahead of him. Before the train passes, I catch a decent glimpse.

Good God!

Dressed in a black wool overcoat that reaches his mid-thigh and highlights his slender features, Ian looks like he should be on the front cover of some fashion magazine. A white tailored shirt peeks out around the collar with a slate-gray tie that matches his tailored suit. He wears expensive leather ankle boots, only obvious when he takes those long strides. In short, with his classic comb over haircut Ian looks like a gentleman plucked straight out of the nineteen-fifties.

And it sets my body on fire.

Hands tucked into his pockets, he waits for me right by the door. When I start down the steps, Ian offers to take my hand like a gentleman from another century.

My heart thuds against my ribs because time has dimmed the memory of his chivalry. Though every feminist political science professor on Planet Earth would probably curse me for it, I love it. Every minute of it.

And I place my hand in his.

The genuine smile Ian gives me when I stand before him! It's the one that touches the outermost creases of his eyes. The one he reserves for the handful of moments that truly touch his heart.

Oh, my...!

Lost in the moment, I move to embrace him in a warm hug.

Before I can catch myself, I'm halfway towards hugging him--

This is our first freaking date!

Abort! Abort!

Thank God, I manage to change tack, gripping his shoulders instead. But I'm so flustered by the experience that my brain goes haywire. I end up giving them a couple of gentle pats like one would the head of a beloved pet.

My cheeks flush crimson. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Kill me now!

His brow creases in confusion, though only for a second. If I weren't so damned embarrassed, I might have rejoiced at being able to shatter his standard neutral expression that betrays not the slightest hint of emotion. Because that's as close to total confusion as Ian will ever admit.

"Sorry about that." I clear my throat and clasp my hands together. "My brain misfired for a second. Let's start over again."

So that I can act like a normal person...

He quirks a brow. "Very well."

"Hi, Ian. Thanks for meeting me. How are you doing?"

A chuckle slips past his lips. "What did you want to do?"

"Nothing." I clear my throat. "It's beautiful weather for our walk. Snowy and sunny at the same time."

When I turn toward the exit, Ian reaches for my hand. With an inquisitive look, I halt and face him.

"No, really." His voice is tender. "Please tell me. What were you about to do?"

Staring at the platform, I admit the truth. "I was going to hug you. Like we used to do. Don't worry, I just lost myself for a minute. Everything's--"

"Why did you stop?" he asks, gazing into my eyes.

"Because--I--you--we--"

What a glorious array of oratorical fireworks! Well done!

When Ian lets go of my hand and extends his arms out to me, though, I don't hesitate. In fact, it's more like I launch myself at him. A small grunt of surprise escapes his lips at the impact before he embraces me in return.

Nestling close, I rest my head against his chest.

It feels like home.

The way Ian surrounds me, steadfast yet not confining, puts me right at ease. Despite our height difference, it feels just right. Like we fit together.

In every possible way.

When we pull apart, Ian extends his gloved hand out to me. And I gladly take it, hurrying my steps until I'm walking beside him.

"You're right," he says, surveying the Boston Common covered in snow. "It's perfect weather for a walk in the snow."

After I give his hand a gentle squeeze, he turns to me.

"You look lovely, by the way." He pauses. "Today. At the concert. I never actually said so aloud because these things don't come naturally to me."

"Thanks, Ian." My cheeks flush crimson, and it has nothing to do with Jack Frost. "You're handsome too."

His lip curls a fraction before he leads me from the Boston Common to the Public Garden. When we walk together, he shortens his stride. It's a good thing, too. Or I'd have to jog to keep up, which is a recipe for disaster in slippery conditions when I'm not the most graceful lady.

"Are you up for a three-mile walk along the Esplanade?" he asks. "I know it's cold. And a bit icy. But if we watch our step, it should be beautiful."

"I'll be alright." I glance up at him. "If I slip, I'll hold onto you."

By now I've lost count of the number of times I've made him smile. Not broadly. An intoxicating mixture of both confidence and bashfulness.

We walk in pleasant, companionable silence until a little dog runs up to us. Excited by the snow, he's barking and wagging his tail.

Wonder if it's the first time he's seen it.

The young couple walking him throw a snowball, and he chases after it like it's the Holy Grail of Dog Biscuits. But when he goes to bite it, it disintegrates in his mouth.

I laugh from the bottom of my soul.

"It's wonderful to hear you laugh," he says. "Do you have pets?"

The dog rolls around in the snow before shaking all his fur, creating a little puff of snow. It makes me chuckle again. "No, not since Tabitha."

"Your grandma's pet?" He furrows his brow. "But you love animals."

"My in-laws--sorry, ex-in-laws--kept chickens and cats as well as a dog." I shrug. "We would visit them quite often, but I'm not sure that counts."

"It counts."

"Sorry to talk about my in-laws."

"Why? You've had a life the past eight years, and I want to hear about it." He draws himself straight. "Pretending you don't have a past isn't healthy."

"What about you? Do you have pets?"

"We live in an apartment that doesn't allow pets, I'm afraid," he says. "To be honest, I prefer the lack of mess. A pet is a lot of work, and we have very busy lives that wouldn't be fair on a poor animal. They'd be alone most of the time."

I stop on a dime. "We?"

"Yes," he replies nonchalantly. "Helena and I."

Though I'm not proud of it, I drop his hand like a hot potato. "I thought you ended your relationship."

He furrowed his brow. "We did."

"But you're still living with her?"

"Yes, but--"

"And you went on a date with me?" My jaw drops. "Are you nuts?"

By this point, we're drawing the attention of passers-by. Though it's making him uncomfortable, I don't even give a crap because I'm just so floored.

What is he thinking? We didn't even live together! If Helena and Ian had a relationship in the past and they're still living together, it can't really be over! All I can see is Helena on Skype, angry as hell, berating me for falling in love with Ian while they were still together.

And she'd be right.

Damn it! I should have pressed him about the issue before we decided to go on a date. But I figured he'd never ask me to date him unless he was single.

Guess I was wrong!

Ian finally breaks the awkward silence. "Sylvia, can we talk about this--calmly--once we're inside?"

Wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck, I start to regret my choice to reconnect. "No, sorry. We need to sort this kind of thing out right away."

"You have misinterpreted my relationship with her," he insists. "Just because you wouldn't live with someone you're not dating doesn't mean I wouldn't."

"Fair enough," I say through gritted teeth. God, he has changed! I can't imagine College Ian doing that. "Let's talk about it."

"Not here."

"Yes here." I draw myself as tall as my five-foot-two frame allows. "I will not go another step until I'm convinced you aren't cheating on one of my friends."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ian concedes. "Very well, I can respect that sentiment. Follow me."

Stupid or not, I decide to listen, though a part of me is scared to discover the real truth.

___

Word count: 1,656
Total word count: 34,970/40,000