8
Bob drove, trying to ignore the tingling he still felt in his fingers from holding Debbie’s hand the previous evening. He still couldn’t believe that he had done it, but he didn’t regret it. She hadn’t pulled away, and that said something. He didn’t know what that said yet, but a glimmer of hope had been left behind, even after she had removed her hand from his at the restaurant.
Bob couldn’t remember a time he’d enjoyed dinner more. Of course, he hadn’t realized that Thai spice was very different from Mexican spice, so when he had ordered his meal extra hot—well, he went through several glasses of water before the night was through. What was more embarrassing was the sweat that had beaded along his forehead as he worked his way through his food. It was delicious, though, and the Thai
