Friday and Saturday went by in an agony of anticipation of my Sunday with Bruce. He’d sent me a text later in the evening after our date with his address and a time to meet. That he wanted to spend more time with me was still amazing, but very welcome. I cleaned my house from top to bottom on Saturday, did the laundry, caught up on my TV shows, and slept like a log.
Sunday, I drove forty-five minutes to his place. It was in a cul-de-sac, nestled in trees. The neighborhood had kids running around in the street and riding bicycles or doing skateboard tricks. I parked and went up to his door. Before I could knock, it opened.
“You made it okay, I see,” Bruce greeted me and stepped back so I could enter. He closed the door behind me.
“It wasn’t that hard to find.”
I looked around the living
