suspected she was on borrowed time in the friend area. She exhaled, listening to the crickets and the buzzing cicadas in the hot July night. The house was dark except for a light in Dakota’s suite and in the living room, which told her the boys were asleep and Dakota…well, Dakota was tucked away safely. Celeste sighed again and fanned herself. She should have stayed at home.
Celeste had felt it all night, a nagging feeling in the back of her neck that Michael was working himself up to ask to spend the night. It had been five dates, spread over six months. He was nice, witty, charming even, a wonderful dinner date, but sometime between the fish and the dessert, she’d lost any desire to see him again—ever. Thinking back, Charles had been nice, witty and charming when they'd gotten together, and she’d ended up divorcing him . She was wasting Michael's time and her own.
Drumming her fingers on the armrest, she made up her mind. “Michael. Maybe we should just be social friends. No more of these dates.”
He had been fiddling with the radio, but now he turned toward her. The seatbelt cut into the shoulder of his crisp white shirt.
“What do you mean? I think we’re good together.” His expression was surprised.
Celeste shook her head. She didn’t want this to be a huge thing . “All the more reason.” She opened the car door and put one foot onto the blacktop of the driveway. “This is going in a direction that wouldn’t be so good for either of us. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to ruin our friendship, you know? Good night.” She shut the door.
Her heels made a muted clacking sound as she navigated the front walk by the subtle light of the solar lanterns. Lightning bugs glimmered in the night air and she could smell the distinctly summer fragrance of citronella and barbeque smoke.
The car door shut with a thunk and Michael caught up with her then took her arm.
“What gives with this, Cel? I thought we were getting along okay?”
She pulled her arm out of his grasp, climbed the three concrete steps to the porch and began searching for her keys. “I told you that we do get along. We have a nice friendly relationship. Let’s keep it that way. Friends.” She glanced up at him. “I don’t want to keep you from pursuing a real relationship.”
“Come on, Cel.” He grabbed at her arm again. “Let’s talk about this.”
“Keep your voice down. The boys are asleep.” Where the heck are my keys?
“I don’t think you’re being fair. We’ve been seeing each since the start of the year. Granted, not as often as I’d like but—”
Celeste faced him square on. “When it comes to what I want to do, being fair to you isn’t in my vocabulary. When we started this, I thought it was clear we were just keeping each other company. I never indicated to you that I wanted to take this any further.” She softened her tone, even though she knew it was more about his pride than her rejecting him. “Good night, Michael.”
“You can’t be serious about this?”
He won’t give up, will he? “We have to stop wasting each other’s time like this. I’m not looking for a relationship.” She spoke as gently as she could. “Good night.”
His expression hardened. “You’re not listening.”
“Michael.” Her voice was sharp, but a slight twinge of fear lurched in her belly and she stepped back. She closed her hand over her keys in her purse— finally —and she squeezed her fingers around the warm metal, prepared to draw them out and use them if necessary.
The front door opened and there was Dakota, clad only in a T-shirt and shorts.
“Celeste, glad you’re here,” he said in a calm voice, eyeing Michael up and down. He turned back to her, concern in his eyes. “Jackson woke up.”
Saved by the nanny. “Thank you, Dakota.” She stepped into the cool interior of her house, away from the agitated expression of her spurned date.
Michael spoke to her back. “Who the hell is
Learning to Kill: Stories