He pulled up in front of the old Brightbart’s place – Abby’s place; he’d need to start calling it that, no matter what habit dictated – and sat for just a moment in his truck, staring out through his windshield. He hadn’t slept well the night before, so nervous about this whole date – was it a date? – that he’d just tossed and turned the whole night through. He’d spent the morning trying to keep himself busy so he wouldn’t totally make himself crazy as he waited for three o’clock to arrive, but he’d be the first one to admit that he was failing.

He left his truck rumbling – it was hard on diesels to be turned off and on in the cold – and headed up to the front door. Now wasn’t the time for nerves. He was ju...

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