“Well, for whatever it’s worth, I took it as a sign and got up the courage to ask Jimmy to help me,” Jen said, her smile widening.
“You’re blushing. That’s so cute,” Jen said lovingly.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he grinned. “Would you ever be interested in going someplace other than Nye’s?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“I wasn’t sure I’d get the nerve up to ask, either.”
“Why? Do I make you nervous or something?” Jen wondered.
“No. I just have this feeling. And I didn’t want to talk myself into something that wasn’t there. I wanted to be cautious.”
“I had a feeling about you, too, as far back as Barnes & Noble. I’m usually not like this with men. I can’t explain it.”
Almost instinctively, they both reached across the table to hold each other’s hands. Everything around them disappeared: the sights, the sounds, the smells of Nye’s. They talked for what seemed like minutes, but their conversation lasted nearly two and a half hours. Again, the conversation flowed; neither had to pause to try to think of something to talk about. Admittedly, a lot of the conversation was about how happy they were to have found each other, but they talked about politics, life philosophy, hopes, dreams – everything. Unlike other newly budding relationships, their conversation wasn’t full of lies and half-truths in order to present a certain image to the other. They asked each other about their strengths and weaknesses, bad points and good. As the night wound down, the conversation inadvertently turned to religion.
“One of the things I like about Minneapolis,” Jen said, “is that I don’t know that many Jews here.”
Adam’s face turned to stone. I knew it was too good to be true. She’s anti-Semitic.
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