Paint Me True by E.M. Tippetts

me-”
    “You know, I do not think that you not wanting to date me makes you awful. I’m not that arrogant... and I just passed your house again... Sorry.” Again he turned left.
    “You think I’d never be interested in you?”
    “I think you aren’t interested in me. Quiet here for a min. I don’t want to miss your house again.”
    I sat quietly while he made the last left turn, flipped on his turn signal, and stopped in front of my driveway.
    “Okay,” he said, as he turned in. “So, made it. Hope it wasn’t too unbearable for you-”
    “That doesn’t really make a girl’s heart melt, to be told that the date was ‘unbearable’.”
    “For you. I don’t mean me.” He looked at me for a moment, then turned and let his forehead hit the steering wheel with a thud. “You want to go back to just being silent?” When I didn’t reply, he hit his head against the steering wheel again.
    “Could you please stop? I feel kinda bad whenever I drive a guy to self harm on a date.”
    He lifted his head and gave me a sheepish smile. “Sorry.” He seemed to collect himself then. “Thanks for going out with me. It was fun.”
    Guys always said that on dates with me, but recently, it had begun to sound forced. Just a matter of politeness. I rarely got asked on a second date, and never a third. No one even tried to hold my hand anymore. It had been years since I’d sat through a movie with a guy who had his arm on the armrest, waiting for an opportune moment. The days when I’d kept my hands folded neatly in my lap, rejoicing at how frustrated a guy looked as a result, were an old and hazy memory.
    Len pulled his parking brake, shut off the engine, and gave me a quizzical look.
    I hadn’t gotten out of his car. I just sat there. Worse, I didn’t want to get out of his car just then. When I did, my last date in a long time would be over, and I’d have to face up to the fact that I’d had it with Len Hodge. Instead, I looked down at my hands.
    Len shifted in his seat and touched my cheek with his thumb. “You okay?”
    His touch startled me, and I felt my eyes grow hot with tears I didn’t dare shed. I wasn’t okay. I wanted to be ten years in the past, when I was one of the cutest girls in the ward and had just begun my career as a professional artist. People had been jealous of me. I had a cool job and trendy clothes and no shortage of guys lining up for dates. When anyone asked me out, I’d actually had to consult my calendar before I gave an answer.
    How had I blown it this bad? Why hadn’t I married one of those guys who’d fallen all over himself to get me on a date? I’d been proposed to five times – five times, and each time held out for better. None of them were quite perfect enough, and now all of them were settled with kids, while I lived off my stepmother’s charity.
    “Eliza?” His hand was on my shoulder now.
    I looked up at him. He wanted to kiss me, I could tell, and I hadn’t been kissed in years. Literally years.
    Our gazes locked for a long moment, then I let mine drop to his mouth.
    He didn’t budge.
    I shifted my weight, drawing a fraction of an inch closer to him.
    Nothing. His hand stayed on my shoulder and his expression was all caring concern.
    I chewed my lip, leaned in a little closer, employed every pathetic trick I knew, and he stayed put. But I could tell he wanted to kiss me. He was just being stoic about it.
    So I grasped his shirt and pulled him in. For a moment, I felt despair as his hand on my shoulder pushed me away. Here I was, throwing myself at Len Hodge, and being rejected. Talk about desperation.
    He let go of my shoulder, put his arm around my waist, and kissed me. His other hand took mine and he held it, palm to palm. I’d had a boyfriend who’d done that, once. A sweet guy whom I’d dated when I was nineteen. He’d left on his mission and I’d moved on within months.
    The familiar gesture made me feel safe. Len’s mouth was gentle and warm and his