Mrs. Lipsky: Not psychology?
Him: Not psychology.
When she’s convinced she won’t get too much more out of him, she takes her tacos and goes to chat with Hugh and Jasmine.
Josh settles into his chair and turns toward us. He looks like he’s about to ask me something when Ruby steps out of the house calling, “Cookies!”
She walks toward us with a plate that smells like childhood and home—if I’d had a mom who had time for baking.
“Cookies?” she asks Josh, stopping to let us scoop up a few.
His eyes light up. “Yes, please,” he says with a boyish smile.
Shoot, Ruby is right; he has a dimple. That’s plus one for Josh.
Honestly, I don’t have a ton of time in my schedule between full-time nursing and my rock goddess ambitions, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to go out a few times with a hot neighbor.
I did promise to make a real effort in this bet, so I hold up my cookie like I’m offering a toast as Ruby steps out of our gate and moves down to the other neighbors.
“Cheers to cookies,” I say.
He’s close enough to lean over and tap his cookie to mine. “I’ll eat to that.”
We eat in silence for a minute, and when my cookie’s gone, I clear my throat. “So you’ve been here for a whole two days. What do you think so far?”
“What’s not to like?” he asks. “Everyone is so friendly.”
“The Grove is a pretty chill place to live,” I agree. “I mean, people do get in your business sometimes, but not in a bad way.”
“Just the Texas way?”
“Checking up on you, making sure you’re eating right and cheering for the correct teams.” I nod at the Torchy’s Tacos box. It’s an Austin institution. “You’ve got the eating right part down.”
He holds up his hand, index and pinky fingers up, the rest folded, in a gesture that anywhere else would mean “rock and roll.” But in Texas—especially in Austin—it means “Hook ‘em, horns,” the University of Texas cheer for our Longhorns.
“Hook ‘em,” I say. But I make a note that it’s minus one for Josh, and he’s back to zero. Do I love UT football? Yes. Do I watch every game and cheer? Yes. But he’s already handed me my first out based on the list I gave Ruby. I’d been mostly joking, but it’s always good to identify your exits.
“You went to UT?” he asks.
I nod. “Graduated three years ago.”
“Seven years for me.”
So he’s around twenty-nine. I like that. It’s a respectable age gap.
“You didn’t seem to like Mrs. Lipsky digging into your business.” I tilt my head and study him. Anyone who’s grown up in Texas—or anywhere in the South—should be used to the Mrs. Lipsky types.
“It was no big deal.” He takes a swallow from his beer. “It’s just that women of a certain age feel duty-bound to get me married and settled, and the fewer details I give them, the less ammunition they have.”
“Commitment-phobic?” It could upset Ruby’s plans.
He pauses like he’s really weighing it out. “I don’t think so,” he concludes. “I just don’t have time for a relationship right now.”
“Same,” I say.
“Why are you smiling?”
I hadn’t realized I was, but he’s right; a half smile is tugging up half my mouth. The correct answer is,Because I was disappointed when you said you had no time for a relationship and laughing at myself for being disappointed.What I say is, “I don’t know. Post-cookie glow?”
