Just My Joe. Joan Elliott Pickart

pulled the little white envelope free of the plastic, pronged stick and withdrew the card.

      “Oh, my,” she whispered, feeling a warm flush stain her cheeks.

      “Gracious, you’re blushing.” Nancy peered over Polly’s shoulder and read the message on the card aloud. “‘I’m sorry. Dinner? I’ll call you. Joe.’ Joe? Who’s Joe? What’s he sorry about?”

      “Joe Dillon?” Robert said. “From Abraham Lincoln High School?”

      “Well, I... well. yes, I...” Polly stammered.

      “What’s he sorry about?” Nancy said, frowning. “What did that man do to you that you didn’t tell us about?”

      “Nothing,” Polly said quickly. “We had an argument of sorts over my speech. You know, my telling the students that Jazzy cost thousands of dollars, and his owners were in Europe and...Joe Dillon has some very strong opinions about...some things, that’s all.”

      Like her working for the Dogwoods, Polly thought, and catering to the rich, and on and on and on.

      “Oh,” Nancy said. “Well, your Joe obviously feels badly about your spat.”

      “He’s not mine,” Polly said, the flush on her cheeks deepening.

      “Figure of speech,” Nancy said. “Is this Joe Dillon good-looking?”

      “Scrumptious,” Polly said. “What I mean is, he’s...he’s attractive, in a rugged, earthy, masculine way that... Oh, never mind.”

      “Interesting,” Nancy said. “Very interesting. Joe. Now, there’s a strong, no-nonsense name. Yes, very good. I hope he takes you to a snazzy restaurant as part of his apology. What are you going to wear?”

      “Nancy,” Polly said, “I didn’t say that I was going to accept Joe’s invitation to dinner.”

      “Well, why wouldn’t you?” Nancy said, raising her eyebrows.

      “Because we have such opposite views about certain things that all we would do is argue,” she said, slipping the florist card back into the envelope.

      And because, she mentally tacked on, she could still remember the startling heat that had swirled within her, then lingered for so long, after Joe’s hand had brushed hers.

      Because when she looked into those incredible eyes of his, she felt as though she were drowning in their depths.

      Because Joe Dillon did tricky little things to her sense of self, made her so acutely aware of her own femininity compared to his blatant masculinity, it was disconcerting, to say the least.

      “Then just avoid addressing those issues,” Nancy was saying.

      “Pardon me?” Polly said, pulling her attention from her jumbled thoughts.

      “Goodness, you’re spacey,” Nancy said. “Joe Dillon has you in a tizzy.”

      “Oh, he does not,” Polly said, frowning. “I don’t even like him.”

      “That’s because you got off on the wrong foot with him,” Nancy said. “You know, your saying how much Jazzy cost and what have you, during your speech. That’s what I was saying. Avoid the topics that you two don’t see eye to eye on and enjoy a lovely evening out with a scrumptious...to quote...man.”

      “I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Polly said slowly.

      “Sure it is,” Nancy said. “You’re dating a med student and a law student, both of whom are dead broke and exhausted when they surface long enough to take you for pizza, or to a free concert in a park. They’re duds.”

      They’re safe! Polly’s mind screamed. They were focused on achieving their career goals, had no long-range plans regarding her, simply enjoyed her company when they managed to wiggle a few hours free from their busy schedules.

      But Joe Dillon? He was dangerous.

      He was the type of man who could render a woman speechless and unable to think clearly.

      It wasn’t hard to fathom waking up in Joe’s bed after a wondrous night of lovemaking and wondering how on earth she had gotten there.

      Joe could cause daydreams to become dreams of heartfelt yearning of a home and beautiful baby boys with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes.

      Oh, yes, Joe was very, very dangerous.

      “Polly? Hello?” Nancy said. “You’re gone again.”

      “What? Oh. I was just thinking.”

      “Well, let’s think about what you’re going to wear for your dinner date with Joe.”

      “Nancy,” Robert said, smiling, “leave the poor girl alone. Why would Polly want to spend the evening with a man she doesn’t even like?”

      “Well, in all fairness,” Polly said, “that’s a rather harsh statement, I guess. I certainly didn’t like his attitude about...certain things, and he was very grumpy and borderline rude, but I did create a disaster at the assembly, and I suppose that would get on anyone’s nerves, because you would not believe how noisy and wild those students got in a blink of an eye. Of course, it wasn’t my fault, because no one told me what to say, let alone what not to say. Then again—am I babbling?”

      Nancy and Robert nodded in unison.

      Polly sighed. “I thought I was. Look, I need to mull this over. Joe said on the card that he’d call about the dinner date. I’ll use the time until then to sift and sort, pro and con, yes and no, and...”

      The telephone rang. Polly was so startled by the sudden, shrill sound that she nearly dropped the little white envelope. Robert answered the summons.