A quick update with two hopeful things.
First of all, Pamela and Lee are doing quite well. They have not spoken about where their relationship is going, but both seem to feel that there is a relationship between them. Since their conversation in Pamela’s apartment, they have been on four official dates, and all of them have been delightful for both. There is a softness between them now, a peace that gives them both comfort.
I am glad of this, but I will need to encourage them to talk soon. Pamela now has her departure dates—she flies on August eighth, and she will not be back for at least a year, if not longer. If Lee is going to be more to her than just a temporary companion, she will need to decide before then.
The other hopeful thing is Shannon has met someone. She was in the outskirts of the city looking for an artist who has been difficult to locate. She thought for a moment that she had caught him, but he ran when she approached him. Not one to give up easily, Shannon gave chase, and on going around a corner she crashed right into a young man.
“Ouch!” Shannon cried as she landed on the pavement.
“I’m so sorry—are you all right?”
Shannon gave the young man bending toward her only a glance. Looking around, she found that her quarry had vanished. “No,” she snapped, jumping to her feet without touching his extended hand. “Dammit! I have been looking for that boy for years, it feels like, and I had him and now I’m going to have to go looking again. Why couldn’t you watch where you were going?”
The young man, tall and thin with a scruff of dark hair on his scalp, smiled at Shannon who, dusty and disheveled, glowered at him. “It was not I who came racing around the corner out of an alley, miss,” he pointed out.
His accent, and perhaps something else, caught Shannon’s attention, and she changed her glower to a stare. “Well, it wasn’t you who got knocked to the ground, either, was it?”
That made his smile widen. “No, you are right. But you must admit, it is strange to see a young woman chasing a boy in this neighborhood. Usually it is the other way around.”
Shannon scoffed at this. “No one chases me.”
“I believe it.” He extended his hand to her. “I am Oliver Botha. Please allow me to make up my error to you with a cup of coffee.”
Shannon considered the hand and the offer. I knew, however, that this man was a good one—warmth and patience shone from his aura like sunlight. I urged Shannon to say yes.
Finally she took his hand. “All right, Oliver Botha,” she said. “But I warn you, I have pepperspray and I will use it.”
“I have no doubt,” he laughed. “But I have a policy that I never allow any woman to spray chemical irritants into my eyes without knowing her name first.”
That made Shannon smile at last, though she tried to hide it. “Shannon Kilkenny.”
“It is a pleasure, Ms. Kilkenny,” he said, his grip tightening on her hand.
I did nothing to bring these two together, and I am sorry for it, because they shared a connection right away. I will have to look into Oliver, of course, but at a glance I could see that he is good, and a good man is something that Shannon very much needs. As to whether they would be a good match—well, I suppose we shall see, won’t we?