It’s a battlefield. Inside. A knot of nerves. One too many butterflies. Too much of that tingling feeling in her belly. Clammy hands are gripping the steering wheel. Knuckles white. Itchy palms. And that smile on her lips? It leaves dimples in her cheeks. There are one hundred directions to go, but which one is right? She is not driving. Her foot is not pushing down on the pedal. She closes her eyes and remembers how he held her tight. One too many butterflies are doing summersaults in her belly. A knot of nerves. Inside. It’s a feeling a lot like love. Love is a battlefield.