“Yeah,” he says. “But now I miss the little guy. He was kind of cute.”
Laughing, I roll my eyes. “That’s what I get for saying yes to the freshly ground pepper on my salad.”
“Those pepper mills, man. They’re irresistible.” His hand rests on the white linen table cloth as his eyes catch mine over a flickering candle. We’re dining al fresco on the rooftop of some Laguna Beach diamond-in-the-rough, the ocean waves crashing in the distance.
And speaking of diamond-in-the-rough, I’m pretty sure I’m sitting across from one right now—only this one was hiding on Tinder of all places. Tinder!
I only stumbled across him a couple of weeks ago because Melrose swore by Tinder and Rachael swore off Tinder and I agreed to settle their argument by selecting one lucky gentleman and giving it a go myself—for fun, of course. And science.
Looks like Melrose is winning the debate thus far.
“Whenever you’re ready.” Our server places the leather check wallet between us, skewing more toward Blake’s side of the table and as soon as she leaves, we both reach for it at the same time.
He gets there first.
“I got it,” he says, digging into his back pocket and retrieving a shiny American Express card.
“You sure?” I ask. I don’t want to be that girl who makes an awkward thing out of paying for a check but this is only the third time we’ve hung out, he knows we’re simply having fun, and this was by no means a stepping stone to boyfriend and girlfriend territory.
“Stop.” He waves me off. A moment later, our server returns to grab his card. “So … what are you doing after this?”
Resting my elbow on the table and my head in my hand, I sigh. “Homework. You?”
“Really? On a Friday night?”
I bite my lip. “Don’t judge. I picked up a shift tomorrow so I have to go to bed early tonight anyway. It works out.”
“All right, so what about tomorrow night? What are you doing then?”
I smirk. “What is this? What are you doing here?”
“Trying to ask you on a date.”
“Like a date date? Or just hanging out?”
“What’s the difference?” he asks, head cocked.
“Expectations,” I say. “And wardrobe selection.”
His blue eyes drift from my face to my collarbone and back. “Did you dress for a date tonight?”
“Not really …” I look down at my ripped jeans and silk tank top, reaching for my Kendra Scott rose quartz earrings. “Was I supposed to? Was this a date? I thought we were just getting to know each other? Having fun?”
“What’s the difference between that and dating?” he asks.
“Expectations. I told you that,” I say with a teasing chuckle. “Get on my level, Blake. I’m losing you here.”
Our server returns with his receipt, which he wastes no time signing. I gather my bag and he follows me to the exit, placing his hand on the small of my back as he walks me to the parking lot.
We stop at my car and he stands in such a way that I wonder if I should offer him some water because his feet are firmly planted, practically rooting into the ground beneath his leather boat shoes.
“I want to see you again, Maritza,” he says.
Ordinarily when an intelligent, charming, well-studied man with impossibly good looks and a killer sense of humor looks at a girl like she’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen and tells her he wants to see her again, she should feel something. A missed heartbeat, a flush in her cheeks, a tingle in her belly.
But I’ve got nothing, and it’s not for lack of trying.
I want to feel something, anything.
But it’s not something I can control—either a girl feels something or she doesn’t. But maybe with time? Just because the fireworks aren’t instantaneous doesn’t mean they’ll never be there at all.
“Casablanca is playing at the Vista Theatre tomorrow night,” he says. “It’s one of my favorites. Have you seen it?”
I nod. “Yeah. I have.”
“You like it?” he asks.
“Love it.”
“Good,” he says. “So you’ll see it with me tomorrow night. Pick you up at eight.”
It hits me that earlier this year, I’d taken Isaiah to that same theatre to see that very same movie, and then it hits me even harder when I remember that Rick and Ilsa don’t end up together in the end.
I’ve been doing so well lately, not thinking about the stranger I’d spent a week of Saturdays with once upon a time, but tonight it comes as one giant tidal wave, like everything I’d kept pent up all these months crashes over me at once.
I miss Isaiah.
I miss him for reasons I can’t put into words, reasons I feel deep in my bones and in the pit of my stomach and in the ache in my chest I’d grown numb to.
But just as soon as the wave comes, it’s gone, and I’m left with nothing but a handsome soon-to-be pharmacist with football player muscles who wants to take me to Casablanca tomorrow night.
I take this as a sign, and also as my closure.
Twenty-Nine
Maritza
* * *
“Oh, hey there.” Melrose stands in my bedroom door as I’m feverishly typing out a term paper at my desk in the corner. “Was beginning to wonder if you still lived here. Feels like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I know.” I shut my laptop lid and face her. “I’ve been so busy with work and school.”
“And Blake,” she says, fighting a smirk as she takes a seat on my bed. “So what’s up with him now? You guys official?”
Shaking my head, I say, “We’re still just hanging out.”
“But you’re hanging out a lot.”
Maybe a few times a week for the past few weeks. I’d hardly call that “a lot.” And most of the time we’re studying together or catching matinees.
I shrug. “So?”
“Clearly he likes you. And you like him too or you wouldn’t spend so much time with him,” she says, like she’s the authority on the intricacies of Tinder dating in the modern age.
“He’s fun,” I say. “And he makes me laugh. And he’s nice. And we have the same taste in music and movies. And for once, I’ve found a guy who believes me when I say I just want to have fun and not worry about labels. So yeah, I’m going to hang out with him.”
Mel rolls her eyes. “You friend-zoned him. Nice.”
“No. I fun-zoned him. There’s a difference.”
“Potato, po-tah-to.” Murphy trots into my room and Mel scoops him up. “What do you think, Murph? Does she need to piss or get off the pot?” She places his smooshy face against her ear. “Yep. He’s in agreement with me.”
“Dork.” I roll my eyes and turn back to my computer, about to lift the lid when a text comes through from Blake telling me he’s outside the gate. Earlier today he texted, asking me to grab dinner with him. Said he needed some brain food for the all-nighter he was planning to pull studying for tomorrow’s Pharmacogenetics test.
“Where you going?” Mel asks as I stand and scan the room for my bag.