It’s an outdoor festival. I chew my lip as I try to decide on a jacket, since it’ll be cool outside this early in the morning. A smile curves my lips up as I pick a light denim jacket, pairing it with light brown leather ankle boots.
I look in the mirror, and my expression twists. A pale redhead peers back at me, her blue eyes anxious.
Do I really look like that?
I need emotional support today, someone to lean on. I pick up my phone and scroll through the contacts and find Ann.
She’s logical, whereas I’m… emotional. Although sometimes it’s vice versa.
Without much time to waste, I put it on speaker once I get to my car.
“Okay, spill it.” The first words out of her mouth make me laugh out loud.
“Spill what?” I rest my elbow on the car door and put my head in my hand as I drive down the interstate, listening to the GPS.
“You wouldn’t call if it wasn’t about Charlie.”
“You remember what I told you?”
“How could I forget?”
Deep breath in. “Well, he decided I’m not allowed to back out of our deal and that he wanted to take me on a date,” I practically squeal.
Ann’s reaction is everything I needed. From the: oh my God, oh my God. To asking what I’m wearing and if I put on cute underwear… just in case.
The only time my smile slips is when I remember I haven’t told Ann about the IVF and baby issues. In fact, Charlie’s the only one I’ve told that to.
Ann wishes me all the good luck in the world, telling me she loves me and that she has such good feelings about this before I hang up.
When I park I have to remind myself, I’m on a date with my fake boyfriend.
A man who isn’t right for me, and I know it. Heck, I doubt I’m right for him either.
A man who doesn’t want the same things I want. That much we both know.
It’s stupid of me. I’m wasting time.
But I can’t help thinking he’s a man who’d make a cute baby…
The chill in the air is more refreshing than cold when I get out to search for Charlie. Although I’m distracted, busy scrolling through an email on my phone. My doctor’s office emailed me information about IVF and how to find a donor. My eyes widen as I look through it all. There are a ton of big numbers -- ten thousand dollars, forty thousand unique donors.
It’s too much for me to try to take in right now, especially if I’m supposed to be on this date. Stashing my phone, I wait at the entrance to the park, next to the big white sign waiting for Charlie.
When I see Charlie, everything in me clenches, the good kind of way. From his simple white tee pulled tight across his broad shoulders, to his bulging biceps and worn jeans… he is my kind of man. I try not to stare at him as I hand him an iced coffee, but his deep green eyes are all over me.
“Thanks,” he says, eyes roving down my figure. “You look… nice.” Heat creeps up high in my cheeks, all the way to my temple.
“Yeah, well,” I can’t help but smile, blushing as I play off the compliment. I swear, when Charlie’s around, my cheeks are a permanent shade of tomato red, made even more apparent because of my fair complexion. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“You ready?” he says, nodding toward the park.
“I am,” I answer. I have to hold onto my coffee with both hands to keep from reaching out for his with one of mine.
Sipping my iced coffee, I ignore the feeling that something’s different between us as we stroll down one of the paths, under a banner declaring this the Piedmont Park Festival in bright blue scroll. Each side of the path is dotted with individual booths full of food and games or larger showcases of handmade trinkets and art to buy, which take up several tents measuring twelve by twelve feet each.
I sip my iced coffee, but I can’t help smiling as Charlie tells me a story about his younger sister Ali and how she had a fit one year over her funnel cake dropping.
“I mean… she was only, what did you say? Six? And I’d have a fit today if I dropped a full funnel cake.”
The conversation is easy. The laughs are genuine. It’s different. The small touches, the quick glances. It makes my naïve heart think there’s something here.
“Alright, your turn. What about your family?”
“Well, it’s just my mom now. My dad died in a car crash when I was little.” I talk easily, but stare at the grass as we climb up a bit of a hill. I wish I had a big loving family like his.
“I’m sorry.” I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look back.
“It’s been a long time. But thank you.” It’s quiet for too long. I want to tell him that I talk to my mom often but she’s busy and travels a lot. It’s all clogged at the back of my throat though, so I try washing it down with the rest of my coffee.
“What about your parents?” I question him, “What do they do. Your mom seems really sweet.”
His grin is asymmetric and that’s when our hands brush for just a moment. Ripping my gaze away so he doesn’t see my blush get even hotter, I wait for him to answer. “Dad’s a pilot. Ma’s a homemaker. And you’ve met one of my sisters.”
“That I have.” I can feel my eyebrows raise up, remembering Ali. “I still have to message her,” I admit to him. He only laughs and tells me he’ll give me her number. I move the cold coffee cup to my other hand, wiping the water off on my jacket before taking another sip.
“What’s Ali do?”
“She’s a nurse. Just graduated two years ago.”
I turn to look at him as we walk to the top of the hill and pause there, “And your other sister?”
“Cheryl’s a homemaker, like my ma. She has a fancy English degree, and she’ll probably go back to teaching at some point. She loves kids.”
“Kids,” I repeat the word, feeling a low tension roll over me.
“They have a baby now, so she’s adjusting to being at home and all that.”
The mention of a baby makes my heart flip. My lips part to ask him more about his sister, but my eyes catch sight of exactly what I want right now.
On cue, my stomach grumbles with hunger, “Want one?” I question
“The pickle on a stick or the waffle fries?” he questions, grinning from ear to ear.
Shrugging I answer, “Either or both.” Fried food and big pickles on a stick are exactly what I think of when I think festival. That and funnel cake of course.
“Well what are you getting?” He asks me and I answer, “The doughnuts. They are fried heaven with powdered sugar.” My stomach grumbles again as the smell gets stronger and the line we’re standing in gets shorter.
Charlie takes his time, eyeing the menu written out on the board to the right of the stand. “It’s kind of like funnel cake, but in ball form.” I whisper getting closer to him, as if it’s some big secret I’m confessing.
“I guess I’ll take one and I want the whipped cream too.”
I order easy enough and reach into my clutch, ready to pay since I offered. Charlie beats me to it though.
“Hey,” I protest watching him hand over the cash. “It was my treat,” my tone is wounded.