As I walk home, I tap out a reply to the producer. I’ll think about it over the next few days.
Then I set myself a reminder to follow-up. So I don’t become one of those people who leaves other producers hanging. That’s not who I want to be, and I don’t want to treat Sidney that way.
There. That’s done. I’ll put it out of my mind for the rest of the night.
Tonight is for my last private date with Gabe.
That’s a sobering thought, that we’re ending our fling after the party tomorrow.
But I don’t want to get all up in my feels on our last evening together when it’s just us. Besides, all good things end, I suppose. My time in New York came to an end. My show Unfinished Business lasted a few seasons. My friendships are shifting.
It’s fine.
It’s all just fine.
Once I’m at my house, I let Gigi out for a quick bathroom break, shower, and pull on a red tank top that shows off my stomach. Then a cute black skirt. I show Gigi the outfit, and I’m sure she approves.
After I swipe on some makeup, I flash back on Gabe’s text from earlier.
When I take you out in public, I get a thrill that I’m the only one who knows the private side of you.
That thrills me too, so I pack a little something extra for tonight in a canvas bag.
Then I take my favorite person for a walk. Gigi struts around Venice Beach in her pink rhinestone harness, looking like the badass queen of California. We walk along the main drag, checking out storefronts, soaking in the vibe—the street is teeming with artsy types with colorful tattoos and copious bangles, surfer dudes with long hair and smoothies, and guys and gals in tailored business attire too.
“This is our new home, girl. I’ll find all my story inspiration here,” I say as we near The Happiest Hours. That was the bar where I saw Gabe a few nights ago—that set these nights of play into motion. I didn’t notice the bar had a back patio the first time I walked past it. But there are ping-pong tables set up and a handful of women in shorts and bikinis are playing the game, trash talking each other. I love a game of ping-pong, so I’ll have to return sometime soon. Does Gabe play ping-pong? He’s an athlete, so I bet he’d have a blast playing.
It’d be fun to return with him.
Cool it, Ellie.
That’s not what our fling is about.
I’ll return with…Maddox. Yes, a friends’ night out will be good. I head down the block, nearing Rachel’s jewelry shop. Maybe she’ll play.
The sign on the window says, “Well-behaved four-legged friends are welcome.”
“That’s you,” I say to Gigi, then scoop her up and head inside.
“Hi, new friend,” I call out. “Do you play ping-pong?”
Rachel looks up from her tablet on the counter, then brightens. There must be a lull in traffic since her boutique is mostly empty. “Hey, you! Good to see you again, Ellie. And yes, I do,” she says, then eyes me up and down. “Someone’s going on a date tonight.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You have a pre-date glow about you,” she says.
“Maybe I’ll have a post-date one too,” I say in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Get it, girl,” she says.
“I plan to.”
“Good for you. Moving to a new town and dating right away.” She flicks her brown hair off her shoulders, then shudders. “It’s scary out there, but you’re diving in. I admire that. Lord knows, I don’t have the guts to do it.”
A smidge of guilt wiggles around inside me. I’m not quite diving into it. I don’t want people to think I’m good at this dating thing when I’m sort of a sham.
“Well, not exactly,” I say, feeling a little sheepish.
Maybe I should tell her the truth. I don’t want anyone to think I’m some kind of example of go-getter womanhood when I’m just playing a game. One with rules and a clock.
But the bell tinkles above the store and a pack of customers strides in. This is not the time nor place to issue a correction.
Instead, as Rachel heads over to help them, I peruse the necklaces by the counter, then pick a silver chain with a small typewriter charm.
I show it to my pup. “Do you approve?”
She rubs her head against me.
“Excellent,” I say, then when Rachel swings by again, I pay for the necklace and thank her.
“Let me know how the date goes,” she says. “I’m surviving on secondhand date fumes.”
I laugh. “I will. Want to do dinner on Sunday? We can catch up on all the things,” I say.
“Is there ping-pong involved too?”
“That can be arranged.”
“I’m there,” she says, and we agree to meet at Max’s Restaurant on Sunday, then hit The Happiest Hours. I’ll tell her then that I’m not a bold dating icon. I’m just a woman who’s having a little fun. Had.
By then I’ll be a woman who has had a little fun, past tense.
I leave and head home, but I don’t feel entirely satisfied.
I feel off.
I wasn’t as honest as I want to be with friends.
Inside my house, as I give Gigi a fresh bowl of water in her I Wish I Could Text My Dog bowl, I make a new plan—I’ll text Rachel later and let her know that my date tonight is just a fun thing, nothing to be admired.
That feels less squicky. More honest.
With a sense of relief, I check the time. I need to take off to meet Gabe, so I round the kitchen counter to shut my laptop. The scene where I left off earlier catches my eye, and I read it again.
By the power vested in me as your bestie, I hereby order you to take a new dating challenge, the hero says.
Give the order, the heroine replies.
Do something that scares you.
Perhaps it’s time I take my heroine’s challenge tonight—try something that scares me.
I don’t mean in bed, though. I mean before.
20
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
Ellie
The thing about a honeymoon is it’s temporary. Then you go back to real life and make the relationship work when you don’t have room service.
No matter what Maddox says about how great Gabe is for me, we only have a honeymoon. There’s no relationship to make work.
But even though this is a temporary fling, I can tell Gabe something tonight. Something real. I’m still working out what to say exactly though as I hunt for a parking spot at the park.
That’s the challenge I set for myself tonight. Be more than sexy. Be vulnerable.
I find a parking spot, cut the engine, and grab the two slices of pie I picked up for our evening picnic.
I get out of the red convertible, then shield my eyes against the fading sun. I peer past a group of guys in their thirty-somethings playing volleyball, then some college dudes tossing a frisbee.
In the distance are picnic tables, and a six-foot-three, strapping, tattooed man unpacking food at one of them.
My heart scampers in my chest. My skin warms. Is this infatuation? Or more? I just like him so much I barely know what to do with these feelings.
Is that what I want to say?
Hey, Gabe, I dig you.
Hey, handsome, I’m totally into you.