I blink a few times and attempt a polite smile. Surely he didn’t mean to comment on my weight.
“Right. Um, well, did you want to order something?”
Barry squints toward the counter. “Do you think they have anything sugar-free?”
I think about the case full of Chloe’s white chocolate macadamia-nut brownies. While I’m sure she’d be happy to bake something for someone with dietary restrictions, I know that her personal beliefs tend toward butter and sugar. “To be honest with you, I highly doubt it. But you can grab a black coffee . . . Nick’s is the best.”
Barry shakes his head. “I don’t do caffeine.”
I nod slowly, wondering why he agreed to meet me at a coffee shop. “I think he has some herbal tea . . .”
“I actually don’t like any hot liquids,” Barry says, leaning forward. “They slow down my metabolism.”
“How about I grab you a water?” I ask, then bolt up to the counter before he can tell me anything more about his hydration preferences.
“Nick,” I hiss. “This is a bust.”
“Why?” Nick looks over at the table way too obviously, but luckily Barry isn’t paying attention. “He looks fine . . . wait, is that sweat?”
“Yes. He ran here.”
Nick looks at me in shock. “That’s what that smell is? Thank God. I thought the sewage pipe backed up again.”
“Nope. That’s just the love of my life, stinking up the joint, telling me all about how he doesn’t drink hot liquids.”
“Wait, what?” Nick asks.
I shake my head. “Just . . . can I have a glass of water, please? Make it cold.”
“Maybe you can toss it on him and wash off some of the stink,” Nick mutters.
I sigh and glance down at my outfit. I dressed up for this. I’m wearing an adorable pair of booties and a comfortable-yet-cute sweater dress over thick tights. I was slightly inspired by Meg Ryan’s giant, neutral wardrobe in You’ve Got Mail, but hopefully my look is a little less ’90s and oversized. But it’s looking like I shouldn’t even have bothered; it’s not like Barry has noticed anything about me, other than the fact that he apparently thinks I should lose a few pounds.
I sit down and hand Barry his glass of water, which he takes without a “thank you.” “So what do you do?” I ask, hoping to change my initial impression of him.
“I wouldn’t say I’m into traditional ‘employment,’ per se,” he says, making air quotes. I hear the bell above the door jingle and Nick casually saying, “Hey, man.”
The coffee shop is largely empty this evening—just Gary and a couple of other old guys silently reading the paper—so I’m the only one who notices who walks in.
It’s Drew. What the hell is this guy’s problem? This is a major American city and there are, like, twenty other coffee shops he could go to.
“Oh, no,” I mutter.
“It’s actually not that gross,” Barry says. “I really inspect everything before I eat it.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, looking back at him, realizing he’s been talking this entire time.
“The food I find in the dumpster,” he says. “Most people only grab things that haven’t been opened, but my belief is that a bagel with only one bite taken out of it is basically brand new.”
I nod slowly, my eyes darting toward Drew. He’s sitting at a table in the corner by the bathroom, and he’s facing me. And staring right at me, that infuriating smirk on his face.
“Could you hold on a moment, Barry?” I ask. “I have to run to the restroom.”
I stomp across the coffee shop, floorboards squeaking under my feet, and stand next to Drew’s table. “What are you doing here?” I whisper-shout.
“You’re on a date!” he says, his mouth open in amazement like he’s a small child seeing a unicorn. He points at my shoes. “Those are date shoes. I can tell.”
“These are just small boots and—you know what? Stop making fun of me. It’s not like it’s so shocking that someone would want to go on a date with me.”
His brow furrows. “Why do you think I’m making fun of you?”
I cross my arms. “Ah, the old ‘answer a question with a question.’ Classic Danforth. So infuriating.”
Drew peers around me to look at Barry, who’s facing away from us. “Why is he wet?”
“He’s a runner, okay?” I say. “He’s very healthy. It’s super hot.”
My eyes snag on Drew’s cup, maybe because I’m wishing my date also believed in hot liquids. Drew points at it. “Black coffee. I watched the movie . . . You’ve Got Mail. Gotta say, I agree with Tom Hanks’s assessment of fancy coffee drinks. What did your date order, something complicated?”
“He doesn’t like hot liquids,” I mutter.
Drew raises his eyebrows. “No tea?”
“Presumably not.”
“Hot chocolate? A hot toddy? Mulled wine?”
I stare at him, my face as blank as I can make it.
“What about soup?” Drew asks. “Does this man also not eat soup?”
“You know what?” I ask, incensed. “You shouldn’t even be here. You should be somewhere, like, publicly making out with a Victoria’s Secret model.”
“I did that one time,” Drew says.
“Boo-hoo, Leonardo DiCaprio.” I sneer. “The world isn’t a playground for all of us, okay? Some of us are looking for real love, and who knows, maybe I’ll find it with Barry.”
Both of us turn to look at Barry, who’s clipping his nails at the table.
“Did he bring nail clippers from home?” I whisper with disgust.
“I’m sure he’s great,” Drew says with a smile, crossing his arms in front of him on the table. “But here’s my issue with Sleepless in Seattle—”
“You watched all three of them?” I ask, almost speechless.
“I haven’t started When Harry Met Sally . . . yet,” he says. “But listen. How does Tom Hanks afford to live on that houseboat? That thing is huge. It’s gotta be expensive, and he’s a single dad.”
“He’s an architect,” I say.
“And why are there so many architects in romantic comedies?” Drew asks, clearly working up to something. “Are there even that many architects in the world? It’s a hard job, right? Am I supposed to believe that—”
“That’s not the point, okay?” I say, slamming myself down in the chair across from him. “It doesn’t matter how someone in a romantic comedy affords their absurdly nice house, or whether or not their profession makes sense, or if technically they’re sort of stalking someone they heard on a call-in radio show. What matters is that they have hope. Sure, they find love, but it’s not even about love. It’s the hope that you deserve happiness, and that you won’t be sad forever, and that things will get better. It’s hope that life doesn’t always have to be a miserable slog, that you can find someone to love who understands you and accepts you just as you are.”
I stop and take a breath.