Although, I think as I look at myself in the hall mirror, I wouldn’t mind him thinking I’m hot. I tug the neckline up a little bit.
“Whoa,” Uncle Don says, stepping out of the kitchen. “Add some ears in and you’re halfway to a pretty good Catwoman cosplay.”
I should go change, but I’m almost running late, so I don’t.
I’m grateful that my walk to the coffee shop is short, because my sheer black tights do almost nothing to insulate my legs against the cold as I carefully maneuver the brick sidewalks in my heeled booties. “I should’ve worn something else,” I mutter as I walk-run to the coffee shop.
When I get there, I pause for a moment to check my reflection in the window, but then, through the glass, I see him. Drew. Sitting at that same table in the back, the one he was at during my disastrous date with Barry, and for a moment I forget that I’m not meeting him. For one tiny little moment, I let myself imagine that I am. That I’m rushing here in the only sexy article of clothing I own to meet Drew Danforth. I’d walk over to the table and he’d stand up and kiss me, casually, because of course in this scenario we kiss all the time so we don’t need to flaunt our PDA in the middle of Nick’s. And we would argue about rom-coms and everything else, but it would be fun and invigorating and not annoying, not even a little bit. And we’d eat whatever Chloe baked, and he’d love it and then, I don’t know, we’d probably go back to his place and watch something on Netflix before having totally amazing sex.
A blush creeps over my cheeks as I realize that my fantasy about dating Drew Danforth, a man I find extremely infuriating, is far too detailed. And then, as if he can feel me watching him, he looks up. With that ridiculous cocky smile of his, he waves, and that’s what makes me finally remember that I’m standing in front of a coffee shop window, staring like a creep, fogging up the glass with my breath after imagining having sex with a literal movie star. Oh yeah, and I’m about to go on a date with a real person, one who has emotions and also a human child.
I shake my head and walk inside.
“Decide to give Barry another chance?” Drew asks, because of course I walk straight to him, like he’s a fridge and I’m a free magnet from a local health clinic.
“No,” I say, standing beside his table. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m meeting someone else. Someone who drinks hot liquids.”
Drew’s eyes widen. “A high bar to clear. Who is this mystery man?”
“You might know him, actually. He works on lighting for the movie. Carter Reid?”
Drew sits up straighter. “Wait—that guy? The gaffer?”
“That guy, indeed.”
Drew looks distraught for some reason, but then I notice him staring at the revealing neckline of my dress. “Uh, hello. My eyes are up here. Stop staring at my boobs.”
Drew’s eyes shoot to mine. “I’m not staring at your boobs. I was staring into space.”
“A space that my boobs happen to occupy. Convenient.”
Now, Drew looks me in the eyes. “You’re only a face to me now. Just a disembodied head. You might as well not even have boobs, or a torso for that matter. That’s how little I notice the rest of you.”
I sigh and stare back at him, but the moment starts to turn thick and heavy, the two of us staring at each other while a song by the National plays (on Nick’s playlist, not Chloe’s, clearly).
“I’m getting a table,” I say, because I don’t want Carter to walk in here and see Drew and me playing some sort of weird and unsettling staring game.
“Have a nice date,” Drew says, but I don’t turn around as I walk to my table.
* * *
• • •
Carter shows up right on time. Of course, he does. So would Tom Hanks.
Like many of the crewmembers, he lives here in town, so unlike certain movie stars I could name, he understands why Columbus is one of the best cities in the country. He’s kind and considerate, he buys me a drink right away, and he even gets one of Chloe’s tri-citrus bars for us to split.
“It’s orange, lemon, and grapefruit,” I say, pointing to the bar with my fork. “Chloe wanted to mix up the traditional lemon bar.”
Carter smiles. “It’s great. You guys seem like you’re really good friends.”
“Best friends,” I say, beaming. “What are your friends like?”
He winces. “Working so much and having a kid doesn’t leave a lot of time for friendships, you know? It sucks, but most of them have fallen by the wayside.”
He takes another bite. “That probably makes me seem like an asocial loser, right?”
I shake my head and swallow. “Not at all. Lots of men have a hard time maintaining friendships. I mean, that’s the entire point of the movie I Love You, Man.”
Carter smiles. “Well, that and showcasing Paul Rudd’s agelessness.”
I exhale in relief. He knows rom-coms. Well, one rom-com. One extremely accessible, dude-oriented rom-com, but still, I’ll take it.
“So,” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “What do you do on the rare occasion that you’re not working?”
Carter shrugs. “Nothing all that exciting. My son is absurdly interested in monster trucks, something I never in my life imagined I’d have to know about, so we spend a lot of time going to rallies . . .”
I smile, imagining this rugged, attentive man taking a small child to a monster truck rally. It’s sweet.
“And I always love to get up to the lake. We have a place up there—well, I don’t want to mislead you. It’s not a beach house so much as it’s a small houseboat.”
My mouth goes dry, and I quickly take a drink of my coffee. “A small . . . what?”
“A houseboat?” He looks at me as if it’s possible I’ve never heard of the concept. “You know . . . a house on a boat? Like the movie Houseboat? Sort of like an RV on the water?”
“No, I’m familiar,” I say, perhaps too loudly. “Could you hold on a second? I’m going to get a second coffee.”
My coffee is still halfway full, but I book it to the counter all the same. “Chloe!” I hiss.
She closes the baked-goods case and gives me a concerned look. “What’s happening? Is this a repeat Barry situation? Do I need to fake an emergency call or something?”
“Carter. Has. A. Houseboat,” I whisper, leaning over the counter.
Chloe walks closer to me and leans forward so our heads are practically touching. “What?”
“A houseboat.”
Chloe shuts her eyes and sighs. “Oh no.”
Someone clears their throat behind me. “I thought I’d find you here.”
Chloe and I look toward the sound of that voice, and I stand up straight in disbelief.
“Barry?” I ask. “Why . . . what . . . how . . .”
“Why are you here, dude?” Chloe asks, leaning on one arm on the counter.
“We’ve gotta stop playing this game,” Barry says, gesturing between him and me. “You and me, Annie.”
I blink a few times. “I was unaware we were playing a game.”