He tilts his head and gives me a smile, like this is another part of our so-called game. “You know. You acting like there’s no connection between us? Like we’re not meant to be?”
I look at Chloe for help, but she’s staring at Barry with her mouth open.
“Barry,” I say, looking right into his eyes. “I want to be as gentle but as firm as possible: I can say with complete certainty that we’re not meant to be.”
“You don’t really think that,” he says, leaning forward to grab my hands, which I instantly pull back.
“We just . . . have a lot of differences,” I say. “I love coffee. And water with fluoride in it. And . . . not eating bagels out of the dumpster.”
“I don’t even have to keep eating the dumpster bagels!” he says, his voice growing loud enough that several people, including Carter, look over. Carter gives me a look that manages to instantly communicate, “Uh, do I need to come over there?” but I shake my head.
“It’s more than dumpster bagels,” I say. “We just don’t have a connection, and that’s okay. I know there’s someone out there for you, someone who likes you the way you are.”
Barry sighs, then turns to Chloe. “Are you free—”
“No,” Chloe says, wiping off the counter without looking at him.
“Well then,” Barry says, giving me a resigned look. “You can’t say I didn’t try.”
“I certainly can’t,” I say with a small smile. “Good luck, Barry.”
We watch him walk out of Nick’s, the bell ringing as the door swings open and closed, and I can’t help feeling a little bit sorry for him. I mean, this sucks, this whole “search for a soulmate” thing. Sure, Barry was . . . well, Barry, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to be lonely. I hope he does find someone, and I also hope he expands his beverage choices.
“I’ll take another coffee, please. And, uh, another one of those citrus bars.”
I turn to see Drew standing right beside me, not looking at me at all. I wonder if it’s an intentional not looking at me or a completely unintentional “wow-I-genuinely-care-so-little-about-you-that-I-didn’t-even-notice-you-there” not looking at me. Not that I would care if it were the latter, because I’m on a date with a very hot, slightly older houseboat owner.
“What do you think?” Chloe asks, and at first I think she’s talking to me, but then I realize she’s asking Drew about the bars. “Is it one citrus too many?”
“Not at all,” Drew says. “I could, and possibly will, eat an entire tray of these bad boys.”
Chloe stands up straight and smiles so hard she’s practically radiating joy. How nice and not at all annoying that Drew Danforth has found the way to her heart: compliments about her baked goods.
“Not too sour?” she asks, watching as he takes a bite.
“Absolutely perfect,” he says, then turns to me. “So, Barry, huh?”
“Leave me alone,” I say. “Barry’s trying to find a connection in a cruel world.”
Drew shrugs. “It can’t all be citrus bars and dates with sexy gaffers.”
“Would that it could,” Chloe says with a sigh, and both of us look at her. She looks startled. “Wait, I forgot that I have to do a thing in the kitchen. Bye.”
“Leave my sexy gaffer alone,” I say, then shake my head. “I mean, he’s not my sexy gaffer; he’s just a man. A man I’m on a date with. And I don’t need you here messing everything up.”
“How could my mere presence, tables away from you, be messing everything up?” Drew asks. “Unless you’re distracted by me.”
I blink. “Why would I . . . why would I be distracted by you?”
I guess I understood emotionally that Drew and I had some sort of annoying, angry chemistry thing going on, but I thought we were keeping that unspoken on account of he’s a hot movie star and I’m a weird Ohio freelance writer and never the twain shall meet. I didn’t know we were just saying it now, that he assumes I’m, like, head over high-heeled booties for him and I’m going to fall into his arms just because we had a weird moment in the Book Loft. Probably lots of people experience sexual tension in the Book Loft. It’s a confined space, and there are a lot of pheromones floating around in there. It’s not like it means anything.
Anyway, it’s infuriating that he thinks I would want to be sitting with him instead of Sexy Gaffer, I mean Carter. Yes, I did have a sexual fantasy about him before I walked in here and yes, it is currently causing my face and other unnamed body parts to heat up, but he doesn’t know about that and he never will.
“Carter and I were talking about romantic comedies,” I practically spit. “He’s seen I Love You, Man.”
“Big deal,” Drew says with an unconcerned smile. “Every man who’s ever had a crush on Rashida Jones has seen that movie, and FYI, that’s ninety-five percent of straight men. And that’s not even considering the men who also have a crush, friend or otherwise, on Paul Rudd.”
I stare at him, my mouth in a hard line.
“Does that guy even age?” Drew asks, taking a sip of his coffee. “And anyway, I know rom-coms, too. I saw When Harry Met Sally . . .”
I stiffen. “And?”
Drew leans forward. “They were terrible for each other and they definitely get divorced years later and ruin their child’s life with the bickering.”
“You take that back!” I say a little too loudly, then turn to see if Carter noticed. He did, and he’s giving me that “do I need to come help?” look for the second time with a second man. I shake my head and turn back to Drew.
“I have a date, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“I wasn’t keeping you here,” Drew says, eyebrows raised. “Just take that invisible body back on over to your table with Sexy Gaffer. See if I care.”
“What?”
Drew draws a line across his neck. “I’m not seeing anything below your chin.”
“Ugh,” I mutter, then walk back to my table. I slide into the seat and force a smile onto my face. “Sorry about that.”
Carter furrows his brow, opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s unsure what to say, then finally settles on, “Is it always like that for you in here?”
“What do you mean?” I ask. I go to take a sip, then realize that in all the hubbub, I didn’t even get another coffee.
He gestures vaguely toward the counter. “You know. Various men fighting for your affections.”
“Oh.” I chuckle. “Barry. He’s, uh . . . he’s not exactly a threat. I mean, he’s sweet, but . . . you know what? He’s not even sweet. I went on one bad date with him.”
“Not just Barry, though.” Carter meets my eyes, then says casually, “Mr. Movie Star’s got a thing for you.”
My heart speeds up of its own accord. Slow your roll, heart. “What?”
He nods toward Drew’s table in the corner. “The man’s hitting on you, Annie.”
I shake my head and sputter, “He’s not . . . he’s . . . he’s making fun of me and being kind of a jerk, but he’s not hitting on me.”