“So, you’re proud of it then?”
“Very proud,” I say. That is the truth.
“I have to say, I was impressed with how much research your agency put into the campaign, how much knowledge you had about Virginia,” says Mr. Ford. “Are most of your staff from Richmond or Virginia?”
“I don’t know about everyone. I am, though.”
“Your co-worker Paul, that was his name correct?”
“Yes,” I answer, shaking my head.
“He did an excellent job presenting—so did Robyn, of course. But Paul surprised me when we were walking out.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Since he’s such a history nut, I asked him if he’s ever visited any of the Virginia battlefields. Said he had, so I asked which one and he said Gettysburg.”
I laugh, hard and loud.
“He probably didn’t hear the Virginia-part,” I say to Paul’s defense and my disdain.
“How about you? Do you know anything about Virginia’s history?”
“Actually, my parents are big history buffs; they were always dragging my brothers and me to museums and historical places. We hated it though—it was so boring. We just wanted to go to amusement parks and fun places.”
“Boring?”
“Well, as a kid, yeah . . . except for Jamestown or Yorktown; I did like going there.”
“They weren’t boring?” Mr. Ford asks.
“No, because we could run around and explore rather than just follow some tour guide rattling off facts and dates.” I continue talking, absorbed in the nostalgia of my childhood. “At Yorktown, they had these trenches with sharp poles sticking out. My brothers and I would pretend that we were soldiers fighting in battles.”
“So, did your parents pass along their love of history to you?” Mr. Ford asks.
“Yes, I guess they did,” I laugh.
“Quick, tell me who surrendered at Yorktown.”
“Cornwallis,” I answer without hesitating.
“Impressive.”
“Yeah, I guess I never realized how much my parents rubbed off on me,” I say.
“Well, it certainly was a pleasure talking to you, Ms.—I’m sorry I never caught your name.”
“Whitaker—Ashley,” I answer.
“It’s very nice meeting you, Ashley Whitaker. I’m Andrew Ford,” he says, shaking my hand. “Hope you have a nice rest of the day. By the way, I have a sneaking suspicion that you had a lot to do with the campaign.”
I do not know how to answer; fortunately, Mr. Ford walks away without waiting for a response.”
I’M NOT SURE WHAT HAS gotten into Master Kim; the next several classes are ramped-up with required kicks back and forth across the room, long bouts of punches, and so many push-ups and sit-ups that I spend the week barely able to walk.
To my relief, especially after my remorseful roundhouse kick on Logan, Logan and I have gotten back on track. I think we both decided to pretend as if our potential-date never happened. It helps that I’m able to punch away while Logan holds the punching bag or the black, Velcro pads. I find it especially satisfying when Logan winces at my punches, taking off his boxing gloves to rub his palms.
We even resume our post-class visits to the smoothie shop next door. Neither of us feels the need to impress each other and comfortably orders fattening smoothies filled with anything that doesn’t involve vegetables. We avoid any subject involving dating or our social life, although I am dying to know if he is still dating the girl from the bar.
“How is work going? You said that you’ve been putting in some serious hours,” Logan asks after one of our classes.
Work has been going so well that I don’t mind the long hours, which is what I tell Logan. I excitedly tell him about the Tourism campaign and our recent pitch, not realizing right away, that I am monopolizing the conversation.
“I’m so sorry. I got carried away,” I say.
“No, no, I enjoy hearing your enthusiasm. That’s really exciting; you should be proud of yourself.”
I blush at his compliment, suddenly feeling very self-conscious for having talked so much. Even if he is bored senseless, he is sweet enough not to make me feel bad about it.
“What about you? It seems like I’m the one who’s always doing the talking and you’re the one always asking the questions.”
“That’s because I’m interested in getting to know you,” he responds. A warm sensation overcomes me. I fiddle with my straw to ease my nervousness and avoid eye contact.
“Well, it’s only fair that you tell me more about you,” I challenge back.
“Ask away; I’m an open book.”
Open book, huh? Should I ask him if he’s still dating the girl from the bar? It would have to sound non-confrontational and casual. What I really want to know is why he asked me out in the first place.
An internal wrestling match takes place in my brain as I carefully weigh the pros and cons of asking about his dating life. It is my cowardliness that wins out, relegating my questioning around his job.
“How’s work going for you?” I ask.
I know that he is some type of computer nerd who works at a software company. He once tried explaining the nature of his company – something to do with cybersecurity – but I was distracted by how cute he was when he spoke. He was like an excited little child speaking geek. I didn’t understand a word he was saying, but I enjoyed listening to him.
“I tell you I’m an open book and that’s all you have for me?”
“Well, I could get all personal, but I figured I’d work up to that.”
“Is that a promise?”
“That’s flirting, right?” I ask Kaitlyn later. “I’m so confused. Does he think of me just as a friend—maybe as his boxing buddy?”
“I don’t know; it sounds like flirting to me. Maybe you should just ask him—be upfront and say something like ‘was that your girlfriend I saw you with at the bar’?”
“Believe me, I thought about it; but I don’t have the nerve.”
“He said he’s an open book; maybe he wants you to ask him, maybe it’s his way of broaching the subject.”
“I doubt it,” I say right as my phone buzzes to indicate an incoming text.
“Oh my gosh. It’s him,” I tell Kaitlyn. “He’s never texted me.”
“His ears must have been burning. What did he say?” Kaitlyn asks excitedly.
“He just said, ‘Hey there, it’s Logan from class. It was good talking to you today. Let me know if you hear anything about your ad pitch’.”
“So, is this one of those friend-zone texts?” I ask Kaitlyn.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But that was pretty nice of him, especially since he’s a guy—I didn’t think guys even paid attention to stuff like that—and to follow up like that,” Kaitlyn says optimistically. “Friend-zone or not, he’s definitely thinking about you.”
My thoughts trail off to Kaitlyn’s last five words: ‘he’s definitely thinking about you’. A smile plasters my face.
“Well?” Kaitlyn says bringing me back to reality. “How are you going to respond? Maybe you should wait a bit before responding.”