*thump…it’s her.
*thump…she’s the one.
*thump…don’t let her go.
“Sounds way better than eating a salad by hand,” I say, biting into the salad sandwich I’ve concocted by stacking the romaine leaves, parmesan wedged between them. I really thought I’d nailed this plan.
I did not.
Caesar dressing drenches my fingertips, running down the side of my hand. I drop the lettuce to the plate, cautiously eyeing the guests around us. I lick my fingers clean like a kid who’s dipped his fingers in a honey pot, not the twenty-five-year-old man wearing a four-hundred-dollar suit that I am. Gretchen’s shoulders bounce with quiet laughter, her napkin held to her mouth as a shield.
I nudge my knee against hers. “It felt like such a good idea.”
“I sometimes have the feeling I can do crystal meth,” she says. My napkin covers my mouth now, hiding my own laugh. “But then I think…”
“Mmmm…better not,” we finish in unison, mimicking Fat Amy’s intonation to at.
Our entrees arrive several minutes later. If I didn’t need both my hands to eat, I might have the courage to reach under the table and hold hers. As it stands, her knee against mine remains a steady point of contact that neither of us retreat from.
“When do you head back to New York?” I ask.
“I have to leave on Monday to give myself enough time to get settled back into my apartment before classes start. Oh, that reminds me. I really want to go to that book collector’s shop you told me about before I head back to Bloomington on Sunday afternoon. Can you send me the address?”
I smile. Gene has been a family friend since before my brothers and I were born. He’s the one who helped me pick out Gretchen’s gift for her tenth birthday. I’ve told her about his little shop inChicago multiple times over the past year and there’s nothing I’d love more than to see her beam with joy at the gems she’s sure to find as she roams the narrow aisles.
“How about I go with you?” I ask.
Gretchen meets my gaze.
“Sunday,” I continue, “after the send-off brunch, we can go together. Sound good?”
She offers a shy nod, bottom lip tucked between her teeth.God,I want to kiss her.
“Great.” My eyes dip to her mouth. “It’s a date then.”
Her gaze pulls away, but that little grin remains as she works her knife through the meat on her plate. Quietly, she says, “It’s a date,” before sweeping a bite of chicken off the end of her fork. Yeah, I’m crazy about this sinfully sweet, shy, stunning girl.
I slice into the steak on my plate. “Is anyone going with you to help you get moved back into your apartment?” I’m ready to offer up myself for the task.
“My dad’s coming.”
I try not to let the disappointment show on my face.
“I’ll be back at Thanksgiving though,” she adds.
“Is that right?”
“Mmhmm. Mom and Dad are going on a cruise, so I’ll be spending the break with Drew and Reagan.” Our eyes meet again, identical smirks in place. “Where do you plan to spend Thanksgiving?”
I cut into my steak again. “Well, I have a few offers I’m considering. I don’t want to commit too soon, gotta keep my options open.”
“Obviously.”
“But Thanksgiving at Drew’s is definitely the front-runner.” It’s the only option. He already invited me and I’ve already accepted.
She smiles from behind her Diet Coke. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”
I smile from behind my water. “Maybe you will.”
