“So, Steve, you’re an accountant,” she said as she moved to place her chin on her fist, accidentally stabbing herself with the ring she wore. “How do you like it?” she asked, rubbing the sore spot.
He opened his mouth to say something, but the barista shouted into the shop, “One medium iced dolce latte.”
“That’s mine,” Retta said a little too loudly as she got up to retrieve her drink. Okay, she needed to get it together. Enough of the boring questions and jittery behavior. She’d hate for him to have the upper hand by knowing she was thrown by his appearance. Besides, she was a woman with a lot to be proud of: she was a business owner, someone who flossed daily, and she once used a meditation app for fourteen days straight.
When she returned to their table, she found Steve smiling, revealing a dimple in his left cheek. She studied it.
“My name’s not Steve,” he said once she was seated.
Retta pulled her eyes from the offending cheek to look at the man in his eyes. “Pardon?”
“I don’t know who Steve is, but it’s not me.”
Oh, no. She’d mixed up his name with someone else’s. Like that time she’d called the mailperson at her apartment by her mechanic’s name for several weeks before the poor woman delivering packages corrected her. In Retta’s defense, their names were incredibly similar.
Retta dramatically grimaced. “I’m sorry, I have so many people’s names swimming in my head. Remind me of yours.”
Not-Steve studied her before chuckling. “I’m gonna guess you’re here for a date.” He leaned in. “I’m not your date.”
Several horrifying seconds passed. “Oh my God,” she whispered. Her face stung as if she’d been slapped. This was definitely worse than mixing up names. “This is,” Retta said, picking up her purse and jacket, “embarrassing.” She scooted out of her seat to stand. “I should’ve—”
“Don’t worry about it,” the complete stranger said, smiling again.
She wanted to be swaddled in the heat of the earth’s core at that moment.
“Seriously,” he added.
Retta could barely look at him. The universe must’ve smelled her desperation for a date.
“Is that him?” Not-Steve asked, nodding toward someone over her left shoulder.
She turned to see a white man, wearing a red jacket, sitting a few tables away with a copy ofDream Bigmagazine propped up on fake flowers at the center of the table.
Retta slowly closed her eyes as she turned back to face the man she’d ambushed. “Probably.”
He looked down at his own clothes. “Understandable mistake. We’re practically twins.”
She was supposed to laugh, but all she could manage was, “I’m gonna go now.”
“Have fun,” he said.
This afternoon could be salvaged.
“Steve?” Retta said as she arrived at her actual date’s table. She ignored the urge to ask him for a government-issued ID.
“Retta?” he asked, standing up to give her a hug once she nodded. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you,” she said as they both took their seats.
“I’ve been so nervous about this date.”
His admittance pulled her to the present. Her shoulders dropped and she smiled at him. “Same.”
“Yeah?”
They both laughed.
Retta’s laugh morphed into a choking cough when she noticed Not-Steve approaching their table with her forgotten iced beverage.
