That’snotwhat was supposed to come out.
Michael coughs. Water dribbles out of his mouth and downhis chin. He reaches for a napkin and coughs into it again.
My body burns with embarrassment. “I don’t know why Isaid that.” Clearly, I haven’t been alone with the opposite sex for a while.
Michael coughs again. Is he choking? Should I hit him on the back?
“Well, technically my best friend knows since she’s the one who talked me into it, so I guess it doesn’t count. But then it got infected, so I had to take it out, but I actually kind of miss it.” I’m rambling now to try to right my wrongs. What other useless words can I say to make this embarrassmentgo away? Is it too late to blame a cat?
“I’ve never been on an airplane before. My friend thinks it’s because I’m afraid of heights, but I’m not. I think it would be fun to fly I’ve just never had the chance.” I say.
He takes a long drink. So long I’m worried he’s trying to drown himself. I think I broke him. This night was going well, too well actually, so it’s really for the best. Better to push him away before he can do the same to me. I check my pocket to ensure my phone and keys are still there. In one minute, I’ll excuse myself to the bathroom for another one of my intestinal incompetence excuses, then sneak away.
I didn’t want anything from this date, anyway.
He relaxesin his seat and takes a few deep breaths before speaking.
“Interesting.”
That’s it? I told him I used to have a bellybutton ring, and I’m not afraid of heights, and that’s what he says.
“Which one?”
His lips curl up into a dangerous grin that makes me want to throw caution to the wind and kiss it right off his face.
“Oh, they are both very interesting.” He drops a wadded-up napkin onto the table and scoots his chair back. “Want to go for a little walkby the river?”
I freeze, one foot ready to bolt for an exit, the other wanting to stay.
This feels like one of those no-no first date situations—the kind that ends with me at the bottom of the river.
But there’s sincerity in his eyes, making me want to doanything he asks.
The anxiety-ridden side of my brain reminds me that’s probably how serial killers lure their unsuspecting victims to their doom. But I’m kind of tired of letting it control me.
I check thecorner of the restaurant. Karli is still here. If I don’treturnsoon, she will come looking.
I’m pretty sure.
I nod. “Okay.”
He pays for the pizza despite my insistence on helping and leads me out of the shop.
We head south for a few more blocks, then turn through a park.
“So,” I say, “did you figure out how you know me?”
He slows his pace and studies me. His eyes are so intense I worry he’ll see more than I want him to.
“Not yet,” he says and faces forward again. “Have you?”
I’d accuse him of being a liar to get me on this date. But there’s something so familiar about him, even though I can’t place it.
“No.”
We emerge onto a beautiful walking path that leads over a river. I’ve never beendownhere before. The bridge is breathtaking, much too ornate tobe on a running trail. There are wooden slats underfoot and curved cross beams above our heads.
I think we are going to cross it, but he stops in the middle.
