I giggle and blush at his craziness. “You stood there in the doorway, and you just looked so hot. Your eyes were on fire and that makes sense, now that I know you were actually pissed. And your sleeves were rolled up, and we’ve already established that I have a bit of an arm thing...And then you smiled, and I saw that dimple, and...yeah, I was crushing.”
He flashes that dimple at me. “I like this story. Tell me more.”
“Yes, well. You came in like a hero without his cape and did your very best to save Merv. And after you left, I realized that, in all of the craziness, I hadn’t caught your name. So Molly filled me in about the new IT guy who came from DC, but was originally local. The words ‘boy genius’ were bandied about. So, yea, my first thought was that you were hot. And my second thought was that I’ve got ten years on you.”
“And that is, apparently, an insurmountable problem for you? That I’m ten years younger.”
“It was.”
“Was, you say?”
“Was. I’m working on getting over it.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”
Kelli comes and delivers fresh milkshakes, and Simon eats the rest of my burger. We stay longer than we should, but it’s not crowded anymore, and the conversation is good. I tell him about my love for writing and editing, and he talks computers until my eyes glaze over a bit.
“I lost you at backwards compatible, didn’t I? I think you’re zoning out on me, Lainie.”
“Well, computers really aren’t my thing, you know. But we can totally circle back to the evolution of the semicolon.”
“We could…” I laugh at the look on his face.
“You’ve always been a copyeditor, right?” he asks, and it occurs to me that since we work together, we know lots of things about each other—little, daily idiosyncratic things—but not necessarily the major stuff. He knows I’d do just about anything for a Snickers, and I know he prefers Twix. I know he hates tomatoes but loves ketchup, and that he takes off two weeks in the summer to go to the beach with his family.
“You’re asking if I have a secret past? Like was I a stripper or maybe a lexicographer in my early twenties?”
He nearly chokes on his milkshake...again. “Uh, yeah, that’s totally where I was going with that question. And now we have to stay here an extra ten minutes because the image of you as a stripper is burned into my brain, and it wouldn’t be prudent for me to stand in public right now.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he’s always been into chubby strippers, but that’s my mother talking, not me. So, I move to safer conversation waters.
“What about you? You always dreamed of working in IT for the world’s largest distributor of crab hats?
“Obviously.” He stirs what’s left of his milkshake and drinks the last few drops. “Actually, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be an employee of Chesapeake Shores.”
“Really? Tell me you’re not defecting to the competition.”
“Never. I’m not sure if I ever told you about my friend, Drew?”
“Is he the tattooist?”
“No, that’s Nick.”
“The mountain climber?”
“No, that’s Gavin.”
“And Duncan is the brother-in-law who’s a teacher?”
“Yep. They were my roommates in college. And Drew is a friend from college, too. Well, he was in college for a little while. I swear, sometimes it feels like I never even left the dorms. Anyway, Dunc, Gavin, and Nick are the brothers I never had. I met Drew my sophomore year, and he’s seriously a tech genius. He’s also, well, a little crazy, but he’s a good guy. And wicked smart. Anyway, we’re working on this app, and when we get our funding secured, I’ll probably devote most of my time to that. I’ll still come to Chesapeake Shores for all my coastal accessory needs, of course.
“Of course.” I smile, but then our conversation is interrupted by the incessant buzzing of my phone. I’ve been attempting to ignore it, but I can only imagine that it’s my mother, and Patrice Madigan waits for no one. “Give me just a sec. I’m going to hit the Ladies’ room before we head out.”
I exit the booth and take a left down a long hallway toward the restrooms. After I wash up, I can’t avoid the temptation of my phone. Or maybe it’s just that I know she won’t give up. As I suspected, my mother has flooded my phone with an alarming number of texts. I’m disturbingly used to daily reminders of my age and fleeting fertility.
I scroll through the usual jabs and stats, but I pause when I see a picture. It’s a newspaper clipping of an infant, and it seems innocuous enough. I read to find out more.
Logan DeMarco and his wife, Kristin, welcomed their third child, a girl, into the world on October 27th.
