But Dylan makes me want to stop overthinking.
He makes me want to see what happens when I stop gripping so tightly to what’s safe and step into something unknown.
I don’t know if that’s enough.
But for the first time in a long time, I actually want to find out.
“Earth to Addison,” Maggie singsongs, waving a flaming tiki-torch like an airport marshal. “You’re doing the dreamy-stare thing again.”
I jolt. “I am not. I’m… judging your potato salad.”
“Uh-huh.” She plunks herself down, pulls my plate over and inspects the untouched burger. “Verdict?”
“Creamy yet structurally sound,” I mutter.
“So, where were we? Ah, yes — Addy and her age-inappropriate infatuation.” Brett smirks.
“Not inappropriate!” I protest. “He’s twenty-nine, not twelve.”
Maggie pats my knee. “She’s defensive. Progress!”
Brett’s eyes gleam. “Have you considered… a little research?”
“Like what, a background check?”
“Like a date.”
I choke again, my windpipe staging a protest.
Maggie leans in, conspiratorial. “Double date. Next Friday. Safety in numbers.”
“I’m busy Friday.”
“Doing what?”
“I’ll… probably need to alphabetize chair sashes.”
Brett snorts. “Emergency alphabetizing? Come on, Addy.”
I stare into my drink like it’s a portal, ready to suck me away to another world and away from this conversation.
“What do you want from me? I don’t want to make a fool out of myself like the last time I dated a younger man.”
Silence. We all remember too well how that went. The cheating. The ridicule. Never again.
He softens. “Listen, Addison. I was terrified to ask Maggie out in college — she was definitely out of my league. But one night she caught me singing Céline Dion into a mop handle after closing shift. She laughed so hard she snorted. Romantic, right?” He grins. “Point is: sometimes the embarrassing stuff is the glue.”
A ping vibrates in my back pocket. My stomach cartwheels.
Dylan.
Pie-slice IOUs still valid? We could turn it into a pie tasting for the fundraiser, professional meeting — of course. Also, do you prefer cherry or rogue-hot-dog flavor?
I stare. Brett peeks. “Cherry, obviously.”
Ah-Ah! Cherry. No rogue hot dog-flavored pie, please!
I hit send before courage leaks out my fingertips.
