Chapter 7
I Dare You
Andi
The pub was exactly what we needed.
"This is perfect," I said, sliding into a chair at a corner table. Gavin sat across from me—close enough that our knees almost touched under the table.
"Ground rules," I said, already feeling more relaxed. "No backing out once you pick. And no boring questions like, " What's your favorite color.'"
He leaned back, the wooden chair creaking beneath him.
One corner of his mouth lifted into a crooked grin as he tapped his fingers against the tabletop.
"Deal." His eyes flicked toward the burly bouncer standing near the door.
"But same goes for dares. I'd like to finish my beer before we're tossed onto the sidewalk. "
"Aw, come on. Why so lame?" I winked, testing the waters.
"Fine. You first." He looked amused, as if he were settling in for a show. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth. But go easy on me for the first one."
He thought for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied my face.
I started tearing my paper napkin into tiny strips, rolling the pieces between my fingertips until they formed little balls that scattered across the dark wood table.
My heart did this weird stutter-step thing in my chest, and I found myself suddenly nervous again, even though I'd started this whole game.
"What's a talent or skill you have that no one would expect you to have?"
My shoulders relaxed as I exhaled. This question wasn't so bad. I took a deep breath to tell him and then paused, hesitating. I felt heat creep into my cheeks and, instead of blurring it out, I looked down at the table and muttered, "I can juggle."
"What was that?"
I squared my shoulders, looking him directly in the eye this time, and said with deliberate clarity, "Juggle. I can juggle."
His eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding."
"Nope." I laughed nervously, watching for that familiar flicker of judgment. But it wasn’t there. He seemed… interested. "Like, really well. Five items, no problem."
"No way."
"Yes way!" I was grinning now, warming up in the moment. "I taught myself in college. I was supposed to be studying, but got bored and started tossing things around. I had an orange and one of those squishy stress balls. You know the ones?"
He nodded, leaning forward.
"So I was terrible at first, dropping everything and having to run after the items I dropped.
But then I sort of got the hang of it. My study partner thought it was hilarious and handed me a wrapped Little Debbie snack cake packet.
I added it in and—voila! Suddenly I'm juggling three things like it's nothing. "
He blinked twice, his head tilting slightly to the side. His lips parted, then closed, then parted again with the corners of his mouth pointed upward. His eyebrows inched toward his hairline as his smile grew. "That's incredibly random."
"Completely useless, but fun. The rhythm, the focus—it's kind of meditative, actually.
" I laughed. "I became a hit at parties after a few drinks.
People would beg me to juggle things. Throw in a couple more drinks and it's either amazing or a disaster.
Like the time I lost focus and dropped two glasses that shattered everywhere. Epic fail—and party foul."
He was laughing now, really laughing, and something warm spread through my chest.
"Sometimes I do a little show at the Grind," I added. "Marcus will randomly throw things at me to see if I can catch them and start juggling. Customers get a kick out of it."
I paused, felt my smile falter. "My ex in college hated it. Thought it was a lame party trick. So sometimes I still get this weird anxiety about doing it, even though we broke up years ago. But then I remember how much fun it is and ignore the little voice."
Why did I just say that? God, Andi, shut up.
But Gavin didn't look weirded out. "I want to see. It's not real unless you prove it."
Grateful he'd moved past my awkwardness, I felt my grin return. "Then you better hope I choose dare next round."
"No fair."
"Life's not fair." I picked up my drink. "Your turn. Truth or dare?"
I saw a spark in his eye. "Dare."
My mind raced. What could I dare him to do? I glanced around the pub—people at the bar, the tattooed bartender, games scattered on tables—
"I dare you to get the bartender to teach you how to make a drink. Behind the counter."
His eyes widened as his jaw dropped, a burst of laughter escaping that made his shoulders shake and drew glances from the next table over. "That's..." He wiped the corners of his lips. "...ambitious."
"Yup!"
He let out an exaggerated sigh that completely failed to hide his grin, then pushed back his chair and stood up. "Really?"
"Yes! Unless you're chicken?"
"Hey! I'm standing already, aren't I?" He gave me a little wink that made my stomach flip. "If this goes badly, you're buying the next round."
"Deal."
I watched him walk to the bar, genuinely curious if he could pull this off.
The bartender was maybe in his thirties, full sleeve of tattoos, handlebar mustache with the ends waxed into perfect curls.
I wondered how long that took every morning.
Then I wondered why the mustache trend had come back. Why?
Gavin talked to him, gesturing back toward me. The bartender laughed, said something, then actually gestured for Gavin to come around.
"No way," I whispered to myself as Gavin slid behind the bar, as if he did this every day.
For the next few minutes, I watched him fumble with bottles and glasses.
The bartender was patient, guiding him through each step.
A couple of people at the bar noticed and seemed amused.
Gavin's face was pure concentration—bottom lip between his teeth, measuring carefully, mixing with the bartender's coaching.
Finally, he emerged carrying a cocktail and a beer, looking ridiculously proud of himself.
"One 'beginner's Manhattan' and one Sam Adams," he announced, setting them down. "Dave says it won't kill anyone."
"Dave?"
"The bartender. Says most customers never ask to learn anything." He sat back down, grinning. "I gave him a solid tip for putting up with me."
I took a sip of the Manhattan. It wasn't terrible. Actually, kind of good. "Okay. I'm impressed."
The smile that spread across his face was infectious. He was proud of himself, and God, it was cute.
"Your turn," he said. "Truth or dare?"
I sat up straighter. "Dare. I'm feeling brave."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and I could see the wheels turning. His eyes scanned the pub and landed on an older couple in the corner, quietly eating dinner.
"I dare you to stand up and serenade that couple with a song of your choice while juggling three things."
I choked on my drink. "You want me to what now?"
"Serenade them. Full performance. Loud enough for me to hear. And for what to juggle, it’s singer’s choice."
Heat flooded my cheeks as I let out a strangled laugh. "Wait, that's two challenges in one! And those poor people are just trying to enjoy their dinner. What if the husband has a weak heart? I'd be on the local news: 'Woman's pub dare ends in tragedy.'"
"Are you chicken?" He was using my words against me, grinning like he'd won something. "You know the rules. Chicken out, and it's a double-dog dare."
"Ugh. Fine." I stood up, heart pounding. "But if they throw something at me, you're paying for the damages. And I want dessert."
"Deal."
I walked over to their table on shaking legs, cleared my throat. They looked up at me, curious.
"Excuse me," I said, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I lost a dare. See that guy over there?" I gestured toward Gavin. "He dared me to serenade you." I hesitated, buying time with a little cough before I continued. "And I have to juggle while I do it. Would that be... okay?"
The woman's face lit up. "Oh, how wonderful! Peter, it’s like dinner and a show!"
Peter looked less enthusiastic, but nodded. "Alright then."
Scanning the table, my options were limited—a ketchup bottle, salt and pepper shakers, and a laminated menu.
The shakers and ketchup would have to do.
I tossed them skyward one after another, finding my groove as muscle memory kicked in.
With three objects now circling through the air in a steady pattern, I took a deep breath and began singing "Can't Help Falling in Love.
" My body swayed with the rhythm as I tried desperately to pretend the growing audience of neighboring tables didn't exist.
By the end, people were singing along. When I finished, I held the items up in the air in victory; applause erupted from our section.
"That was wonderful!" the woman said. "Peter, wasn't that amazing?"
Peter was grinning now. "Married forty-two years, and that's our first public performance!"
"Thank you for being such good sports," I said, my cheeks burning but my heart soaring.
I walked back to Gavin, who was looking at me as if I'd just done something incredible.
"I can't believe you actually did it," he said. "You were amazing."
"I can't believe they loved it!" I collapsed into my chair, breathless, and took a long drink. "Okay. I need a minute to recover."
We sat there, the energy between us electric and comfortable all at once.
"Alright," I finally said. "Your turn. Truth or dare?"
"I think I’m still buzzing from your performance. I’ve never seen anything like it." His chest rose with a long inhale, his lips curving upward until his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Okay, let’s go with truth."
"Smart choice." I leaned forward, feeling the mood shift. "What's one thing you wish you could tell your ex but never did?"
His smile faded. "Wow. Going deep."
"Too personal?"
"No, it's—" he paused. "I wish I'd told her I knew she was unhappy. Even before she said anything. And I wish I'd told her how unhappy I was too. We did a lot of pretending. Forgot to talk. Forgot to even be friends."
The honesty in his voice caught me off guard. "That sounds really lonely."
"It was." He met my eyes. "But tonight? Tonight reminds me of what it's like to be more than just the divorced dad. The third wheel. I'm having a lot of fun with you."
My chest warmed. "Me too."
"Your turn," he said. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth."
His expression turned serious. "What are you looking for out of this?" he gestured between us.
My heart stopped. This was it. The question that could change everything.
I took a breath. "Honestly? At first, I wasn't sure. But hanging out, talking, it’s made me consider more.
" I thought for a moment, gathering the right words.
"I guess I want someone who gets excited about stupid little things with me.
Who doesn't think my dreams are crazy." I paused.
"I want someone who actually chooses me.
Not someone who settles for me. I want to be someone's someone, you know? Not their backup plan."
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Sometimes I feel like I'm everyone's favorite 'almost.' The fun friend, but not the forever one."
I stared into my glass, wanting to disappear under the table.
"You are no one's almost," Gavin said, his voice firm. "At least not mine."
Heat flooded my cheeks. I looked away, then back. "What about you? What are you looking for?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Someone who makes me want to be better. Who accepts that I'm not perfect and I've got baggage from my divorce. Someone who laughs with me. Communicates." He reached across the table and touched my hand. "Tonight feels like the first time in years I'm not pretending."
We sat there, hands touching, the noise of the pub fading into background static.
"So," I finally said. "What happens next?"
"Next?" His smile returned. "Maybe we should leave before I dare you to do something that gets us arrested."
I laughed. "Good call. Plus, you owe me dessert for that performance."
"I do." He signaled for the check. "Gelato? There's a place down the street."
"Perfect."
I stood up, feeling lighter than I had in months. We headed toward the exit, and as we moved through the door, I felt Boston’s quickly cooling evening air hit my face.
"Hey Gavin?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for tonight. This has been a lot of fun."
"Same to you." He held the door open. "And for being brave enough to sing for your dessert." He looked down at me with a wink and a smile.
"That's what you get when you dare a performer of my caliber," I said teasingly as I struck a pose. "You never know what you're gonna get."
We stepped onto the sidewalk, the city alive around us.
And then, without thinking about it, my hand slipped into his.