Chapter 11
ELEVEN
EMERIK
“Some food might add some comedy,” Jessica says. “Something really messy.”
“Ooh,” Drake says. “I know just the thing. Ice cream cones…at least a double scoop. There’s a perfect place in the center of town.”
We gathered all our friends along the way, challenge after challenge, and we’re doing the town, meet-cute style.
And wow, the potion is stepping up and doing its damnedest to surprise us.
The men have been a treat. We should have known there were no roses this time of year in the Balboa Park rose garden, but somehow, Alexander ended up with a dozen long stems (and a phone number) from a singing telegram gone wrong.
I thought I had the potion beat with a women’s underwear boutique at the mall, but naturally the salesman was stunning and free this Friday.
The ferry ride to Coronado was a blast, complete with arty twins proclaiming their undying love to Alexander through mime.
And then there was the cowboy, an honest-to-god rodeo star with pearly whites and silver spurs, on a horse in the middle of Orange Avenue.
I swear, with the slightest push, he would have whisked Alexander right off into the sunset.
“No ice cream for me,” Alexander says. “I’m ready for some real food. Let’s see if we can find a dog-friendly restaurant that isn’t booked up for the holiday. I’d like to sit down.”
As we’re surveying the menu at the door of a sporty steak-and-seafood place (with a patio for Max), three Navy guys stagger out, young and boisterous and full of beer, and bump into Alexander, somehow separating him from our pack.
Then there’s an arm around his shoulder, and another whispering something in his ear as they corral him down the sidewalk. He looks at me and mouths, “Help!”
I ask in a loud voice, “Hey guys, do you recommend this joint?”
“Sure. Can’t complain,” the ginger sailor says. The brown-haired boy turns to Alexander and says, “Like I was saying, we’re all on shore leave tonight and…”
I grab Alexander’s arm and give it a tug, saying, “You’ll have to catch him next time, guys. We have reservations.”
“I don’t have any reservations,” Hazel says, eyes on their shapely butts as they stumble away down the sidewalk. “Did you see that little blond dish? I could eat him with a spoon. Do you have any of that potion left?”
“Strictly off limits,” I say. “At least until we calibrate our doses.”
It’s surreal, like we’re caught in a blizzard of potential romance.
It’s always different, coming at us from unexpected angles, a pedestrian on the sidewalk, a near miss in a crosswalk, sexy guys tripping and flirting and cursing and ending up in his arms. But somehow, it all fades into the background for me, like the constant patter of rain on an umbrella, and I find that all I’m seeing is Alexander, laughing and having a great time despite the disaster my potion has become.
And even better, as I watch him soaking up all the attention, he’s watching me back.
We didn’t, in fact, have reservations, and normally this would be an impossibility on Valentine’s Day, but the potion smoothed it all over with a fortuitous last-minute cancellation.
“Enjoying yourself?” I ask as we’re getting seated, and Alexander barely has time to nod before a cute busboy drops into his lap.
I don’t know how it happened, how it was even physically possible, but the potion orchestrated it.
The fellow gives abundant apologies, completely mortified, but by the time we send him back to his work, Alexander coaxes a shy laugh from him.
The entire meal is like this. Later, while we’re waiting for our food and making conversation, I ask, “How did you and Jessica meet?”
“At the dog park, of course,” Jessica says, sneaking Max a shrimp from her plate. “My sweet pup Jill was…”
But we’re forced to wait on the rest of the story when Drake holds up his hand and directs our attention across the room.
We all watch with trepidation as the kitchen door hits a server, launching a domino effect across half a dozen people, finally causing our handsome waiter, a consummate professional, to tip over Alexander’s wine glass.
Naturally, this leads to more apologies, the promise of a complimentary dessert, and we discover that he gets off work at 10:00 PM.
None of us are surprised when later, the complimentary dessert leads to its own meet-cute.
The chef comes out of the kitchen, brandishing an almost exact duplicate of Alexander’s tiramisu, and we discover he was one of Alexander’s ex-boyfriends, because of course he was.
From the look in his eyes and the careful way he places the dessert in front of Alexander, it’s apparent that he’s open to a second-chance romance.
As we’re paying the bill, Hazel asks, obviously still up for more magical hijinks, “What do you want to do now, boys and girls? I’m stuffed, so I think ice cream is out of the question. Dancing? Find a bar? By the stars, can you imagine what’s in store if we add some alcohol to the mix?”
But that’s not at all where my mind is going. The sky is darkening into evening and I can feel romance in the air. I look over at Alexander, looking happy and satisfied after an entertaining afternoon of fun and a spirited meal with our friends, and say, “I know what I want to do.”
“Me too,” he says, giving me the sweetest look of understanding. “Let’s do it.”