Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
SUTTON
Zach pulls out my chair for me. I loosely smile up at him, murmur an appreciation caught off by his height. It’s intimidating tonight. This isn’t a new revelation, but for whatever reason, tonight he’s too tall. Two inches to be exact.
Casted carefully down on me are vibrant green eyes that remind me of a freshly mowed grass, or new leaves blooming on trees in the spring.
He cleans up well. This is the first time I’ve seen him in anything other than sweats or cargos.
Dark denim stretches across thighs, hugging the curve of his butt perfectly—sue a girl for looking and calculating if a coin could bounce off of it.
The tan sweater he’s in matches his golden hair with messes of caramel through it.
I don’t know why Elliot says blond boys aren’t attractive.
“Thanks,” I say as he hands me the menu. Our knees clash under the table. “Sorry.” I adjust mine, scooting back in the chair to sit straighter. “I’ve never been here. Have you?”
Without scanning the restaurant, I surmise that it’s packed.
Voices ricochet off the walls, blending with music that could be turned down.
Waiting thirty minutes for a table is also a dead giveaway.
The coastal American restaurant opened before winter break.
An awarded chef in Chicago, originally from Bensen, wanted to open a place in his hometown.
I may have read their bio on their website…and looked at photos on their social media before Zach picked me up. Dishes appear to be inspired by the West Coast while heavily influenced by the Midwest. They homemade pasta and parmesan fries are calling my name.
“Twice, actually.”
At first, this wasn’t my ideal first date. Honestly, ever. The movies or some sort of activity are more my pace. Something that can harvest time I’d otherwise have to spend talking. That was before Cooper, though.
While I was sick, a snow shower blew through, bringing a bitter chill with it. Anything outside was out of the question, even walking through downtown that still has wintery Christmas lights strung between lamp poles and wrapped like spaghetti in the leafless trees.
Dinner is great.
A date with Zach is great.
Finally feeling like myself again after being taken out for half a week with food poisoning is great.
I woke up in my bed the morning after Cooper took care of me. Dazed and groggy. I don’t remember ever going to my room. I’ve rewound the night, but all my memory recalls is laughing at him quoting whatever movie incorrectly. We watched two, maybe three, I don’t know, I lost track.
Cooper must’ve carried me to bed before leaving.
In the kitchen, there was a note attached to a box of electrolyte packets telling me to drink these and take it easy.
Underneath the teal box was a filled-out packet of what we were supposed to do during our session.
His writing is chicken scratch, but I scanned through it to the last page, finding a smiley face and a boat.
I laughed freely, scratching at the lingering headache I had, and something warm wrestled deep inside me. Old feelings reawakening from the hibernation I forced them into. They stretch, clawing at the bars of their entrapment. God help me, they better not want out, or escape on their ambition.
He called me later that day, but I was on the phone with my parents. Cooper didn’t leave a voicemail, didn’t text either. I sent him one, though. A simple thank you.
I ate the soup again for dinner. Elliot couldn’t help from indulging in a bowl, reminding me of us as kids when we used to mastermind being sick to get Mrs. Carmichael to make this soup.
By the next morning, I had bounced back.
I almost cancelled tonight, slightly apprehensive about eating food that was not cooked in my apartment.
One minor complaint to Elliot, she stole my phone and called me out on my bullshit.
Lovingly reiterating how long I’ve been waiting and wanting this before dragging me into the bathroom to help me with my hair.
“On other dates?” I hate the question immediately.
A buzz of worry that I’ve already ruined tonight climbs up my spine, each vertebrae a rung. That buzz plummets, crashing out.
If I slip under the table, will he notice? Or when the waiter comes by, I can ditch? There’s got be a back exit, probably through the kitchen.
My teeth grind together behind my tight-lipped smile. Isn’t that rule number one on a date? Don’t bring up exes or past dates?
“If my mom counts, then yeah,” Zach plays it off.
“Does your family live in Bensen?”
He shakes his head, hands fiddling with the laminated menu. “I wish. My family is in Tampa. Mom travels abroad for work most of the year. When she’s in the States, though, she always spends a weekend here.”
“What does she do?”
“Designs wedding dresses.”
“Your mom is the real-life Elizabeth James.” I gape. I force myself to take a drink of water so I don’t pathetically end up salivating like a dog waiting for a treat. “Did you travel with her as a kid?”
“She is blonde.” I don’t miss or ignore the fact that he understood my reference.
“No. She was a stay-at-home mom after she had my brother. We rarely bought clothes because she would make everything from scratch. Not that you’d ever know the difference.
When I was in high school, Dad submitted her designs to a company.
He went part-time with his job. Said it was time for her to chase her dreams.”
I don’t even know his dad except this one measly, outrageously romantic fact, and I admire him, want to send my compliments to the son he’s raised.
“Does he regret that now?”
“Not one bit.” Zach pushes up the sleeves of his sweater, and my gaze catches on a forearm when he refills my water.
“Your dad reminds me of mine,” I admit.
After retiring from the league, my dad works in my mom’s flower shop. He’s shit at putting together a bouquet, absolutely no eye for what pairs well together. It always ends up with my mom redoing the order, but those seemingly ugly bouquets decorate our house.
He’d do anything for my mom.
Their love is tangible. I swear I can reach out and feel it. Put it on like a coat or dump it into a bath and bathe in it. They grew up with each other. Their hearts grew around each other.
Is that why mine feels like something is missing…
“Except mine is the opposite of athletic.” He relaxes, comfortable and casually, into his seat. It helps ease the remaining tension within me.
Leaning an elbow on the table, I rest my chin in my hand. “Impossible. You’re the starting pitcher for the Lakeland Bears,” I say, doing by best impression of an announcer at a sporting event. It makes his boyish smile grow.
“Truly, though. My parents do not have an athletic bone in their bodies. Amazingly, I’m a D1 baseball player, and my brother is a D1 swimmer.
They both tried to practice with us growing up, but quickly learned that coaches are there for a reason.
No one knows where we got it from.” He flips over the menu, not reading a single wine or cocktail listed. “Are you close with your parents?”
“Mhm,” I hum. “And my sister.”
“You said she’s an artist.” I like that he remembered. “What kind of art?”
“Meave will work with any kind of medium she can get her hands on, but her favorite is painting and pottery.” I could gush forever about Meave.
“She got really into functional pottery during her last year at SCAD. Made Elliot and I a complete dining set, serving platters, and even a butter shaped—” I am gushing.
And rambling. Like he cares. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble.
” I grab for the closest curl to play with.
“Don’t be. It’s cute. Do you have any pictures of her art?”
A million. I slip my phone out of my bag. Opening the album I have them saved into, turning the phone for both of us to see. He listens the entire time I gab about each one, zooming in on details, asking questions periodically.
“She always wanted to be an artist,” I answer his latest question, tucking my phone away.
“What about you? Always knew you wanted to be a sports psychologist.”
“No.” I shake my head, nose scrunches up. “Injury.”
Zach nods with what I’m assuming is understanding, but I can tell he wants to know more. And I bet he would have asked, or waited till I shared, if it weren’t for the waiter stopping by to take our orders.
I debate texting Cooper when Zach excuses himself to the bathroom. Let him know that if this date were graded, I’d at least be trending toward a B plus. The girl I was only a month ago is nowhere to be found. The one stumbling over her tongue, and feet, isn’t the one sitting across from Zach.
Relaxing into the chair, we maintain a casual conversation. Easily. He explains the various pitches, demonstrating how he holds the baseball with a balled-up napkin and when to use each.
I attempt and fake pitch him a two-seam. His head falls back with a contagious laugh.
“My hand-eye coordination is rusty,” I joke, relinquishing a laugh myself.
“Maybe next date I can teach you.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. Maybe I should bump that grade up to an A.
There’s a loud raucous that tears my attention away from Zach.
Across the restaurant, in the bar area, far more casual than where we are sitting, I spy Chase, Dawson, and Jaxon.
The latter is picking up a tipped-over stool.
There are four water cups, four beers, and four plates, but only three of them.
Dawson catches me staring at them and waves hesitantly. Chase follows suit. Cautious as if he doesn’t want to get caught. I wave back, the motion contained.
“Point me in the direction of the bathroom,” I ask Zach, and he points to the left. I scoot back and excuse myself. “I’ll be right back.”
I did have to go to the bathroom, but I also needed a minute to get my confusion out. Did Cooper send them here to spy on me? Are they supposed to report back? Give him new ammo to use against me?
Post splashing water, and recomposing myself, I push open the door to the bathroom and almost hit Chase in the face.
“Hey, Sutton.” His tone doesn’t match his apprehensive body language.
“Um, hi. Didn’t know you were coming here tonight.”
“Surprisingly, they have the best wings on campus. Beats The Tipsy Bear every time.”
“I’ll have to try them sometime.” Chase starts to walk away. I elongate a step and clasp his shoulder. “Everything okay back at the table?”
“Yeah.” The word is clipped.
“Oooo-kay.”
“How’s the date going?”
“You can tell your friend it’s amazing. Asked me on a second date already.” The attitude I reserve for Cooper is very rarely dished out to anyone else. I’ll apologize to Chase later. I brush past him, shoulder knocking, not waiting for a response.