Chapter 17
DREW
Isat behind my desk for a long time after she walked out. The door was still slightly open the way she’d left it, and I could hear the faint tap of her typing. She was working. Functioning like nothing had happened.
I was doing a terrible job of being nonchalant.
I should have been riding that high for the rest of the week. Instead I was sitting here replaying a conversation in which we’d both looked each other dead in the eye and lied through our teeth. I somehow managed to make it worse by bringing up Hollis’s friend.
That had not been in my plan. The words had come out before I could stop them, some self-destructive reflex that apparently kicked in when I was nervous.
I’d wanted to see how she reacted. I’d thrown it out there and watched her face for any crack or any small signal that she didn’t want me sitting across a table from another woman.
She’d smiled and told me I should absolutely go. That stung.
My phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced at the screen.
Hollis: Reconsidered the coffee date yet? Layla keeps asking me if you’re a real person.
Hollis meant well. He wasn’t pushing this because he didn’t like Kensey. He was pushing it because he’d watched me go home alone to a very quiet house for the better part of a year. The only woman I wanted to have dinner with was ten feet away from me pretending not to care if I dated.
I wanted Kensey. That was the simple, inconvenient fact. I picked up my phone.
Me: Fine. Set it up. Coffee. Tomorrow at ten.
I pushed back from the desk and walked to the door. She looked up immediately, which meant she wasn’t as deep in the zone as the typing had suggested.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I took your advice,” I said.
“My advice?”
“Hollis’s friend. Coffee tomorrow at ten.”
“Yeah?” she said with a smile.
“Yep.”
I studied her face looking for anger. Jealousy. Hesitation.
I saw none of it.
She smiled again. Lots of teeth. “Good. That’s good, Drew. I’m glad.”
“Figured I’d rip the bandage off,” I said. “Get back out there. You know how it is.”
“Absolutely.” She nodded. “Where are you going?”
“Coffee. Neutral territory. Low stakes.”
“Smart.” She pointed at me with her pen. “No dinner for a first meeting. Coffee is the right call. You can be out in thirty minutes if it’s not working.”
“That’s exactly the plan.”
“Go in with an open mind. You might surprise yourself.” She wasn’t going to crack. She was going to sit there and be my friend and encourage me to go have coffee with a woman.
There was no reason to overthink what I was going to wear to coffee. Dark jeans. Blue button-up, and black boots. Good enough. I wasn’t going into the store first. I couldn’t see Kensey before I did this.
I walked into the small coffee shop that was supposed to look eclectic even though it’d been curated to look like that. It was a good choice for a first meeting because it was quiet. But I felt like I was cheating.
Kensey knew I was here. She had told me to come. She had practically packed my bag and walked me to the door. And I still felt like I was doing something wrong.
I saw a woman walk into the shop and scan the room the way people do when they’re looking for someone.
Her eyes landed on me and she smiled. She was stunning.
The kind of woman who walked into a room and people noticed.
Tall, with dark hair pulled back. Shorts that showed off long, skinny legs. Very model-like.
Very not Kensey-like.
I stood and watched her walk toward me.
“Drew,” she said. “I’m Layla.”
“Layla.” I shook her hand. “Good to meet you. Sit down, please.”
She slid into the chair across from mine. Up close she was even better looking. And yet, she still wasn’t Kensey.
She was looking at me, sizing me up and finding me desirable. I wasn’t being arrogant when I acknowledged that was the usual assessment.
The server came and she ordered a matcha latte with oat milk. I refilled my Americano and tried to remember how to make conversation with a woman I’d just met.
“How do you know Hollis?” I asked.
“I’m a yoga instructor,” she said. “He came in about six months ago with the worst form I’d ever seen in my life. I don’t know how he hadn’t injured himself.”
“That tracks,” I said.
She laughed again. “He’s actually gotten really good. He works hard.”
She continued talking. She wasn’t unpleasant. Nice. Attractive. And I wanted to be anywhere else on the planet. A month ago, I would have charmed the yoga pants right off her without breaking a sweat. But I sat across from her and felt nothing.
Layla was talking about a retreat she was planning in Italy or Spain or fucking Mexico. I had zoned out. Something about restorative practices and the way altitude affected the body’s relationship to stillness. I nodded along but I kept thinking about Kensey and her mouth.
“Drew?”
I snapped back. Layla was watching me with a small, patient smile.
“Sorry,” I said. “Long week.”
“You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not usually this distracted.”
“It’s okay.” She turned her cup slowly on the table. “Hollis said you’ve been working insane hours.”
“That’s part of it,” I said.
The conversation stalled. It was my fault. My heart wasn’t in this at all. We lasted another twenty minutes before she remembered she had a class. I had been a horrible date. I felt bad, but I just couldn’t bring myself to fake it.
I was out the door before Layla had fully disappeared around the corner. I didn’t look back. I wasn’t proud of how badly I’d tanked that, but I also wasn’t going to spend any more time sitting there pretending to be interested when all I could think about was her.
I pulled out my phone before I even reached the car.
Me: The date was terrible. I’m going to pick up lunch. Do you want anything?
I got in the car, started it, and blasted the AC.
Kensey sent a photo of what appeared to be the most depressing salad I’d ever seen in my life. Pale lettuce. A few cherry tomatoes. Something that might have been cucumber. No dressing that I could identify.
Kensey: I’ll take anything that tastes better than this.
Me: I’m on it. Don’t eat that.
Kensey: It tastes like regret.
Me: Step away from the lettuce.
I already knew where I was going. I got her the meatball sub. I got myself the same thing. I added two bags of kettle chips and a couple of the small cannoli from the glass case by the register.
I came up the stairs. She was sitting at her desk with the salad sitting on the corner.
“What did you get?” she asked.
“Meatball sub.” I set the bag on the edge of her desk and started pulling things out.
“You went to Caruso’s?”
“I did. Come on,” I said, nodding toward my office. “I’m not eating at my desk. Too messy.”
She picked up her sub and the chips and followed me in. I cleared the corner of the coffee table and we settled onto the couch, angled toward each other with the food between us. I opened my sub and the smell hit me immediately.
“Okay,” she said, already unwrapping hers. “This smells incredible.”
“I know.”
She scrunched her nose before she took the first bite. I watched her close her eyes and slowly nod. It was an image I wouldn’t get out of my head for the rest of my life.
“Oh my God,” she said.
“Right?”
She wiped her lips. “Okay. Tell me about the date.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“Give me something.”
I opened my chips. “She was perfectly nice. Attractive. I wasn’t in the right headspace.”
“You’ve had a few busy weeks,” she reasoned. She reached over and stole one of my chips without asking. I let her. She’d been doing that for years and I’d been letting her.
“Did you at least try?” she asked.
“I tried.” I leaned back against the couch cushion.
“I’m sorry,” Kensey said. “That’s uncomfortable.”
“I’ve had worse.” I watched her steal another chip. “You know you have your own bag.”
“Yours taste better.”
I grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the corner of her mouth where sauce had collected.
“You went in with your mind already made up,” she said, not unkindly. “That’s not really giving it a fair shot.”
I looked at her. “Are you arguing for me to go back out with the woman I just told you was a bad date?”
“I’m arguing for you to be fair to yourself.” She looked back at her food. “And to her.”
I hated that she was trying to convince me to date. It really pissed me off and made me wonder if she was thinking about dating. That was not an image I wanted in my head.
“How’s the sub?” I asked.
“So much better than the shitty salad.”
“Did your mommy pack you a lunch?” I teased.
“Shut up. She did.”
I laughed again. “You better dump it in the trash or she’s going to know you didn’t eat it.”
“Good thinking.” She got to her feet and walked to the fridge. I watched her pull it open and grab us each a drink. She opened mine and handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I said and took a drink.
She sat back down, sipped her soda, and reached for another chip. I was about to accuse her of theft when she popped the chip in my mouth.
I laughed around it. “Gotcha,” she said. “You thought I was going to eat it.”
She took another enormous bite, and a small dab of tomato sauce landed on the hem of her blouse. She looked down at it immediately. “Oh, no.”
“Here.” I reached over and plucked another napkin from the bag, and without thinking, dabbed at the spot before she could do it herself.
“You’re a mess,” I said. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
“It’s a meatball sub.” She used her thumb to wipe my cheek. “You’re not exactly spotless.”
“I guess I should have probably gone with a basic turkey,” I said.
“We’ll just be careful.”
“It’s nice your mom made you lunch,” I said.
“She’s bored. Making me lunch gives her something to do. She’s going a little stir crazy.”
“We’ll have to do something to fix that,” I said.
“Like what?”
I winked. “We’ll think of something.”