Chapter 9
Ella
“Rock, paper, scissors.” We do three rounds, and I lose all three, which means I’m the lucky one who gets to go down to the lobby to grab the Italian food.
Ashton gives me a thumbs-up, then collapses onto the couch. “This is nice.”
“Hate you,” I sing-song as I put on my orange Birkenstocks, struggling to get my pink fuzzy socks into them.
My toes look pregnant, but whatever. I put on the first sweatshirt I can find, a baby-blue one that says Get Baked on it, another zinger from Ashton.
My gray sweatpants are so thin from overuse that you can probably see my black thong, and my hair’s already fallen out of my messy ponytail.
I’ve taken off all my makeup, but at least I’m freshly showered.
I get into the elevator and take it down to the lobby, where our delivery is waiting. Ah, it’s Carl. I’ve gotten him a dozen or so times. He’s very committed to his job, and he likes to gossip with Chester.
He’s setting the bag down on the lobby table when he looks up and does a quick double-take.
A smile tugs at his mouth. “Going to the Met Gala, I see.”
I glance down at myself, then back up. “You know it.”
He chuckles and hands me the bag and the carton of salted caramel ice cream. “Enjoy your food.”
“Thank you.”
I turn toward the elevator, juggling the bags—and nearly trip over my Birkenstocks on the way in.
The doors start to close when someone walks in. I look up into chocolate brown eyes and nearly choke on my tongue.
It’s him.
It’s Nathan. I haven’t seen him for a couple of days. Since the underwear situation—perfect timing.
So not only did I wear makeup all week, but I also wore heels.
And this? This is what the universe does to me?
I’m so painfully aware of my own clothes that I don’t even want to look down.
I don’t want to look at him either. So, I go extremely still, hands burning from the Italian food, and stare at my own damn reflection in the elevator doors, which keeps getting worse by the second.
Nathan clears his throat. “Salted caramel, hmm?”
My head jerks in his direction. It takes a solid three seconds before I lift the ice cream. “It’s my favorite.”
He says nothing.
I clear my throat. “It was a long week, so I DoorDash’d Marco’s from down the street.”
My left hand is getting burned from the heat of the Italian food, and my right hand is going to freeze off from the ice cream. My hair keeps getting dangerously close to my eyes.
“I’ve been meaning to try that place,” he says almost absentmindedly.
“Yeah, we should!” I blurt. Then I realize what I just said. I open my mouth to correct myself when the elevator doors open to my floor.
“Um, sure,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to figure me out.
Before I can think, I blurt again, “Tomorrow night? Seven?”
He looks even more confused now. “I… uh…um, okay.”
“So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” he repeats, and his eyes flicker like he’s surprising himself as well as me.
The doors close behind me.
My heart is still trying to escape my ribcage by the time I make it into the apartment and set the food on the counter.
Dr. Doom is on Ashton’s lap. She’s watching something involving a very serious narrator and a dead person.
Without looking away, she says, “Did you go downstairs to get the food, or did you join a witness protection program?”
“Ashton,” I say, breathless.
She finally looks over.
Something in my face must give me away, because she straightens. “What happened?”
“I—” I stop. Then I laugh, because I don’t know how else to say it. “I ran into Nathan. In the elevator.”
Her eyes narrow. “And?”
“And now I think I have a date tomorrow.”
She blinks. “You think.”
“I mean—” I gesture vaguely at myself. “We talked about Marcos. And then I said we should go. And then I said tomorrow. And then he said okay. But he also looked like he was trying to solve a math problem in his head.”
Ashton stares at me. Then she grins. “So, you asked him out.”
“I guess...”
“That’s what it sounds like.”
“Do you think he was just being polite?” I ask, scrunching my nose.
She smiles. “I think he could’ve said no. And he didn’t.”
I sit there for a second, letting that sink in.
I still don’t entirely understand how that just happened, but apparently, I have a date.
It’s been a long time.
I don’t know what tomorrow is going to look like. I don’t know if it will be awkward, easy, or somewhere in between.
But for the first time in a while, I’m actually… excited.