Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
JULIE
Had I made a bet on whether he'd call, I'd have lost. He's both called and texted, which I file under pleasantly surprised.
"You're late," I say when Asher finally appears at the entrance to Pike Place Market, slightly out of breath.
"Eight minutes." He checks his watch. "Traffic was insane."
"Eight minutes is still late."
"Never." He steps closer, and the way he looks at me makes my stomach flip. "You look beautiful."
I'm wearing jeans and a sweater. Nothing special. But the way he looks me over makes me feel like I'm wearing something extraordinary. "You're forgiven," I say. "But only because you're cute when you're flustered."
"I'm not flustered."
"You ran here, didn't you?"
He laughs. "I may have briskly walked."
I gesture toward the entrance. "Come on. You owe me coffee."
The market is busy because it’s a Saturday morning with the usual mix of tourists and locals wandering between stalls selling flowers, fresh produce, and handmade crafts. We stop at the original Starbucks because it feels like something you're supposed to do, even though the line is ridiculous.
We wait. We talk. He tells me more about his job.
I tell him about the customer part of owning a store by sharing a story about an order that went sideways because for some reason a woman bought lavender soap but somehow expected it to smell like rose.
Nothing about the soap said rose. Not the color, the label, nothing. But she was pressed.
"How does that even happen?" he asks.
"I have no idea. She left a one-star review saying we 'misrepresented the product.'"
"That's insane."
"Welcome to small business ownership."
When we finally get our coffee, we wander through the market. Asher buys me a bouquet of dahlias from one of the flower stalls, and I tuck them into the crook of my arm, breathing in their faint sweetness.
"You didn't have to do that," I say.
"I wanted to."
"They're beautiful."
"So are you."
I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling. "You're laying it on thick today."
"Is it working?"
"Outlook uncertain, try again later."
He cocks his head. "Huh?"
"Like a Magic 8 Ball."
When he still looks confused, I pull up my phone to show him a video. He recognizes the novelty toy, but says he never shook one for answers. Rich people are a whole different breed I guess. How sad. As I slide my phone back into my purse, he clears his throat.
"2284," he says.
I jolt. "What?"
"Your password. 2284. It spells 'bath' on the number keyboard."
My stomach drops.
"You own a bath and body shop," he continues. "Anyone with observational skill and a desire to steal could crack your phone in under ninety seconds."
I stare at him, feeling like I've been cataloged. "But how—" I start, then stop. "You weren't even looking at my screen when I entered it."
"Even when I'm not trying to, I'm always looking. It's what I do."
Hot Porsche guy might be a little too intense. "That's…" I trail off, unsure what to call it.
"My weird superpower," he laughs. "It's an occupational hazard. I notice vulnerabilities like some people notice changes in temperature. It's nothing to panic about. But it is something to pay attention to if I make a suggestion."
That makes sense. I mean, I notice how people smell and what their skin looks like.
Whether it's dry or oily. My job doesn't stop just because I'm not at the store.
We walk down to the waterfront, coffee in hand, flowers tucked under my arm.
The sun is out, which can feel like a real gift in Seattle.
We find a bench overlooking the Sound and sit.
"So," Asher says, stretching his arm along the back of the bench behind me. "Tell me something I don't know about you."
"Like what?"
"Anything. Something weird. Something you wouldn't normally tell someone on a second date."
I think about it. "I'm terrified of birds."
He blinks. "Birds?"
"Yes. Birds."
"Like... what specific kind of birds?"
"All of them."
He's trying not to laugh. I can see it in the way his mouth twitches.
"Don't laugh," I warn.
"I'm not laughing."
"You're about to."
"I'm not—" He breaks, laughing so hard he has to set his coffee down. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just... birds?"
"They're unpredictable! And they have those beady little eyes and they're always plotting something."
"Plotting?"
"Yes. Plotting."
He's still laughing, and I shove his shoulder. "Your turn. Tell me something weird about you, besides the fact that you catalogue passwords like some people notice changes in temperature.”
He throws his head back and laughs. "Guilty."
Then he pauses, thinking. "Actually. No one knows this. But I can't whistle."
"What?"
"I can't whistle. Never got it down."
"Everyone can whistle."
"I can't."
"Try."
He purses his lips and blows air. Nothing comes out except a sad little whooshing sound. Now I'm the one laughing. "Oh my god. That's tragic."
"I know."
"Have you tried to learn?"
"Many times. I've accepted my fate."
I giggle. "This is the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"Sadder than your bird phobia?"
"Way sadder. I can keep that a secret unless I want to share it. But you couldn't whistle for a cab in New York City."
We both crack up and then sit grinning at each other like idiots. This is what I wanted. Not the fancy dinners or the grand gestures. Just this. Sitting on a bench, drinking overpriced coffee, laughing about stupid things.
"Come on," he says, standing and offering me his hand. "Let's go find you some lunch that won't attract any plotting birds."
I take his hand and let him pull me up. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Absolutely not."
We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering, through the market, down to the sculpture park, along the waterfront. We share a basket of fish and chips and people watch, which he's very good at. I like spending time with him. He's fun.
When he drops me off at my apartment that evening, the sun setting behind us, he kisses me goodbye like he doesn't want to leave. Thankfully, he's smart enough not to repeat his first-date mistake and ask to come up.
"When can I see you again?" he asks.
I’m way more open to exploring this than I was last night. "When do you want to see me?"
"Tomorrow."
I laugh. "You don't think it's too soon?"
"Nope. I think it's not soon enough. Say yes."
"Tomorrow," I agree.
He grins. "Tomorrow it is."
I watch him walk back to his car, and I'm still smiling when I close my apartment door behind me. I set the dahlias in a vase on my kitchen counter and pull out my phone to text Jamie.
I think I'm in trouble.
She responds immediately.
Good trouble or bad trouble?
Outlook uncertain.
Classic 8-ball reference lol.
Her text makes me laugh because it reminds me that Asher didn’t get it at all. At least my sister always gets me.