Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
JULIE
I'm at the shop mixing a new batch of chamomile soap when my phone buzzes for the third time in fifteen minutes. Jamie looks up from what she's working on and grins.
"Let me guess," she says. "Asher?"
I feel my cheeks heat as I check the screen.
What's your stance on pineapple on pizza?
"He's asking about pineapple on pizza," I say.
Jamie laughs. "Oh my god. You two are ridiculous."
"What?"
"You've been texting nonstop. I've watched you smile at your phone more in the last three days than I have in the last year."
I try to look offended, but I can't stop smiling. "We're just talking."
"Uh-huh. Did you admit that you like pineapple? Because that might be a dealbreaker."
I type back:
Controversial opinion: I'm very pro-pineapple.
His response is immediate.
BLOCKED. We're done.
I laugh out loud.
"What?" Jamie demands.
"He says we're done because I like pineapple on pizza."
Hey! It's sweet and savory. Don't be a hater.
"He's not wrong." Jamie sets down the jar she's been holding. "Although honestly, this is already better than your last guy."
"Phillip was... nice."
"Phillip was bland as hell, just like every guy you've ever dated. He took you to Applebee's every time you had a date because he had coupons."
"He was a nice guy and dinner was always delicious," I say defensively. "The shrimp is good at Applebee's."
"Julie. It's not the restaurant. It's that he wanted life to be unbearably predictable and he could only have lights-off sex which apparently rendered him incapable of finding the clit." She shakes her head. "This guy is different. You can tell."
My phone buzzes again.
Fine. I respect your terrible taste. Dinner tonight? I promise no pineapple.
I look up at Jamie. "He wants dinner tonight."
Jamie rolls her eyes. "Shocker."
What time?
6? I'll pick you up.
It's a date.
Jamie is watching me with this knowing smile. "You really like him."
"I think I do," I admit. “He makes me laugh.”
"I like it. Just be careful until you're sure he's legit."
"Why?"
"You know why." She leans against the counter.
She means our father. AKA the reason I date men who are boring. Who never ask for too much, and more importantly, don't take too much, either.
Asher is the first guy I've ever been attracted to who lives life loud. But unlike my father, he's fun. Also, I know he isn't using me for money or to get a promotion, which is why my dad married my mom.
His boss had been family-focused and my dad needed a wife. So he went after my mom and married her because the boss in question had been her stepfather. And once he died, there was no need for dad to be married to my mother.
"He doesn't need me for anything," I point out. "You're the one who Googled him. He's definitely not dating me for money or status or a promotion."
Jamie nods her concession. "It's true. So far he passes the sniff test and is nothing like dad."
And thank God for that.
Asher picks me up at six. When I open the door, he just stares at me for a second. "Hi," he says finally.
"Hi."
"You look beautiful."
I'm wearing dark jeans, a fitted black top, and black ankle boots with three-inch heels. Nothing super sexy, but it's nice that he thinks I look good.
"So do you," I say, and he laughs.
"I don't think anyone's ever called me beautiful before."
I doubt that. I really do. Because he is. "Well, you are. Deal with it."
He takes my hand as we walk to his car. "So I have a confession."
"Oh no."
"I didn't actually make dinner reservations."
I stop walking. "Asher."
"Wait, hear me out." He opens the passenger door for me. "I thought we could do something different tonight. Something fun."
"What kind of fun?"
"You'll see."
Twenty minutes later, we're standing in front of a bowling alley in Capitol Hill. I look up at the neon sign, then at Asher. "Bowling?" I ask.
"Bowling." He grins. "When's the last time you went bowling?"
"College?"
"Exactly. Come on. It'll be fun."
We get our shoes, hideous red and blue, they absolutely do not go with my outfit. As soon as we have them laced up, Asher starts trash-talking.
"I should warn you," he says as we walk to our lane. "I'm very competitive."
"Oh really?"
"Really. I don't lose."
"We'll see about that,” I say with a ton of false confidence. I bowl first. The ball goes straight into the gutter.
Asher tries not to laugh. "That was... a good effort."
"Shut up."
My second ball knocks down three pins. Asher gives me a slow clap. "Okay, hotshot," I say. "Your turn."
He steps up to the lane with this cocky confidence, winds up, and releases the ball. It curves beautifully down the lane and knocks down seven pins. His second ball gets the remaining three.
"Spare!" he announces, turning to me with a grin. "See? Told you I was good."
"Beginner's luck."
"We'll see."
By the third frame, it's clear that Asher is actually good at bowling and I am very much not. But I don't care. We're laughing too hard for me to care about the score.
"Okay, wait," Asher says when I pick up the ball for my fourth turn. "Let me help you."
"I don't need help."
He laughs and comes up behind me, his hands settling on my hips. “Jules. Let me help. Here. You're standing wrong."
"I'm standing wrong?"
"Yes. You need to—" He adjusts my stance, his chest pressed against my back. "There. Now when you release, follow through. Like this."
He guides my arm through the motion, and I'm suddenly very aware of how close he is. How warm his hands are. How good he smells. "Got it?" he murmurs near my ear.
"Uh-huh."
"Then show me."
I take a breath and release the ball. It rolls down the lane and knocks down six pins. "Yes!" I spin around and throw my arms around his neck. "Did you see that?"
He's laughing, his arms wrapping around my waist. "I saw. You're a natural."
"I had a good teacher."
"Damn right you did."
We stay like that for a moment, just smiling at each other. Then someone from the lane next to us yells, "Uh oh, someone's about to need to get a room!" and we both laugh and pull apart.
By the end of the game, Asher has won by a landslide, but I don't care. We're both giddy and breathless from laughing.
"Okay," I admit as we return our shoes. "This was a good idea."
"Told you."
"Don't get cocky."
"Sorry. Too late for that."
We grab burgers and fries from a diner down the street and sit in a corner booth, our knees touching under the table. Asher steals fries from my plate even though he has his own. Having a conversation with him is easy and doesn’t have weird starts and stops.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. His thumb traces circles on the back of my knuckles—once, slowly. "You know what I like about you?"
"What?" My heart has suddenly relocated somewhere near my throat.
"You're honest. You don't pretend. Most people I meet are..." He pauses, searching for the word. "Constructed. They're performing. But you're just you. And that's rare."
I don't know what to say. So I just squeeze his hand.
"Also," he adds, smiling, "you're terrible at bowling, which is endearing."
I laugh. "Ah, that’s the romantic line I was waiting for. So good, I'm in full swoon now. Catch me before I slide to the floor with a case of the vapors."
He throws back his head and laughs. "There's more where that came from."
When he drives me home, he walks me to my door like he always does. But this time, when he kisses me goodnight, it feels different. Deeper. More certain.
"I had fun tonight," I say when we finally pull apart.
"Me too."
"Even though I'm terrible at bowling?"
"Especially because you're terrible at bowling." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Can I see you tomorrow?"
"You're going to get sick of me."
"I assure you that won't happen."
"Asher—"
"Julie." He cups my face in his hands. "I'm not going to get sick of you. I'm not going to wake up one day and decide this isn't what I want. I’m absolutely certain you’re the one.”
I stare at him, my heart in my throat. "You seem awfully sure."
"I'm more than sure. In fact, I’m betting on it." He kisses me again, soft and sweet. "I'm taking this all the way."