Chapter 25 #2
“It’s really beautiful.” I have no idea who she’s supposed to be, but I’m not about to admit it by asking.
She smiles. “Thank you. It took me weeks to make it.”
I’m impressed. “You made that? Yourself?”
“Yes! Most of the people here make their own costumes,” she says.
Wow. I had no idea.
“The Riftwalkers is a classic,” Duffy explains. “They made a movie a couple years ago. We’ll have to watch it.”
I get a mental picture of what life with Duffy would be like.
Conventions and costumes and Crest.
I shove the thought aside.
“Have you guys met him before?” a guy wearing an Ironman costume asks from behind us in the line.
This sparks a whole conversation about Reggie Maxwell, the creator of this graphic novel I’ve never heard of, a point that gets brought up three more times as more people join in. Duffy looks for ways to include
me in the conversation, stopping to explain phrases I’m not familiar with or characters I don’t know.
It’s interesting to see how easily they all become friends. These people don’t know each other, but they’re all bonding over
a shared passion. Minus the costumes and the character voices, these are regular people.
The thought takes me back to the day I met Lennon. I’d been so scared to strike up a conversation with anyone I didn’t know,
and rightfully so, it turned out. But what I’m seeing play out in front of me is that most people want the same thing—to connect
with other people.
And while this wouldn’t be my first choice for a date venue, I get the sense that Duffy is super excited to share this part
of his life with me. It’s important to him, and he’s intent on helping me understand it.
It’s sweet.
When it’s our turn to meet the author—a young guy with dark, greasy hair and an unfortunate mustache—I try to step aside.
But Duffy pulls me over to the table to stand next to him.
“This is my girlfriend, Claire.”
Reggie could not be more disinterested. I, on the other hand, am slightly stunned. First, because I think I’m too old to be anyone’s “girlfriend.” The word makes me think of middle school. Second, because . . . girlfriend? Aren’t we supposed to discuss labels before giving them?
Duffy hands over his comic book and his scrapbook, launching into a gushing display of admiration. Reggie isn’t rude exactly,
but he does seem like he’d rather be anywhere but sitting at this table. He hands Duffy’s books back and thanks him with a
forced smile.
“No, thank you, Reggie, really. I can’t wait to see what happens next.” Duffy presses the books to his chest. “Thank you.”
We say goodbye to the colorful characters we met in the line, and despite the “girlfriend” snafu, I have to smile. Because
these people are more excited about being here, about these costumes and their subculture, than I’ve been about anything in
a very long time.
“Hey, Duffy,” I say as we walk down the carpeted aisle. “About the ‘girlfriend’ thing . . . ?”
He stops. “Oh yeah, sorry about that. It sort of popped out.”
I smile. “I just didn’t think we were at that stage yet.”
He pulls me off to the side, out of the foot traffic. “If I’ve offended you, please forgive me.” I can’t tell if he’s still
playing a role or if this is actually the way he talks.
“No, I’m not offended, I just—” I smile. “I want to take things slow.”
“Slow is good,” he says. “I’m great with slow.”
I nod. “Good.”
“Good.”
We start walking again, joining a crowd in front of a large stage where we listen to two actors from a superhero movie talk
about what’s next for the franchise—something exciting judging by the reactions of the crowd. When the event is done, we weave
our way through groups of video game characters come to life, visiting every single exhibit in the huge space.
By the time we reach the end, my feet are sore, my stomach is growling, and all I can think is—mac ’n’ cheese sounds really good right now.
Mac ’n’ cheese. A lifetime ago.
Still, I’m really glad I came. And nobody is more surprised about that than me.
Sometimes, things are better than you imagine.
As we leave the convention center, Duffy is practically walking on air. “That. Was. Incredible. Wasn’t that incredible? That might’ve been my best con yet.” He grins over at me. “Did you have an okay time?”
“I did, actually,” I say. “Thanks for bringing me.”
“I’m glad you came.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “I’ve never brought a date to one of these before. But my friends
told me that any woman I’m going to date deserves to know what she’s getting into.” He gives me a quick side-eye. “Not everyone
is as cool about it as you are.”
He squeezes my hand and I hold my breath, searching for any sign of flutters.
There are none.
“I didn’t mean to stay so long, and now we don’t have time for dinner.” He opens the door to his sensible Toyota Camry.
“That’s okay,” I say. “It was worth it.”
He closes the door and runs around to the other side and gets in, pulling on his seat belt and adjusting every mirror like
he wasn’t the last one to drive this car. “I have a Sunday night ritual I can’t break.”
“You do?” I’m imagining meal prep or laundry or something practical.
He starts the car and backs out of the parking space.
“I moderate an online forum,” he says. “And we have weekly discussions.”
“What kind of forum?”
“Conspiracy theories mostly,” he says. “Like things the government doesn’t want you to know.
Alien abductions. Elvis sightings.” He pauses for a three-count, then chuckles.
“Just kidding. We know Elvis doesn’t go out anymore.
” He goes silent for a beat, then starts laughing again.
“You should see your face. I’m kidding!”
After today . . . that was not obvious.
My laugh is strained. “Oh.” I mean to say more, but I can’t find any other words. Duffy is kind, but he is odd.
Can I get on board with “odd”?
“Actually, I go over the schedule for the week, pull up patient charts, and make sure I know every kid’s name. I try to make
it all as laid-back and easy as I can because kids are usually terrified of the dentist.”
“Some adults too,” I add.
“True.” He smiles. “I find that if I know a little something about them, it helps. So we ask the parents a few questions when
they make the appointment. You know, ‘What’s your kid into right now?’ ‘Is there anything they might be able to talk about
that would put them at ease?’ That sort of thing.”
I look at him. “That’s really sweet.”
A self-deprecating shrug. “My patients are really important to me.”
He reaches over and takes my hand.
Not a single flutter.
Duffy turns on a jazz playlist, and the sound of mellow music fills the car. We drive back to my apartment, and he parks in
the little lot at the end of the street, then shuts the car off.
“I’ll walk you in.”
“Oh, you don’t have to,” I say, not wanting to face the lingering at the door.
“Don’t be silly,” he says. “I’m not sending you out into the darkness alone. There could be orcs out there.” He laughs quietly and opens his door, meeting me around the other side of the car.
We walk in silence toward the building, and I say a silent prayer that nobody is in the courtyard, thankful to find it empty.
The white string lights and exterior building lights cast a warm glow over the space, and in different circumstances, this might actually be a very romantic setting for the end of a date.
In these circumstances . . . in this dress . . . I’m just anticipating an awkward Middle-earth goodbye.
It’s taking a lot of effort not to look at Miles’s apartment, and eventually, my willpower fails. I’m part disappointed, part
relieved to see that it’s dark.
We reach my door, and I pull my key out of my bag, then look at Duffy. “Thank you for a very unique date.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Are you okay?”
“I want to kiss you.” His eyes are locked onto mine. “I really like you and you’re beautiful and you’re the perfect Arwen
to my Aragorn.”
I smile. “Thank you, Duffy. I like you too.” Though, maybe not romantically. Still, when he steps closer, I don’t move away.
Maybe there is something here? Maybe I should at least see?
Or maybe I just need Miles to not be the last man I kissed.
I can tell when I look at him that he’s waiting for my permission, and while that’s incredibly sweet, it does nothing to stir
any kind of swoony feelings inside me.
He reaches for my hand. “Thank you for the honor of escorting you out this evening.”
I press my lips together to hold back a smile. I’m not sure if I’m horrified or charmed by Duffy’s quirks. I decide to roll
with it. “The honor was all mine.”
He reaches up and touches my cheek, then leans in and presses his lips softly against mine. He holds the kiss for three short
seconds and then pulls back, smiling. “I’ll call you.”
I didn’t even close my eyes.
It turns out a chaste, end-of-the-Hallmark-movie kind of kiss does nothing to erase the memory of a toe-curling, stomach-swooping, makes-you-forget-your-name kind of kiss.
Darn.
I signed up to have a booth at a farmers’ market!
My first public business outing. My debutante ball.
I’m going to crush it.
I’ve been working with Zoey on social media photos and videos, something strange and uncomfortable but, according to her,
necessary.
Inspections, permits, checking that things are built to code, all underway at The Porch. Now that I have a logo (it’s so cute!),
I’ve been able to order paper products, the sign for the window, and T-shirts for our staff. (I have a staff!)
I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly been able to think about Miles at all.
Which is a lie.
I do wonder what’s been keeping him busy. I haven’t seen him in days.