Charlotte
I stare at my phone, frowning and mentally kicking myself in the ass for staying this long waiting on some guy.
Crunch was supposed to meet me here an hour ago.
I’ve called and texted, but I haven’t heard from him.
I’m about to call Nicole to complain about yet another failed Hinge date when a voice interrupts me.
I look up, and my frown turns into a smile.
Aidan is walking toward me, his dimples popping.
He’s wearing khaki shorts and a wrinkled blue linen button-down shirt with a white T-shirt underneath.
A lock of hair falls over his forehead, and he brushes it back with his hand.
His legs are especially nice, with curved calf muscles that ripple as he walks.
Who gives a fuck about Crunch when there’s an Aidan?
I delete Hinge right then and there.
“Oh, hey,” I say with genuine warmth. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here. What are you doing so far from Summerville?”
He jabs a finger toward the restaurant behind us and winces. “Dinner with my parents.”
“Oh,” I muse. “How was it?”
“Interesting,” Aidan says as he sits down. He crosses his legs and shifts to face me.
“What do you mean by interesting?” I ask, an eyebrow popping up.
He sucks in a bit of air and his eyesight travels to the ground. “Can I tell you later? At least until after I can process it?” He lifts his head and his gaze meets mine.
“Sure,” I remark, leaning back against the bench and shoving down my curiosity.
“What are you doing here?” He asks,
My stomach grumbles. “My date stood me up.”
Aidan lets out a low whistle. “I’m sorry. How long have you been here?”
“An hour. I’m fucking starving.” I shake my head, leaning forward and resting my chin in my hand, with my elbow digging into my thigh.
“I shouldn’t have agreed to it or even waited this long, but…
” My voice trails off. I stare down at my pedicured toes; a drop of the navy polish stuck to my toe knuckle from my rush job this morning.
I dig my heel into the brick. “I should’ve known that a guy named Crunch would have done something like this. I mean who names their kid Crunch?”
I don’t say that I mainly accepted this date on an impulsive whim because I’m convinced that Aidan only wants to be friends with me.
We had coffee and pizza together and I thought I flirted, but he didn’t seem interested in the flirting, or me at all.
Now I’m regretting it. I should’ve taken Nicole’s advice and asked Aidan out.
He nods. “It has to be a nickname.”
I toss my hands. “He said it was his legal name, but he could’ve changed it later in life.”
“What are you going to do now?” Aidan asks.
“Fully embrace spinsterhood and get a dozen cats. But I should probably get something to eat first.”
“They don’t let you adopt a cat on an empty stomach,” Aidan adds.
I sit back against the bench and chuckle. “I completely agree. Any recommendations? I’m out of decision tickets.”
He nods and leans back a bit in his seat. “Yes, I do. I know the perfect place. Mind if I join you?”
I study him for a second. “But didn’t you just eat?”
His mouth ticks up at the corner. “They were small plates, plus I didn’t have dessert.”
I lift up my hand to pat his shoulder, but my fingers freeze midair. “Let me guess, you’re a growing boy and need something with substance?”
Aidan’s mouth widens into a grin. “Clearly.” He takes my hand and lifts me to my feet. I feel a little lightheaded as I breath in the faint smell of caramel and coffee.
About twenty minutes later, we’re walking up the stairs of a chrome plated diner in Ellicott City. We walk in, and my eyes find a giant glass case near the front, filled with massive desserts.
“A diner?” I ask Aidan with a raised eyebrow. “Your solution to my hanger is a diner?” I point a finger at the succulent treats. “I mean cake always makes me happy.”
“Welcome to the EC Diner.” Aidan smirks.
“Please tell me you’ve eaten here before,” I inquire. I glance into the dining room. The only people here are older couples and high school students.
“I grew up coming here.”
The host, a middle-aged man with an accent I can’t quite place, takes us to a wood paneled booth, and we’re given books for menus. A jukebox sits at the end of the table, partially blocking my view of the window.
“When was that?” I ask as I flip through the sticky laminated pages of breakfasts, burgers, salads, steaks, and seafood. “Holy moly. Do they serve everything here?”
“Yes, except they stopped serving this delicious gyro club,” Aidan says, resting his hand over his chest. “It’s the go-to place for when you’re sad, or celebrating a win with your lacrosse team, or hungover, or both.
” He gestures over to the table of giggling high school students, who must be members of a boys’ lacrosse team, based on their shirts.
Crossing my arms, I sit back in my chair and peer at him through squinted eyes. “I don’t envision you as a lacrosse player.”
He shakes his head. “Hell no. Not that I have anything against it. I’m sure lacrosse is a beautiful sport filled with camaraderie and teamwork.”
“They hit each other with aluminum poles.”
Aidan’s brows knit, and he leans back a bit into the booth. “They hit each other with aluminum poles?”
I nod slowly. “Yup.”
“How is that safe for children to play?” he replies in a concerned voice.
“I don’t know. So, what dangerous sport did you play?”
“Debate Club and Model UN,” he replies while perusing the menu.
“Me too! Wait, what high school did you go to? We might have debated each other.”
“Centennial. I don’t remember competing against Summerville.”
I study the mirrored ceiling for a moment. “Oh, I do. We argued about school uniforms. It was the state semifinals too.” I blink. “Some guy made my debate partner cry because her sources weren’t good enough or something. Wait, was that you?”
His mouth parts and his eyes widen. “Oh my god, I forgot about that. I remember that now. That was definitely not me. That was Josh. And he was a little too intense.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “He made me cry a couple times too. I recall someone yelling at him.”
I grin. “That was me. We had good sources, and he just didn’t like that our argument was better than yours.”
Aidan lifts a shoulder. “He wasn’t good at debate, anyways. Too competitive. Debating is about presenting the best possible argument, and hopefully the judge agrees.”
I chuckle. There’s something different about Aidan today. He’s softer, more open. He’s more active in conversation, and his dimples keep on reappearing. It’s like another layer has been peeled back and he’s showing me more pieces of himself.
Was Nicole right? Does he actually like me?
Before either of us can say anything else, a waitress comes to the table to take our drink orders. Aidan adds an order of loaded potato skins, and I raise my eyebrows at him.
“They’re really good.” He grins and adds with a wink, “Trust me.”
The waitress leaves, and I continue to scan the novel of a menu.
“Do they really serve breakfast all day?” I ask when I get to the end.
“Yes. Try the pancakes.”
I look up at him from the menu and grin. “It feels illegal to have breakfast for dinner.”
“Last I checked, it’s not illegal to order breakfast for dinner,” he says with a wave toward the menu. “Get. The. Pancakes.”
I snap the menu shut. “My decision has been made. I’m getting the chocolate chip pancakes.” Sighing, I add, “Do you cook?”
He shrugs and scrunches his mouth. “I think so. No one has died from my cooking yet. I refuse to do anything with an open flame.”
“Open flame?” I ask with a quirked eyebrow.
“A grill. Or a gas stove. Do you know how many fires start in kitchens each year?” he asks, and I shake my head. “A lot. People have lost their lives, and trillions of dollars of damage, all due to kitchen fires.”
“You wanted to be a firefighter when you grow up, didn’t you?”
His eyes blow wide. “Absolutely not. Fire and I are not friends.”
The waitress drops off our drinks and potato skins and takes our orders. I stick to ordering chocolate chip pancakes, while Aidan orders crème br?lée banana pancakes.
I smile. “What was it like growing up in Howard County? Is it really the utopia that people talk about?”
“It’s not a utopia.” Aidan frowns. “Taxes are high, and there’s an increasing gap in economic inequality.
Home prices are rapidly increasing due to the rise of corporations purchasing houses.
The homeless population is increasing due to the rising cost of living and stagnant wages.
Major corporations are pushing out small businesses with their competitive prices and financial backing from shareholders…
” He eyes me warily before his voice trails off.
“Um, sorry. I’m just passionate about, uh, things. ”
My mouth drops. “Wow. You are going to have an amazing speech.” I lean back against the bench. “What inspired you to take an interest in local politics?”
“I don’t know.” His gaze falls to the small plate in front of him. “I just see things wrong with the world, and I want to fix them. It’s part of why I got into teaching. I want to make a difference.”
“I like that. Have you done anything like this before? Like be on a committee?”
He nods. “What’s with all the questions?” He folds his arms onto the table.
Anxiety flutters in my stomach. Does he think I’m annoying? “I just want to learn more about you.” I watch him for a second before adding, “Is that ok?”
“Of course,” he replies with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m just not used to it.”
I pluck a loaded potato skin from the plate, dip it into the sour cream, and take a bite. “Damn, this is good,” I mutter out loud.
“Told you.” He takes one, globs a dollop, and takes a mouthful. After he swallows, he asks, “Can I ask you questions?”
I wave a hand. “Sure. That’ll make things fair.”
“How long have you owned the bookstore?”
I drum my fingers on the table. “I inherited it from my father after he died of Covid in 2020.”
“Oh.” His expression softens and he raises his hand, stretching the palm as if he were about to reach out and grasp my own. “I’m sorry. Shit, the other day, you said was and I didn’t even connect the two.”
I shrug. “It’s ok. My mom’s still alive. If you’re wondering. She’s living her best life traveling with my aunt in Europe for the summer.” I don’t know why, but it seems relevant to share that information with him. I take a sip of my water. “Did you always want to be an English teacher?”
“No, I actually wanted to be an English professor.”
“So instead of dealing with moody high schoolers, you wanted to deal with moody college students?” I ask him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
“That makes me sound insane,” Aidan replies with pressed lips and a scowl.
“But I would’ve loved the research and publication side of academia.
I love the works of minority authors during the twentieth century and wanted to specialize in it.
Everybody has read The Great Gatsby and The Sun Also Rises, and everything by Sylvia Plath, but how many people have read Beloved or A Raisin in the Sun or anything by Langston Hughes? ”
“Do you like teaching?”
“I do. I can’t imagine doing anything else.
Teaching college would have been fun, but I more of a positive impact.
” He chews on his lower lip. “While I’m limited by what I can teach thanks to our county curriculum, I do have some freedom with what books my students read.
” He grabs another potato skin and takes a bite out of it.
“It gets annoying when parents complain that I’m”—he air quotes—“‘too woke’ to teach their kids. But I like it when the students connect with an author or a poet who looks like them. When I tell them there are a whole bunch of authors who look like them, the kids actually start reading.”
I snicker and grin. “And they become my customers when they have grown-up money.” Lifting my water glass, I toast him. “Thanks for fueling the book addiction pipeline.”
“Always happy to help,” he replies with a smile.
“Why didn’t you get your PhD and become a professor?”
Aidan pauses for a moment, looking down at his plate while drumming his fingers on the table. “Too much money. My father only agreed to pay for graduate school if it was a law degree. I didn’t want to go into debt.” A shadow passes over his face.
That explains why his dinner with his parents was interesting.
“Graduate degrees are expensive.”
He sips his drink. “College is expensive.”
“It is. I’m still paying off mine.” The waitress brings our food, and we immediately dive in. I bite into the fluffiest, butteriest pancakes I have ever tasted.
“Did you always want to be a bookseller?” Aidan replies between bites of his pancakes.
“Yup,” I remark, setting my knife and fork against the checkered plate. “Dad opened the store when I was in high school, and I worked there whenever I could. I started full-time after I graduated from college, and I’m not really sure if I could do anything else. Books are my life.”
“What did you major in?” he asks.
“Business Admin with an English minor. I hated the business classes, but I felt like it would help me with running the store.” I drum my fingers against the table. “I learned a lot about marketing and finance, so I’d like to think it was a good investment.”
I eye his fancy looking pancakes. They’re drizzled with caramel and topped with bananas. “Those look really good.”
“Want a bite?” Without waiting for my answer, he cuts off a generous piece of pancake and sets it on my plate.
“Thanks,” I say, almost dumbfounded. I can’t remember the last time a guy ever gave me a bite of his food, let alone offered it so willingly.
He notices me staring and stops eating. “You ok?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok,” I say quickly. “Want to trade?”
“Of course! Sharing is caring.” Aidan smiles as I cut a piece and put it on his plate.