Chapter 12
As much as I had dreaded the thought of any media attention prior to the publication of Mars, now that it was actually happening, it wasn’t so bad.
I appreciated the effort Bronwyn was making on my behalf to ensure that interviewers stuck to the agreed-upon topics.
It wasn’t like I was booked on any network morning shows, but it felt good to talk about my writing again, especially with people whose eyes didn’t glaze over after thirty seconds.
The two podcast interviews I’d done Monday morning were surprisingly fun.
My answers were flowing and I was barely anxious.
That could have been because I was downright giddy anticipating my mystery date with Max.
Whatever the reason, I nailed them and was feeling pretty darn good about myself.
So I walked into the coffee shop at noon with a bounce in my step, and Max flagged me down.
I gave him my brightest smile and tried to look casual sauntering over to the spot he’d staked out in front of the window.
As I walked, though, I managed to hip-check not one, but two chairs.
I was hoping he wouldn’t take it as an indication of my potential awkwardness in bed, followed almost immediately by a fervent prayer that he couldn’t tell I was having impure thoughts.
By the time I’d successfully completed the ten-foot urban-emotional obstacle course, he was standing there waiting for me with a grin.
“Hey,” he said as he leaned over and pulled me into the same hug I’d been dreaming of since our first date last week. I really needed to get a grip—and fast.
As Max gestured at the two gigantic coffee cups on the narrow ledge in front of him, his expression turned worried.
I thought he might be about to break the shocking news that Peet’s was out of coffee and he’d therefore been reduced to purchasing some nasty concoction of passion fruit tea with notes of banana cream pie.
“Here’s the situation,” he said finally.
“I realized I have no clue how you like your coffee, so I got two. One with half-and-half and one black.” Before I could weigh in, he went on.
“Oh, and here are some sugar packets, just in case. I got both raw sugar and the basic refined kind. If you prefer almond milk or whatever, I figured you could take the black coffee and doctor it up. They should both still be piping hot.”
“Thank you. That’s all very considerate—and, um, extremely thorough—of you?”
He laughed. “It was, wasn’t it. Sorry, force of habit. Checklist is my middle name.”
“Don’t apologize. I haven’t felt so well looked after in a long time. And as an overthinker myself, I truly respect the amount of thought you put into gaming out the myriad permutations of my preferred coffee additives.”
Although he was perched on a stool by this point, he managed a half bow. I would have definitely toppled off the stool if I’d tried the same.
“I’m going to put you out of your misery now,” I said. “Ready?”
He nodded.
“When I drink drip, I’m a half-and-half gal, no sugar, all the way.”
“No way! So am I. I mean, not the ‘gal’ part. But everything else. What are the odds? Wait,” he said, holding up a hand.
“Don’t answer that. Because then I’ll be forced to compute the odds and there’s a high probability my number won’t match yours, and it might lead to our first disagreement. I’m not ready for that. Are you?”
He was grinning, but everything about his demeanor screamed jittery. How much coffee has he had this morning?
“Wait,” he said again. “Don’t answer that, either.
I’m not strong enough for the truth yet.
” With that, he handed me the cup that was preloaded with half-and-half and shook his head as if to cut through the fog.
“Be right back. I’m gonna go over there and fix my coffee and come back a better man.
” He booped my nose with his index finger as he passed me, and I could have sworn I felt a zing.
I watched him weave his way between the tables over to the creamer bar.
I drank in his physique while his back was still turned and briefly wondered what I’d have to do to get him to perform his “I got dog poo on my shoe” wiggly dance again.
He was wearing black jogger pants and a snug, but not obnoxiously tight, white-and-gray dri-fit T-shirt.
It was exactly the kind of outfit Sam had loved to wear when he wasn’t on the court, which was a thought that had the power to level me if I let it.
But I wouldn’t let it, because less than an hour ago I had sworn to Frannie that I would repeat the mantra she’d made me memorize as many times as necessary to stay in the moment: Max is not Zach the astronaut from my book.
Max is definitely not Sam. Max is uniquely himself.
And scorching hot. Fine, I added the last three words just now.
“All right, let’s do this,” he said and pointed his chin toward the door. “I’m glad you followed instructions and wore sneakers. This is gonna be a fun day.”
He’d suggested I dress comfortably and prepare for lots of walking, so I was wearing my white sneakers, fitted cargo pants, and the same style T-shirt I’d worn for our first date, only this time in light blue, because why mess with success?
When he offered to drive my car, I happily turned over the keys.
Frankly, driving any type of vehicle in the presence of a person who could maneuver a spaceship through the Milky Way was not my idea of relaxing.
Plus, he still hadn’t told me where we were going, which would only add to the stress of the ride.
Ten minutes later we were on the 405 freeway heading south.
I started guessing destinations. “Newport Beach?”
“No,” he said simply.
“Legoland?” Frannie and I had taken Lucy there over spring break. It was fun, but not exactly what I was hoping this date would be.
“Nope,” he said.
As I considered my next guess, my phone vibrated with an incoming FaceTime call from Rebecca. I quickly declined it. I would call back as soon as I got home. “Wait, I know! Is it Balboa Island? For those famous Balboa ice cream bars?”
“No, but duly noted for a future date.”
“Smooth answer,” I said and flipped on the radio out of habit. A rendition of Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” by Alvin and the Chipmunks blared from the tinny speakers. As I fumbled with the tuning dial to change the station to something less mortifying, Max started singing along in a helium voice.
“Oh my gosh! Stop!” I swatted at him. “This is so embarrassing. I spend a lot of time in the car with my daughter, so I splurged on a SiriusXM subscription. This Alvin and the Chipmunks cover station is her favorite.”
“I like it,” he said, grooving to the beat and keeping time on the steering wheel.
I cast a skeptical glance his way as he reached over and put his hand on mine to keep me from changing the station. “Come on,” he laughed. “It gives me a window into your life. Would you mind telling me about your daughter?”
“Like what?” I said warily. “Are you trying to avoid my spectacular guesses?”
“Affirmative. But also, I want to know about her. Two things can be true, right?” He smiled. “Maybe we could start with her name? If that’s not too much for you, that is?”
I sighed deeply. Why was it so hard to talk about my number one favorite subject in the world?
What was I afraid of? She was 2,500 miles away.
If this thing, whatever it was, didn’t have legs, he’d be cast out of my life before Lucy ever set foot back in LA.
Maybe it was time to relax a little. “Lucy. Her name is Lucy, and she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.
She’s five, creative like me, athletic and goofy and bighearted like her dad was.
She’s been out of town with her grandparents for about a week, and I feel like I’m walking around without an important body part. ”
In one fell swoop, he expertly switched lanes and glanced over at me. “I’m no doctor, but you look magnificently whole to me.”
“Magnificently whole, huh? Well, that’s not quite as good as magnificent, full stop. But I’ll take it,” I said.
“Oh, I’m just getting warmed up, Thea.”
I liked the way he said my name. It was sweet and reverent, and full of something like hope. Or maybe I was the one feeling hope—and projecting. Either way, I felt happy.
“Lucy sounds amazing,” Max said. “I love kids.”
“You do? That’s nice. I mean, cool. Yeah, cool.
” Wow, back to the big words, are we now?
“Maybe when she gets home you can meet her.” Shit.
Did I just assume out loud that we’d still be doing this after today?
But then, wasn’t he hinting at that, too?
Unless those had been two separate thoughts—1) Lucy sounded amazing and 2) he loved kids—and were not intended to be conflated.
For a moment, I fell speechless, self-doubt roaring between my ears.
Then, inexplicably, I blurted, “Lucy loves rainbow sprinkles.”
An hour later, our destination revealed itself via the ever-so-enlightening freeway signs.
“Disneyland?” I said, incredulous. “The last time I was here was with Lucy during her princess phase. I swear, if I see Snow White, you’re going to have to hold me back because I will definitely go bonkers on that bitch.
We waited in line to take a picture with her for two hours and then she told the crowd she needed to tinkle real quick and went AWOL. Lucy wailed the entire ride home.”
“Wow, that sounds traumatic,” Max deadpanned. “But don’t worry, we are going for one reason and one reason only.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You love churros?”
“In fact I do,” he chuckled. “But I love roller coasters more. One, in particular.”
“Space Mountain,” I said as a feeling of dread overcame me.
He nodded once, confirming my intuition. “Space Mountain.”