Chapter Seventeen
Elizabeth
“Now I will believe that there are unicorns in Africa.”
The Tempest
I was threading a very fine needle tonight.
It was one thing to pretend to be friends for an hour after Evan was forced into my company, but a double date?
Chelsea came over to wait, scanning my outfit with a knowing smirk.
I’d gone to extra trouble tonight with my clothes, hair, and makeup, hoping Evan would rue the day he rejected me.
But I had no plans beyond that. The only reason I was entertaining this so-called date was to keep Chelsea from bailing.
When the doorbell rang, I stood back to savor Basil’s reaction to Chelsea, but Evan stepped in, and my breath caught.
Either he was playing dirty, or he wanted me to see him beyond the fake glasses, faded sweatshirts, and unshaven jaw.
He’d gone overboard for a fake date, wearing a button-up shirt and tie.
I didn’t have the tools to date a guy this hot without stumbling, and I was going to make a total fool of myself—or end up flat on my back under him.
I quickly reminded myself it wasn’t a date. This was all for show. For Chelsea.
But then he ran his tongue across his lower lip as he took me in and said, “Wow.”
My head spun at the way his eyes grazed me, and I was this close to suggesting we didn’t need to go out at all.
But what I wanted—from any man I ended up with—was so much more than friends, more than fuck buddies, and Evan had already told me he didn’t want either.
Not with me. He’d wanted it with someone else, a fiction. Me, but not me. Her, but not her.
When his hand settled on my lower back as we walked out, I started to question my sanity.
Although the guys came over in Basil’s car, I suggested Evan and I go in mine. That way, we could sneak away and leave Chelsea stuck on a real date.
Evan opened the driver’s side door, and for a second, I thought he was going to insist on driving my car, like some macho power move, but he just stood there, waiting for me to slide in, and I had to laugh at the chivalrous gesture.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever opened the driver’s door for me before. ”
“I wasn’t raised by wolves, contrary to popular belief.”
The door closed, and he sauntered around to his side, just this casual work of art in my neighborhood. When he climbed in, I started the car and asked, “So if you weren’t raised by wolves, what sort of woodland creature are you?”
He snorted. “Oh, uh…” He strapped his buckle on. “That’s a good question.”
It was odd being in this small space with him, caught in this limbo of former lovers, new friends, coworkers, and possibly mortal enemies.
And yet, I didn’t feel as awkward as I would have expected.
I drove toward the Downtown Mall, struggling to keep the conversation from stalling and leaving us both rethinking this entire farce.
“I was raised by domesticated bears,” I blurted.
His gasp of a laugh was satisfying. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“Oh, yeah. Someone millennia ago fed one of my long-lost ancestors.”
He laughed, again. “Despite all the signs forbidding it.”
“No, see, we’re the reason they post those signs in the first place. ‘Don’t feed the bears, lest many generations later, they create suburban families whose chief enterprise is watching football and barbecuing in their backyard pit.’”
“Not to mention the picnics,” he said.
“Exactly.” While we waited at a light, I said, “So we’ve established you don’t hail from a long line of wolves, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t feral.”
“Quite the contrary. I was raised by land porpoises.”
I glanced over, grinning at him for volleying this insane conversation, but the light turned green, so I focused on the road ahead. “I didn’t know there was such a thing,” I echoed.
“Right, well it’s a little known evolutionary fact that some of the less clever porpoises sprouted legs and began cultivating life outside the water.”
“The less clever porpoises?” I wound through a neighborhood next to the downtown mall looking for off-street parking to avoid the expensive garage, rethinking my strategy when it started to rain.
“My ancestors migrated to landlocked central Virginia, but always dreaming of their former life in the water, they’ve spent every waking moment, sailing and fishing.”
“I really can’t blame them.”
I saw an open spot and went into my ninja parallel parking technique, saving me at least twenty bucks off the garage.
We walked to the Downtown Mall and waited under an awning until Chelsea and Bas approached.
Chelsea called, “Thanks for warning me to bring an umbrella,” sarcastically.
Evan held his hands up in protest. “I don’t officially start work until Monday.”
We hurried to the Jefferson Theater under a steady drizzle, arriving a bit early for the main act. The opener, a solo artist with a guitar on his knee, crooned some heartfelt love songs to the thin crowd.
“Do you want something to drink?” Evan asked into my ear.
I shook my head. Since this wasn’t a real date, I didn’t know how to navigate payment. I swayed along to the music and glanced over at Chelsea who leaned against Bas. At least that mission seemed to be on track.
Evan bent to say, “This guy’s really talented.”
And I suddenly hated everything about the scene: the romantic music, the fake date, the other couples touching each other without questioning their relationship. I called back to Evan, “Why are you even here?”
His face registered shock. “I wanted to knock it off my list.”
“What list?” Did he have something like Chelsea’s bucket list? Was I just an experience point for him?
“I’m trying to hit different spots in town. Like going to the university today. Reliving old memories.”
I relaxed. At least he was honest. “So you would have come with or without me?”
“Eventually. But not tonight.” He glanced over at our friends and bent closer. “You think I’d want to be a third wheel on that?”
As I scanned the audience, I noticed a pretty young woman, college age, staring at me.
No, not at me. At Evan. Brazenly checking him out.
I might not have been on a real date with him, but I found it pretty rude to thirst after someone who appeared to be taken.
I touched his upper arm, lightly, trying to give them a clue to back off.
I wasn’t sure why I even cared since he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in me, and I had no use for a playboy.
For all I knew, he wanted women to approach him—like I had that first night.
But when he glanced down at where I touched him, he didn’t make a move to pull away.
His eyes lifted, meeting mine, and I nearly jerked my gaze toward the stage to feign nonchalance, scared he might see the lingering desire there.
It was extra annoying because he’d been goofy, awkward Evan in the car coming over, and now I was back up in my head, reminded how fucking hot he was, how out of my reach.
But his eyes held a question, and I wanted to know what it was.
Then he looked past me, and I turned to see Bas wave and gesture at his wrist. Evan circled his hands saying out loud, as if Bas could hear him, “Are you going back to your place?”
Bas nodded, like he understood the question, then grabbed Chelsea’s hands and disappeared into the crowd, ditching us.
Motherfuck.
“I guess they’re, uh—” I started.
“Shit. Now I don’t know how long I should stay out to give them space.”
Right because he hadn’t found his own rental yet. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or insulted that he hadn’t even suggested going to mine.
The crowd had grown steadily, and as we began to jostle into each other, he leaned in and said, “Do you want to get out of here?”
Of course he’d want to leave once the pretext of our outing had run its course. “Sure.”
The night was relatively young, and outside the venue, people strolled to the many restaurants and bars still open.
“Are you hungry?” Evan asked, before leaving the shelter of the theater alcove.
“If you just need to kill time, we could go back to my place.”
He gave me a sidelong glance as if to remind me how that turned out last time. “I thought we could go somewhere and talk.” Oh. “Do you think we could get a table this late?”
Every restaurant would be loud and crowded, but the coffee places were closed. “I suppose we could try.”
We started back the way we’d come, and I couldn’t help compare it to the first night we’d met when I’d walked along beside him with this sense of excitement and trepidation.
He’d been a complete stranger I thought I’d never see again, but now we were here, again, and we’d shared experiences, layered on a little history.
He said, “I don’t know why I believed you that first night.”
So he was reliving our weird meet cute, too. “I wish we’d met some other way, but without Chelsea pushing me, I wouldn’t have even spoken to you.” I’d never have had the nerve. “Do you ever wonder what might have happened if we’d met some other way?”
He ran his hand through his hair, sighing. “That’s the thing. Maybe we would have met somehow. But it would be different, so we’ll never know. Like even if we’d first met at the TV station, we wouldn’t be friends.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t normally socialize with coworkers.”
Well, that added another damper to this night.
We neared the little diner that served ice cream and burgers, but no booze. It seemed quiet enough for conversation, so I said, “How about a milkshake?”
A look of recognition passed over his face. “I can’t believe this place is still here.”
“Another old haunt?”
“Hardly, but I remember it. So many other businesses have changed until this town feels like a body that’s been possessed by other spirits.”
He wasn’t wrong. “Or Spirit Halloween.”
He held the door open for me, and we settled into a booth.
The waitress came and took our order. I went for a chocolate mint milkshake, while Evan ordered French fries and a Coke.
Once we were alone again, I worked up the nerve to ask, “If you don’t socialize with coworkers, then what is this?”
“This?” He peered over the menu at me, and even the harsh light of the overhead fluorescents couldn’t wash out his beauty. No wonder the camera loved him.
“I mean, you’re out with me.” Oh, God, save me.
I could hear emotion in my voice I didn’t want to reveal.
What the hell was wrong with me. I pulled the parachute cord.
“Obviously, this isn’t a date, but we’re socializing, aren’t we?
You don’t think we might have been friends if we’d met any other way? ”
“It’s a catch-22, isn’t it? I probably wouldn’t have befriended you if you hadn’t impersonated someone I already knew.”
“So this is the only timeline where we could become friends?”
He lifted his eyes to mine, looking so wary. “Well, no. Not in this timeline either because you shattered my trust.”
Ah. Suddenly, I found I had nothing to say. There were no words that would reach him. He was simply never going to let it go.