Famous in a Small Town

“Yeah.”

It was us trying to be something. Together. But we didn’t need to say it out loud. Here we were on our first real live date. Actions spoke louder than words.

“And as I recall, you repeatedly and emphatically said you did not want to date,” he said. “How’s that working out for you?”

“We’re turning the truth levels right up to awkward, huh?” I asked.

“Babe, when haven’t we?”

“Good point.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I set down my silverware. “Well . . . I’m sitting here wearing the fanciest dress I own, wondering if you’re going to take it off me later.”

“I’ve been wondering about that too.” The candlelight flickered, reflected in his calm gaze. At least one of us had their shit together. “On that front, it’s been a little over two years for me.”

“Just under four for me.”

“You win that one.”

“Great.” I laughed. “As for how I feel about being here on a date with you . . .”

“Besides being nervous. Which is going around.”

“Right.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Anything to stop my heart from spontaneously combusting. “I have a hard time saying no to you. I don’t like staying away from you. In the short amount of time I’ve known you, you’ve become very important to me. That being said, my issues regarding dating as we’ve previously discussed are still of concern.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“And then there’s the whole thing where it’s a little hard to believe that I’m sitting here with you sometimes. The end.” I picked my silverware back up and got to eating. Because the food was delicious and amazing and deserved my attention. Though my stomach was doing a lot of tipping and turning.

After a few minutes of silence, however, I asked, “How about you?”

He picked up an onion ring, examined it, and set it back down. “This is happening sooner than I anticipated. I figured I’d probably meet someone eventually, you know? Just not so soon. Two years is a while, I guess, but . . . I don’t know.”

“You still feel guilty about me?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

I sat in silence.

“I’m not always sure what to do, because the grief is still there. It’s confusing. Trying to figure out what the fuck I’m feeling,” he said. “But since the first time we talked, it’s like you’ve taken up residence in this corner of my mind.”

“Please. You did not like me the first time we met.”

“What I didn’t like was my reaction to you.”

I took another sip of wine. It was good. Almost good enough to make me not mind how easily this man kept stealing pieces of my heart. “Enough deep and meaningful. Let’s give this beautiful meal the attention it deserves and make light and easy conversation. I insist.”

“Okay,” he said, cutting into his steak. “Talk to me. Tell me about your day, your friends, family, work, what you’ve been reading or watching on TV, or whatever. I want to hear about it all.”

“You do, huh?”

Given he was chewing on his food, he just nodded.

I owed a debt of gratitude to my junior drama club for helping me to keep a straight face. Though the mini heart attack his words caused, I couldn’t do much about. Guarding my emotions against him was getting harder by the moment. He wanted to know about me. All about me. That had happened before approximately never. Which really made me wonder what I’d been doing dating all of those losers in my younger years.

I pasted on a smile. “Okay, Garrett. Whatever you want.”

“It’s chocolate bourbon pecan torte,” said Garrett in the light from a dozen candles and the fridge. The way the light lit the planes of his face. How it made shadows of his cheekbones and the cut of his jaw. He was a work of art. “What do you think?

“Maybe later.”

He shut the fridge door. “You got it. What’s up next? What do people even do on dates these days?”

“Um. We could dance.”

“I don’t really dance.”

“You’re a musician,” I said. “What the heck do you mean, you don’t dance?”

He ruffled up his hair. A totally boyish and charming move. “I’m not actually that good at it, to be honest.”

“Ugh.”

“That’s a deal breaker, huh?”

“I guess it’s not the end of the world.”

“The way you say it kind of sounds like it might be,” he said, almost smiling.

“I’m disappointed. What can I say?”

“Was really hoping you wouldn’t feel that way at least until the morning after.”

“It’s good to have dreams, Garrett.”

He bit back a smile. Totally got him that time.

“Let me think, what else can we do? Hmm.” I tried to think big thoughts, but it didn’t work. Being here with him felt good and right. Much more than was safe or slow. Something had to be done about this, for both our sakes. “You know, you’ve never shown me upstairs.”