Every Saturday Night (Firsts and Forever 6)

The fiancées hurried inside while I tried to make myself useful by sweeping the patio. About a minute later, my phone beeped. It was surprising to see a text from Lucky.

It said: Do you have a minute? I need your opinion on something.

I replied: Sure. I just got home and am being minimally helpful with some yardwork. I snapped a quick photo of the yard and sent it.

His next message asked: Who’s the hot Black guy?

I glanced at the photo and wrote back: I hadn’t even realized I’d sent you a beefcake photo of Lark’s boyfriend. Oops. Both Lark and Dylan were in the shot, and both were wearing tank tops. But Dylan was in the process of hoisting a big piece of lumber over his head, and with his muscular build he looked like Mr. July in a sexy construction worker calendar. I’d actually been trying to take a photo of the flower beds.

I sent another text to keep the conversation from bogging down in awkwardness: So, what did you need an opinion on?

He wrote: I’m shopping for new frames. It’s one of those online things where you take a photo and virtually try on different glasses. I have a feeling you’re the only person I know who’ll answer this question honestly.

His next text included a photo of him raising a brow while wearing a pair of round tortoiseshell frames. The caption said: Do these make me look like a douche?

I chuckled at that and replied: Yes.

Lucky answered: I knew it! I knew you’d tell me, too. Are these any better?

He sent another photo with black, clunky frames, and I wrote: They’re perfect.

Really?

Yes, if you’re a door-to-door Bible salesman and it’s 1956.

I grinned at his next text, which said: I’m never making a decision without you ever again.

Then I asked: What’s wrong with your current glasses?

This time, he sent me a selfie wearing the thin, black frames I’d seen before, and I was struck all over again by how stunningly handsome he was. He told me: I thought some different frames might lend an air of authority.

Oh, now I got it. He was probably thinking ahead to taking over the family business and wanted to be taken seriously. It seemed like he was feeling a little insecure about it, so I wrote: You’re the type of man who commands authority no matter what. I wouldn’t worry about the glasses.

His last text said: Thanks for taking the time to help me out. I’ll talk to you soon.

I really liked the fact that he’d messaged me. It was obviously more about reaching out and involving me in his life than actually needing my help, and I was all for building that friendship…or whatever it was.

* * *

That evening, Lark and Dylan cooked a huge spaghetti feast for the Pink Victorian Crew. The household was establishing a new tradition—taking turns cooking dinner and gathering together for a communal meal on Sunday nights, to give us all a chance to touch base. Eliot and I were teaming up to prepare a meal the following weekend, and we were seriously considering ordering pizza, since neither of us was much of a cook.

As was often the case lately, the conversation turned to Yolanda and JoJo’s wedding. Even though the couple had wanted to keep it small and relatively simple, there were still a lot of details to wrap up, and we were all helping. JoJo had decided it would be fun to give out party favors, so ideas were being tossed out for what that should be.

I was only half-participating, because Owen was making the most extraordinary mess with the chopped up pasta I’d given him. I kept trying to wipe his mouth to keep him from turning himself into an Oompa Loompa with the tomato sauce, and he was very much opposed to my efforts. Because I was so wrapped up in this task, it caught me off guard when JoJo said, “You know, you’re welcome to bring a guest to the wedding, Logan.”

I looked up and found everyone’s attention on me. “I assumed Eliot and I were teaming up for the wedding, as the two single guys in our household.”

“Actually, I’m bringing a friend—one of my coworkers from the library,” Eliot told me.

I tried another excuse. “The baby’s going to keep me super busy. I need to make sure he doesn’t face-plant in the cake, and so on.”

“It’s up to you,” JoJo told me, as she refilled her fiancée’s wine glass. “I was just thinking since you started seeing someone, you might like to invite him.”

“Thanks for the offer, but can I leave it as a maybe for now? Things with this guy are still brand new, and I’d like to wait and see where we are in a month.”

JoJo told me that was fine. The conversation returned to the topic of party favors, and I resigned myself to having an orange baby and turned my attention to my dinner. While I ate, I tried to imagine what Lucky’s reaction would be if I invited him to an event that was six weeks away. He’d probably say yes just to be polite, but he also might find it odd that I was assuming we’d still be dating in mid-June.

It was tempting to invite him, though. Really tempting. I tried to imagine Lucky dressed up, which was actually pretty tough to picture. I also imagined dancing together at the reception. That would be so nice. I could practically feel his hand on my back and his body pressed against mine as we moved to the music.

Okay, so I was definitely going to invite him to the wedding, but not yet. Like so much of life, timing was everything.