It’s likely it will be months before I see him again anyway, owed favor or not. I managed to go almost a year without meeting him the first time. He met Sophie for the first time last fall after discovering she was his half-sister, and Everly’s crossed paths with him, but I hadn’t until Sunday. So there’s no reason I will again. Just put him out of your head, Chloe. He’s way too much for you anyway. Everly would know what to do with a guy like that. Me, not so much.
I make it to the Starbucks on Broad with a little under ten minutes to spare, so I get in line to order. I like to avoid the awkward who-is-going-to-pay shuffle at the counter and scope out a good table and I’ve got just enough time to do both. I order the seasonal pumpkin spice latte in decaf then nab an empty two-seat table with a good view of the door so I can keep an eye out for Joe. He arrives a couple of minutes later and scans the cafe for me and when his gaze lands on me I confirm with a small wave. He nods with a small smile and heads my way.
“Can I get anything else for you?” he asks, nodding at the cup in my hands as he removes his coat and places it over the back of the chair across from mine.
“No, thank you. I’m good with this,” I say, lifting the paper cup an inch off the table. “Go grab something for yourself,” I tell him with a smile. Luckily there’s no line so he’s back shortly, drink in hand.
“So, Chloe, it’s nice to meet you,” he says as he takes a seat.
“You as well,” I return. “Thanks for meeting me here.”
“No problem. I live in the Washington Square area so this wasn’t too far for me.” He takes a sip from his cup then continues when I don’t say anything. “I’ve enjoyed chatting with you online. I’m glad we were finally able to meet.”
“I’m just happy you match your photos,” I say, then try not to visibly cringe. What a stupid thing to say. He’s really cute. And nice. And I’m my usual nervous awkward self. But he just laughs like it’s no big deal.
“Were you worried I was a forty-year-old guy using old photos?” he asks with a wide smile, clearly trying to put me at ease.
“No, no. I’m sorry, that was rude. It’s just that I went out last weekend with a guy who gave me a fake name and got arrested on our date,” I babble, trying to explain. Why did I just say that? That’s worse. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m pretty sure it’s bad form to bring it up.
“Um, wow,” he responds, the smile slipping just a little.
“I’m not usually that bad at picking them,” I reveal, then wish I could suck it back in. Shut up, Chloe!
“So, you’re a teacher?” he asks after a moment, clearly throwing me a lifeline and trying to redirect the conversation.
“Yeah,” I say, thankful for the switch in topics and happy that he’s obviously better at this than I am. “Second grade,” I add, my voice trailing off as I catch something over Joe’s shoulder.
Boyd Gallagher.
He’s got a cup in hand and he’s striding towards the exit when he turns his head and his eyes land on mine. I see the flicker of surprise cross his face as I turn my attention back to Joe.
“Second grade,” I repeat. “I teach second grade. I love it.”
Joe nods. “My mom’s a teacher, so I know how hard you work.”
I’m focusing on Joe but I see Boyd approaching from the corner of my eye. Is he going to interrupt my date to say hi? So awkward.
But he doesn’t.
No.
Instead, he takes a seat at the table next to ours. In the seat next to Joe so he’s facing me. And then he ignores me.
He’s… pretending he doesn’t know me? Seriously? I dart another glance in his direction but he’s not looking at me. He’s set his coffee on the table and is doing something with his phone. His posture is relaxed as if he’s intending to stay a while. What the heck is he doing? I know he saw me. I know he did. A fact confirmed when he meets my gaze dead on the next time I glance in his direction, a brow raised in amusement. He’s in another fancy suit today. It’s black and the white shirt he’s wearing underneath it looks crisp and fresh, even though this must be the end of his day as well. He’s wearing a charcoal tie which he straightens, his fingers running down the midsection of the tie, smoothing the material as he takes a sip from his cup.
“Is everything okay?” Joe asks.
“Yes!” I agree quickly. “I was just checking out the light fixtures,” I say, nodding to the Starbucks decor. “They’re nice, don’t you think?” Not a total lie. I’ve always appreciated the ambiance here. “They must have them custom-made,” I muse. Brilliant conversational skills, Chloe.
“I guess.” Joe shrugs.
“I mean, it’s not like you can buy them just anywhere,” I add, because I never quit when I should.
“I imagine not,” he agrees. “They don’t want just anyone to get their hands on their exclusive light fixtures.” He says it kindly, like he’s not bothered by my inane light fixture observations.
“Right.” I nod. Joe is really so nice. And he’s really good-looking. He’s got beautiful thick dark hair. “Are you Italian?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Well, I don’t think so. I’m adopted so I’ve got no idea. My parents are of Scottish and German descent.”
Oh. “I love Italian food,” I respond. Because that’s an appropriate response to sticking your foot in your mouth.
“I hate Italian.” Joe frowns and shakes his head, then laughs. “Just kidding. Who doesn’t love Italian food?”
Why is Boyd watching? Is this some sort of payback for pretending not to know him the other day at the hospital? I’m sure I can’t be the only girl questioned by the FBI who didn’t want her friends to know about it. Sheesh. Oh, my God. Is he on a stakeout? Is he investigating this date too? No. I mentally shake my head. Not possible.
“Have you ever been to Serafina? On 18th? My friend went into labor there last week.”
“Um, wow. Okay.” He pauses. “Congratulations to your friend,” he adds slowly, because he’s probably unsure what the correct response is to that tidbit of information.