Dear Adam, page 9
“Do you want to maybe go out for lunch next time?” I ask.
Chapter eleven
Aly
Monday mornings typically are my favorite. A new week, a new palette of colors and flowers to choose from at the market, and an all-around fresh start.
Unfortunately, this morning couldn’t be any more different.
For starters, I woke up to find Pretzel had once again found the hamper and chewed through every single pair of underwear I own, right when I thought we were finally getting along. Last night, she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, little snores and all, and it was so adorable that her little traitorous move this morning was the last thing I expected. Now, I’m wearing a pair that I found in the depths of my closet, turned inside out for good measure just in case, and they’re about two sizes too small. Nothing makes you feel like a less powerful woman than uncomfortable panties.
Then, Betsy wouldn’t start, which has happened before and normally isn’t a big deal because I have the Vespa. But today is market day, and I needed a big trunk to fit at least twenty variously-sized and shaped boxes of flowers and vases.
Reluctantly, I dial Emma’s number, fully expecting an ear full for calling so early. She answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Emma? Why are you awake this early? You never wake up until fifteen minutes before you leave for work.” I hear voices in the background and an elevator dinging.
“I had to run to the doctor’s office,” she says.
“Everything okay?” I ask, concern beginning to seep into every corner of my body. I’m barely managing Adam being in the hospital right now. I don’t think I could handle it if Emma was sick, too.
“Everything is fine!” she chirps in a voice that’s an octave or two higher than normal. She’s acting weird. “Just a…regular visit.”
“Oh. It was one of those appointments,” I say, realizing she’s been to the lady doctor.
A car door slams on her end and everything quiets until her engine turns over. “Would you be able to run to the market? Betsy won’t start again. I can meet you back at the shop and help you unload in a half an hour?”
“Yeah, I can do that,” she says through a yawn.
Thirty minutes later, I’m pulling up to Bloomie’s on the Vespa, backpack strapped to my chest with Pretzel—who is wearing a pair of children’s swim goggles I picked up from the gas station on the way—poking her head out the front. She gives a little yip when we stop, and I scratch her behind the ears for not jumping out.
Emma pulls up a few seconds later and backs up to the door. “Fourth Street Flowers beat us there,” she says when she jumps out. “So I got what I could, but I think we can make it work. Also, you do realize you just became the new meme that’s going to be plastered all over the internet, right?”
Up until now, she’d been valiantly stifling a laugh with her fist, but finally gives up to double over in a full on fit of giggles.
“What else was I supposed to do?” I unstrap my backpack and peel off Pretzel’s goggles. She shakes and runs inside when I open the door for her. I reach for a box of vases in Emma’s trunk and wince.
“What’s wrong?” Emma asks.
“I’m a little sore. Levi helped me at the house all day yesterday and we got a lot accomplished, but it came with a price.” I massage my right shoulder and catch Emma wiggling her eyebrows out of the corner of my eye.
“So what did you accomplish?” she asks in a sing-song voice. I roll my eyes and reach for the box again, ignoring her suggestive tone. “I saw his new Instagram account. Has he said if his phone is blowing up yet?”
“No, why?” I ask as I haul the box inside.
“Did you not see how many likes his picture got?” Emma asks, following with a box of her own.
“No, I honestly forgot to check it. This morning has been a little crazy.” I set the box down inside, and pull my phone from the front pocket of my overalls. In seconds, Levi’s profile fills the screen, and I’m floored at the amount of likes, comments, and DMs that are waiting to be looked at.
I click one of the messages and begin reading. It’s from a girl in San Diego who does not need help with any renovations, but would like to know if he’s available for dinner one evening soon. She also looks like she’s straight from a Victoria Secret catalog with platinum-blonde hair, full pink lips, and wide, doe eyes. I frown, wondering if her genetics are that good or if her appearance is the result of a fantastic West Coast doctor.
Before I can think better of it, I delete the message. What Levi doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? I delete a few more for good measure before I’m fully engulfed by jealousy and slam the phone face down on the counter.
Emma comes back in with a couple more boxes. She’s smirking, mouth open to speak, but I hold up my hand to stop her. “Don’t.”
“Oh girl. You’ve got it bad,” she says anyway and pats me on the arm. I brush her off and grab a ranunculus from a bucket for the arrangement I’m working on. Its delicate stem snaps, so I grab another and when it does the same, Emma slides the box over to her side of the table with a grimace, clearly not trusting me to try a third time.
A few minutes later, the bell above the door tinkles. “Sorry, we don’t open until nine,” I say, and look up to find Hudson walking through the door, carrying a box of macarons and a coffee from my favorite bakery downtown.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” he says and hands me the treats while giving me air kisses on each cheek. I eagerly take a slurp of the coffee and almost whimper at how good it tastes. It’s a cinnamon latte, one of my favorites.
“Thanks, Hudson,” I say between sips. “You don’t know how much I needed this today.”
“I had a feeling,” he beams. Right as he’s closing in for a hug, Emma comes out of the back, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Aly, can you come help me with this arrangement?” she asks.
“Gotta go,” I say and swerve around him. “Thanks for the coffee and the macarons.”
“Wait. I wanted to see if you were free tonight. You owe me a date, remember?” He catches my hand, and I do my best to wiggle out of his hold without seeming rude.
“Tonight?” I repeat. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to say yes. He’s handsome, has a great job, and my parents love him. Saying yes would solve a lot of problems.
“Yes. I can pick you up around six?” he asks hopefully with a shy smile, eyes shining eagerly.
“That should work,” I say before giving it too much consideration. “I’ve got to go now, though. Thank you again.” I raise my coffee cup in a mock salute, and he smiles over his shoulder before walking back outside.
Emma’s standing at the work table in the back of the room, arms folded. “Did you just agree to a date with Hudson?” She grimaces and practically spits out his name. “What about Levi?”
“What about him?” I ask, annoyed. She raises an eyebrow and then shakes her head. “He lives across the country, Emma. And even if things weren’t possible, he’s still my brother’s best friend. Something about that doesn’t feel right, especially with Adam in a coma.”
Emma doesn’t say anything; she simply keeps shoving sunflowers into the vase and taking them out again to rearrange.
“I do like Levi,” I confess. “I’ve always liked him. From the moment Adam brought him home after a soccer game and he told me the color I had picked for the bands on my braces was cool. It was burnt orange, by the way. But I don’t think it could work.”
“I think you're thinking too much, Aly. One date doesn’t mean you have to marry him. You’re also ten years older now. Do you really think your brother will be that upset if you go out with him?” I shoot her a menacing look and she backs away, hands in the air. “Or you can just go on a date with Hudson and be miserable. It’s your life. Not mine.”
“Hudson’s cute and you know it,” I say defensively.
Emma shrugs and says, “I can see where some people might find the just-stepped-out-of-GQ look attractive, but it’s not for me.”
“Tonight will be fine. Maybe even fun. You’ll see.”
Dear Adam,
I’m going on a date tonight with Hudson. I know you’d be so annoyed with me right now and I’M SORRY. But he showed up to work this morning with coffee and macarons after Betsy decided to die on market day and you know what macarons do to me. I’m only human. Plus, would it be such a bad thing to go out on a date with him if it makes mom and dad so happy?
P.S. Your dog ate all my underwear again.
P.P.S. When you wake up…If you see a meme going around of a woman driving a Vespa with a wiener dog strapped to her chest wearing swim goggles, IT’S NOT ME AND PRETZEL.
P.P.P.S. It’s totally me and Pretzel.
“Excuse me, waitress? Waitress?” Hudson picks up his wine glass and taps the side with his knife, which is completely unnecessary given it’s a Monday night and we have most of the dining room to ourselves. The two women seated in the corner shoot us annoyed looks, and I squirm a little in my seat. The waitress comes around the corner, again, and eyes Hudson warily.
“This one is dirty, too.” He picks up his wine glass and holds it in front of the waitress's face. “See? Right here.” He points to a nonexistent smudge, and the waitress squints.
“I apologize,” she says, struggling to keep her smile in place. “I’ll be right back with a new one.” When she leaves I hear her mutter, “Again,” and I can’t blame her.
Hudson has been a handful since the moment we stepped inside the restaurant. When they found our reservation on Friday instead of tonight, I thought he was going to lose his mind. His face turned tomato red, a vein bulged in his neck, and he tried to slide the hostess a hundred dollar bill before she politely explained that it’s Monday night and reservations weren’t even needed, which only made him more belligerent.
Then, he ordered for me, and okay, I see how someone could think that might be cute. But he ordered me spaghetti squash. At one of the nicest restaurants on the harbor. Not the sea bass, not the filet. The spaghetti squash. I didn’t even get to pick my salad dressing. Meanwhile, he ordered himself the ribeye. The description alone had me wanting to lick the menu.
I’m shoving an olive around my plate of salad with oil and vinegar dressing, fighting an eye roll when the waitress returns with another glass of wine.
“I’ve had my boss double check this one just in case. I truly apologize,” she says so sweetly that I instantly assume they’ve both taken turns shining it with their own spit before bringing it out.
Hudson sighs and takes the glass reluctantly, then inspects it thoroughly before sitting it down. The waitress backs away slowly then all but runs back to the kitchen when she realizes he has nothing to say.
“So…how’s business?” I ask, but my phone lights up in my bag, pulling my focus. I reach down, hoping it’s news on Adam, and see one new message from Levi.
Watching a Meg Ryan movie. Wanna join? It can be just like old times.
I stifle a giggle and type back, Can’t right now. At dinner.
Levi: I’ll let you watch the elevator scene twice. I know that part always got you back in the day.
Me: That part gets anyone with a heart and you know it.
Levi: I’m so glad you introduced me to Meg Ryan.
Me: Me? If I remember correctly, I walked in on you and Adam watching it in the basement with a box of tissues between you. That was the first time I’d ever even heard of this movie.
Levi: It sounds better if I say I walked in on you watching it though, doesn’t it?
Me: Ha ha. I’m at dinner though. I’ve gotta go.
“Funny you should ask. I was just named Sales Associate of the Month again.” He wiggles his eyebrows and raises his glass for a toast. “Aly? Did you hear me?”
“What? Oh, yes!” I politely tap my glass against his and mentally calculate how many sales associates Dad has under him. I only come up with five, including Adam. Hudson seems really happy, though, so I decide not to mention it isn’t exactly a big pool to choose from.
“That’s great,” I say, feigning enthusiasm. The waitress sets our entrees on the table, and I immediately reach for the garlic toast. Hudson grimaces and I pull back. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just that…do you know how many carbs are in that piece of bread?” I fake a laugh, knowing there's no way someone in their right mind actually said that without joking, and reach for it again, looking at him. Suddenly, I realize he’s being completely serious. His expression is pure, unadulterated horror.
“Do you not eat carbs?” I ask. I peel off the tiniest bit from the corner and pop it into my mouth. The butter and garlic melt on my taste buds, and it’s so delicious, I could cry.
He visibly shudders. “Do you think I could have the body of a god if I ate carbs like that?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, unsure of what to say.
“You don’t chance ruining perfectly chiseled pecs like these with too many carbs. I mean, have you seen these things?”
“Umm…no I haven’t,” I answer, distracted by the way he’s bouncing his pecs under his perfectly starched white shirt. Is that supposed to be turning me on?
“Don’t worry. You will tonight.” He shoots me a wink and I feel the red wine I’ve been drinking begin its ascent up my throat.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and grab my purse from the floor. “Lady issues,” I whisper and point to my purse. He grimaces and turns back to his steak.
The second my back is turned to him, I text Levi.
On second thought, that sounds great. Pick me up in front of the steak house on the harbor. Not trying to rush you but ASAP would be nice.
Chapter twelve
Levi
I’m on cloud nine right now, literally skipping down the front porch steps and humming “Thunderstruck.” I’m unstoppable. Somebody call nine-one-one, because I’m on fire. When Aly texted me to come get her, I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I’m talking Usain Bolt fast. That is until I realize this Knight in Shining Armor’s chariot is nothing less than the Teenie Mobile. When I start the engine and the purple under glow shines to life, I just know my man card has been revoked. It’s dusk, so you can really see it, too.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I hit every button on the dash at least twice and nothing turns it off, so reluctantly, I give up. My phone lights up with a slew of incoming messages right as I’m about to turn out of my driveway.
I give it maybe five more minutes before my date comes looking for me. SOS. HELP.
I'm going to start walking.
I don’t know directions very well so I’m turning left outside the restaurant.
I’m wearing a red dress. Unless someone has stolen your phone in the ten minutes we’ve been texting. Then it’s a pink dress and I’m turning right.
I chuckle and type out a quick, OMW.
OMW? Obscene madwoman where? Are you trying to ask for my location discreetly? Is this a ploy? Levi, if this is really you, tell me what your favorite color is.
I turn down Meeting Street and sure enough, I see a girl wearing a red dress typing furiously into her phone. I pull up beside her and roll down my window.
“Do you even know what my favorite color is?”
She jumps, but relief washes over her face as she walks towards the car. “No. But if you said something more complex than blue, I would’ve absolutely known your phone had been stolen.” She slides into the passenger seat gracefully and takes a look around. “I didn’t peg you for a turquoise man, though. Or one to have motivational quotes on their car freshener.”
“‘‘She believed she could, so she did’ really just sets my mood for the day, you know?” She giggles and shoves her phone into her handbag. “This,” I say, gesturing to the dashboard that’s all of three feet wide, “is the Teenie Mobile, my mom’s most prized possession.”
“That’s what I’d say too,” she says with a wink and an elbow in the arm.
“Careful. These puppies are huge, remember? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” I flex my right arm, and her cheeks flush to the colors of raspberries as she tries to hide a smile.
“Is it alright if we watch Sleepless in Seattle at your place? Mom and Dad are both home right now, and I’m not really in the mood to feel like I’m in high school again,” I say, then realize how that must’ve sounded. “Not that, you know, there would be anything for them to walk in on. I just…I…Did you even really want to watch Sleepless in Seattle? I can just take you home if you want,” I ramble and immediately want to kick myself in the face.
“Oh, we’re definitely watching Sleepless in Seattle,” she says. “You can’t ruin a perfectly good date by texting someone with that kind of temptation only to let a girl down.”
Perfectly good date? “So, you were on a date?” I ask, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
“Yeah, with Hudson, the guy who works for my dad and with Adam. He’s…something else,” she says.
“Oh yeah? Like what?” I press. I hope I’m not being too forward, but I need to know how this date went.
She sighs and says, “For starters, he found a smudge on every wine glass they brought him. Then he ordered me spaghetti squash and himself a ribeye. Oh, and here’s the kicker: when I looked at my garlic toast, he freaked out about the number of carbs in that one piece.”
“Yikes,” I say, mentally preparing my attack on Hudson. I’m envisioning a full on Old West quick draw, complete with tumbleweeds.
“Levi?” she says, interrupting my fantasy.
“Hmm?”
“Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”
I’d actually just eaten dinner with my mom and dad, but I would never tell her that and risk losing out on spending time with her. “Starving,” I fib.
“Me too. I left before I actually got to eat anything. Can we swing through a drive-thru?”
