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“That sucks,” the toothless brother says, nodding.
“Fenton,” his father says. “We don’t saysucks.”
“But it does,” Fenton argues. “Ittotallysucks.”
“Wa-wa,” the little girl squeals again, clapping her hands.
I can’t help it. I giggle. Eli’s head snaps up, and he narrows his eyes at me, but he returns my smile, then points at me.
“You’re the one who said awkward was fine,” he says.
“It is. Awkward is amazing. It can also be veryamusing.”
“Well, good. Because I seem to be stuck on the extreme awkward setting.”
And then he’s sliding into my side of the booth, crowding into me, his big body taking up most of the seat. I can’t say I mind being this close to him, his thigh pressed up against mine, his body heat making me want to snuggle closer like he’s my personal electric heater.
“My side is wet,” he says.
I shrug. “You don’t need an excuse to sit by me, hockey player.”
Our waiter appears then with replacement waters and a busboy who mops up the mess. Fenton, the toothless brother, tugs on the busboy’s sleeve and asks if they can bring Eli a cup with a lid.
“Wa-wa!” his sister shrieks again, and I can’t hold back my giggles.
Eli mock-glares, then tells the waiter we’re going to need a few minutes. The moment we’re alone again—aside from the children who are way too invested in our date—Eli groans, dropping his head to the back of the booth.
“What is it?” I nudge his shoulder with mine.
“I’m screwing this all up,” he grumbles.
I let my cheek fall to his shoulder just for a moment. “I can assure you, you arenotscrewing this up.”
He tilts his head, peering at me. “I’m not?”
“You’re not. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much.”
“Atme. You’re laughingatme.”
I grin. “Do you really mind?”
“Nope.”
I don’t mind either. But I also feel badly that Eli seems to be so nervous. Is it the wedding plans? Or the fact that we might be engaged but are also on our first date? Whatever the reason, I have a sudden idea that might just help us both feel more comfortable.
“But if you’re game, I have an idea that involves getting our food to go.”
And maybe will make us both feel slightly more comfortable.
Twenty-five minutes later, Eli and I are in the back room of the animal shelter, perched on the countertop, eating breadsticks and hot slices of pizza straight from the box. Every so often, I stop by at night to check on the animals, something I’ve been doing more since Doris arrived. She just seems so sad and lonely. Now, she’s happily wandering the room, sniffing every little thing and looking up at our pizza hopefully.
This thankfully seems to have banished the awkwardness. Though Eli’s never been in the back room like this, we’ve spent more time together in the shelter than anywhere else. It’s kind of our origin story.
Eli finishes his current slice, which I think is his sixth or seventh, and wipes his hands on a scratchy brown paper towel—the best I can do as far as napkins, which we forgot to get from the restaurant. Gripping the counter, he leans forward, catching my eye. We’re sitting catty-corner, close enough that I can playfully kicked him with my socked feet. He still has on his shoes, but my boots got uncomfortable, so I slipped them off when I sat down.
The look Eli’s wearing is intense and makes me suddenly self-conscious about how I chew. I cover my mouth with my hand. “What?”
“I can’t believe you like spinach on your pizza. What’s the other stuff?”
