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Suddenly, Mia’s face changes, and when I try to ask her about it, she looks away. “It’s nothing, I swear,” she tries to say.
“You suck at hiding your thoughts and your face says it all,” I point out. “What are you thinking? Tell me.”
“I don’t want to ruin your night,” she insists.
“You told me to spill it and I did. Now it’s your turn, Missy.”
“It’s just…if a guy seems too good to be true, maybe he is,” she shrugs. “Like I said the other day, don’t get your hopes up too soon, okay?”
“You’re the one who told me to go for it!”
“I know and I’m glad you did!” Mia argues. “But I think you should make sure to take things slowly and really get to know this guy.”
“Oh really? Because I was going to marry him tomorrow and let him take me back to wherever he lives and never come back,” I say, with a blank look on my face.
“Well just make sure you pack for all kinds of weather, okay?” She playfully pinches my arm. “And remember, I appreciate postcards every once in a while.”
“I love you too.” I roll my eyes as I head to my room. I can appreciate Mia’s concern but tonight, I’m choosing to let myself daydream about Drew and every wonderful thing we’ve done so far.
I can hold off on reality for a little while longer, right?
Chapter eleven
Drew – Is this a Real Date?
The next day, I find Meg during her lunch break, apparently jonesing for a change of scenery. She seems to have something on her mind with that faraway look on her face, but I keep this thought to myself for now.
She offers to show me the best place to get homemade ice cream and I jump at the chance. Back home I rarely eat anything so decadent.
“I just don’t get it,” I say, as we sit outside the Ira’s Ice Cream Parlor. We have the only table with an umbrella, so we’ve got a bit of shade.
“How can people be so happy in a small town full-time? Not to sound like a big city snob, but I think I would lose my mind. There’s really nothing to do here.”
“There’s plenty to do here,” Meg corrects me. “What can you do in back home that you can’t do here?”
“Go to Starbucks, for one thing,” I say, pointing out that the town only has one café.
“Yes, but you get the same cup of coffee for half the price and you know it won’t be burnt,” Meg replies. “What else?”
“Restaurants are limited.”
Meg is on a roll and she quickly retorts: “How many do you need? We have pub food, an Italian place, you have to drive a bit further out if you want tacos or Asia food, but it’s worth the trip.”
“There’s nothing to do outside of the beach and a few shops,” I continue. “Yes, they’re family owned and that’s great and all, but doesn’t it get boring sometimes?”
“Okay, sometimes, yes,” Meg concedes. “Sometimes you have to make your own fun. A small town means people come together to put on events that everyone likes.”
“Like what?” I challenge. She can hear the disbelief in my voice, I’m sure. Okay, I AM, in fact, a city snob.
“The Summer Festival this weekend,” she responds proudly. “It happens every year and it’s loads of fun.”
As we eat our ice cream, she fills me in on the carnival-themed games with prizes of plushies and bragging rights. There are rides for everyone from the adrenaline junkies who aren’t afraid of heights to those who prefer to stay firmly on the ground spinning in a blur of teacups.
The children run around with glitter animals and superheroes painted on their happy faces and cotton candy or popcorn in hand, as they race to the next ride.
“Oh, and there are fortunetellers,” she adds. “You believe in that stuff? I think life is what we make it and if someone says we should be aware of certain things, then it can’t really hurt,” she shrugs. “I’ve never been told something absurd, like I’m going to marry a rich man on a white steed, or anything like that. It’s mainly vague suggestions that can fit anyone. It’s just fun.”
When I look at her with skeptical eyes, I think she’s embarrassed at what she just said. She’s fiddling with her clothes and hair and looking everywhere but at me.
