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"What is this?"
"You've never seen Reba?" I ask, staring at him incredulously.
"Um, I can't say that it's a show I would have been interested in watching, no."
"Oh, it's so good. It's about this single mom who works two jobs who loves her kids and never stops." I laugh. "Oh my gosh. Did I just repeat the lyrics to the theme song?"
"I don't know." He shrugs. "Did you?"
"Well, I don't know. Anyway, she was married to this guy, Brock, who's a dentist, and he cheated on her with Barbara Jean, who he's now married to and they have a son, but he still has three kids with Reba. And weirdly enough, Barbara Jean, who's his mistress-turned-wife, is best friends with Reba, which is kind of weird because there's no way I would be best friends with the woman that my husband cheated on me with. But I guess Reba's living her best life now because she met this guy and?—"
He holds a hand up. "It sounds like a soap opera. Are you watching Days of Our Lives?"
"No, goofy. I mean, it does kind of sound like it's a soap opera, but..." I shrug. "I love it. I always thought that if I made it as an actress, I'd love to star in a show like this."
"You'd love to star in a show about your husband cheating on you with your best friend?"
"No, I’m saying like a sitcom. I think I can be pretty funny and, you know."
"So is that one of your dreams then? To become a successful actress and star in your own sitcom? What would you call it, Skye?"
“No. Acting isn't the love of my life. Not like Lila. It isn't something I feel like I was born to do, you know? I enjoy it. I love going on auditions and well, if I made it, I wouldn't be unhappy. But it's not like an end goal of mine. You know? It's not like I want to see my name on a movie poster with Brad Pitt or George Clooney or Henry Cavill. Though I might not say no if it was Henry Cavill."
He grins. "Okay then. So you're telling me Henry Cavill is competition."
"He could be," I say, laughing. "So, you know what you didn't tell me?"
"What didn't I tell you?" he asks.
"You didn't tell me who's planning the first fun night next weekend."
"Oh, I figured I would unless you want to."
"No, I want you to." I grin. "That way I know just how much I need to step it up or not."
He stares at me for a couple of seconds. "Uh, step it up? Please explain.”
"If you fly me out to Paris for chocolate croissants in a little French cafe and take me shopping at Hermes and to a hotel where we make love looking at the Eiffel Tower, I'm not going to plan a picnic in my living room." I giggle. "I mean, I'm not going to plan a trip to London or Spain or anything. I don't have that kind of money, but?—"
"Skye, what are you talking about?"
"I'm just saying, if you plan a really cool date…"
"So a really cool date for you would be me flying you to Paris for chocolate croissants to make love watching the Eiffel Tower. Noted." He grins. "I'm not going to lie, that wasn't on my list of potential fun night activities, but I will keep it in mind." I laugh.
"What? You don't want to spend thousands of dollars on me just to get some?"
"I would spend thousands of dollars on you to not get some," he says softly.
I just stare at him for a couple of seconds and his lips twist and he turns away. "Anyway, I'll plan the first date. I will let you know what time to be ready."
"Also let me know what to wear," I say.
"Well, the less clothes, the better." He grins.
"No, I'm serious. Like, I need to know if I should wear strappy heels or sandals or boots or sneakers."
"Boots?" he asks.
