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“Good tip. She also drew a stick figure in a party dress. Formal wear, I take it?”
I laugh. “Oh, yeah. You’d better be in a tux or no admittance.”
We work through the afternoon, and once my shift ends, I move to the closest cozy chair and get out my tablet to get started on a new cover. It’s another sports romance, which requires a lot of sketching football uniforms and padding to be sure I get the look exactly right.
I’m absorbed with trying to conveybigwithout crossing over intobulkywhen the back of my neck prickles. I look up and find Miles watching me. A smile curls along his mouth, and he seems amused. Happy. Something…else.
“What?” I ask.
“I just like to see you relaxing in the store. Like you belong here.”
It’s a sweet compliment and especially reassuring since I’mhere practically all the time. But the wobbly sensation that washes through me makes me want to argue a little. Just enough to keep from turning to complete mush over a few simple words.
“Then why do you keep trying to fire me?”
“I don’t try to fire you.” He walks around the counter and comes closer, ultimately leaning against the doorframe that leads into the back room.
I’m a fan of the lean.
“I simply encourage you to spread your wings and fly, little bird.”
I laugh. “Same thing.”
He shrugs against the door. “I don’t ever want to hold you back.”
“That is the sweetest, most misguided thing. This is where I want to be.”
He nods, gaze stuck on me. “We should talk about our date.”
A shiver skates down my spine. “What date?”
“The one we talked about the other day.”
“Oh. You mean our practice date?” The clarification is for me. As topsy-turvy as I’ve been this last week, it’d be too easy for me to think it’s anything else.
“Mmm. Do you want to go to dinner, or should I cook for us?”
That straightforward question makes me strangely giddy. It’s not the first time he’s asked me that, but the context is new. It’s not just hanging out as friends for the evening. It’s a date.
Practicedate, I rush to add. Which I should probably repeat to myself a hundred times slowly.
“What would you do on a real date?” I don’t like how eager my voice sounds, and I try again. “Since I’m doing this to evaluate your skills.”
His mouth quirks. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”
I look away. My face probably has flames dancing over it. “You know what I’m saying.”
“If it were a date with someone I’ve known for a while, I’d probably invite her to my place and cook dinner for her. Maybe watch a movie and keep it low-key.” Miles pauses, and I glance back at him. “But if it’s a date with someone I don’t know well, a public place would be better. Someplace neutral so she’ll feel comfortable and safe.”
I really want to go for the first option, but since this is supposed to be a “dating skills evaluation,” I need to opt for the second. I won’t get a feel for what he’s been doing on his set ups if we just hang out at his place and watch a movie on his couch.
Even if that’s basically my dream date now.
And I’ve lost my zeal for setting him up with anyone ever again.
“How about a restaurant? Maybe Thai?”
If he’s disappointed—which he’s not, obviously, why would he be?—he doesn’t show it. “Thai sounds great. Are you free on Saturday?”
