“Hey, Mills,” Matt calls. “Can I ask you something?”
I pause, hand still on the handle, and turn back.
“Depends,” I say cautiously. “Is it going to annoy me?”
“Probably.”
I nod. “My favorite. Go ahead.”
He hesitates long enough to make me nervous.
“Tom,” he starts, “are you—”
“Just friends,” I cut in immediately.
It comes out faster than I intend, like I’ve been waiting to say it. Which, yeah, maybe it’s been eating at me for a few days.
Matt studies me for a second. Either he doesn’t believe me, or he’s once again decided not to go through with what he was going to say. I can practically see in his eyes the moment he almost backs out.
But then, he doesn’t.
“Can I take you out to dinner?”
I blink. “What?”
“Dinner,” he tries again, a bit more firmly now. “Nothing sketchy. No hiding. Matt and Emma. For real.”
Okay. That I did not expect.
Because—what?
“You’re asking me out,” I repeat slowly, “on an actual date.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“You’re making it weird,” I shoot back.
“Can you just say yes?” he says. There’s something a little boyish in his tone now, borderline shy. A little hopeful. “Please?”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Yes, Matthew,” I answer. “I’ll bring my torture tools.”
His eyes drop to my lips and back up in a split second.
“You’d be surprised,” he says quietly, “with how much you torture me already without the need for any tools.”
Oh.
“That’s…” I swallow, but my throat’s suddenly so dry I don’t think I can speak. “Good to know.”
“Yeah. So how about we start with those overalls of yours?”
Dinner tonight was not what I was expecting when Matt asked me out. No time like the present, he said before telling me I had half an hour to shower and change into my overalls which are apparently a must.
He picks me up right on time, having changed into some navy blue pants and a creamed-colored shirt, half buttoned. The sun’s down, yet the air is humid and prickly. Still, I’d bet he dressed like that to get under my skin.
It’s working.