Page 98 of The Tartan Thesis

Beau

Chance Yer Arm

Translation: Take a chance

Usage: Used to describe taking bold action, despite the risks

“To being done with midterms,” I say, raising my drink.

“To being so very done with midterms,” Torin agrees, clinking his glass to mine.

We’re in a booth near the back of a dimly lit Spanish steakhouse I’ve been dying to try. We’ve only had olives, bread, and a cocktail so far, but it’s already living up to the online hype. Torin’s eyes went wide when he opened the menu and saw the prices, but I’ve got him covered. After exams this week, I just want to give him a great night out.

Well, that was the plan, anyway.

Conversation has been harder than usual. Both speaking at the same time, awkward chuckles, laughing it off, starting again. The word date seems to be sitting between us on the table, invisible but impossible to ignore.

Torin folds and unfolds his napkin. I shift in my seat, pick up the menu, put it back down. When the server comes, I latch onto it, order for both of us, and Torin watches me as I do.

Once we give our menus back, there’s nowhere to hide. Nothing to distract from the lengthy pauses.

It used to be easy. Maybe I messed things up by asking him out. Maybe we should just stay friends.

“How’s your family?” I ask, determined to get us moving again. Safe topic, people we both know, not school. Good start.

“They’re really good,” Torin says, and the tension loosens. “Mum could retire this summer, but I don’t think she will. She loves teaching too much. Dad is Dad, steady and calm as ever. Freya’s dating someone new. She seems really into him, actually. She says hi.”

“What about Flick?”

“Bonnie as always,” he says, reaching for his phone. He turns the screen toward me and shows me a picture: Flick, coated in mud, tongue lolling out, eyes shining bright.

“That dog is living a better life than both of us,” I say. “I’d love to have a border collie or Aussie someday. They’re so active and intelligent.”

“Just like you?” Torin says, and my heart thumps just a little faster with the first flirtatious comment of the night. Now we’re cooking with bacon grease.

“Exactly,” I say. “Bet you thought I’d want a golden retriever.”

“Nah,” he says, reaching for a slice of bread. “Since you already are one, you don’t need another in the house. Though goldens are cuddlier than working dogs. If you want a pal to snuggle up with, then you should get something other than a border collie.”

“I’m hoping I won’t need to depend on a dog for cuddle time at some point,” I say, and our eyes lock.

His Adam’s apple bobs slowly. Up. Down. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m hoping someone will sign on to do that full-time. Maybe someone tall, smart, handsome as all get out. Cute butt.” I can’t contain my grin. “Know anyone?”

The color hits him fast—neck first, then his cheeks.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” he mumbles, still terrible at accepting compliments.

I swallow hard, lick my lips, legs bouncing under the table.

“Just put those eyes on the mirror, and I think you’ll find what I’m looking for,” I say and dip some bread in olive oil and take a bite, giving myself a minute. He needs one, too. Even his ears are red now.

If I’m going to do this, really do this, I can’t keep hiding behind jokes and half-measures. I don’t want us to walk away from this table without him understanding just how much I want to be with him.

“So,” I say, rolling my glass between my fingers, watching the liquid catch the candlelight, “you know I dated a woman for years and have never had a boyfriend before. But you haven’t told me much about who you dated before me.”

The second it leaves my mouth, I feel it. The shift.