Page 35 of Crushes to WHAT

Almond: And probably what time…

I wince. Was that more chill? Maybe. Was it completely chill? Not by a long shot. Still, at least I didn’t ramble.

Emerson: How do you feel about surprises?

My toes patter happily.

Almond: A surprise?

Almond: I love surprises.

Almond: Just tell me if I need any special clothing, or if I need to eat first, or if it’s a hair up or hair down activity, or if I need certain shoes, or if I should wear minimal makeup, like if we’re going to get wet or something?

Almond: I should tell you I think we should avoid waterfalls. I have a fear of falling down one.

Almond: But also I’ve read too many inside-a-waterfall scenes to be TOTALLY against it if you really want to explore one…

Almond: Maybe don’t make that a surprise, though, so I have time to prepare myself. Or maybe do make it a surprise, so I don’t psych myself out.

Almond: We’re not going to a waterfall, are we?

“More chill” has flown out the window. It’s playing in traffic. Oops, yikes, it just got run over by a big truck—the type with a WIDE LOAD sticker and a four-car convoy. Squish goes me.

Emerson (!!!): No waterfall tonight. I’ll keep it in mind for a future date.

Emerson (!!!): No dress code, either. Wear what you’d like as long as you’re comfortable. I’m partial to your dresses that keep your shoulders bare, if you want to spoil me.

Emerson (!!!): I’ll spoil you, too, if you have a preference on what I wear.

My eyes bug out of my head and fall to the floor. He likes my shoulders? He thinks leaving them uncovered is spoiling him?

Gracious. I spoil him nearly every day, then. Over half my closet is allergic to shoulders. I’ve all but bought stock in strapless bras.

Blushing, I reply.

Almond: I can wear something off-the-shoulder.

I hesitate, type out another message, delete it, retype it, delete it again, groan, and ultimately decide I’m too embarrassed to send it anyway.

My phone buzzes, making me jump.

Emerson (!!!): You spoil me. My generous girl.

Emerson (!!!): Let me spoil you, too. Tell me what you like.

I grimace. Is it more embarrassing that he saw me deliberating over sending a message or is it more embarrassing to tell him that…

Almond: I really like it when you wear that black shirt you have that used to have some sort of logo on it but it must have been an iron on thing that came off in the wash because over time you could see less and less of it until eventually it was completely gone. You normally wear it with khaki pants. Both look good on you. Like… really good. Very good. A lot of good.

Almond: And I like it when you wear your hair in a bun, even though I really shouldn’t because wearing it like that every day can cause damage, and I definitely don’t want your gorgeous hair getting damaged, but… It looks really, really good in the bun.

Almond: If you leave it down until you get here I can give you some hair ties that cause minimal damage.

Emerson (!!!): Your wish is my command.

Emerson (!!!): How long do you need to get ready?

I look down at the white, off-the-shoulder top I tucked into my favorite purple maxi skirt this morning. The skirt hugs my hips just right, making me feel pretty and sexy and all things desirable. I usually only wear it when I’m not going to leave the house for fear that the masses will lose their collective minds and descend upon me at the very sight.