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“Well, if you must know, I’ve been reading since I was five,” she says.
“Whoa. I learned to read when I was five too,” I deadpan.
“What a coincidence.”
“We both like the beach and we both like to read,” I say.
She lifts her drink. “But only one of us gets to drink a margarita.”
I inch closer. “Maybe next time we both can.” I leave that offer right there. Today is too much fun to be a one-time thing.
She licks the corner of her lips, then meets my gaze, her blonde locks falling over one eye. “Next time sounds like a good idea.” Then she finishes her margarita and sets it down. “On that note…” She sits up straighter, gathering her things.
Wait.
What?
I wasn’t done with this time. “Do you need to go?”
She blinks in slight confusion. “You saidnext time…I thought you meant you had to take off.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Are inferences like technicalities for you? Something you look for a lot, Brooke?”
She shrugs sheepishly. “It’s what I do. I’m an attorney, and I can’t help but find loopholes, technicalities, and I’malwayspaying attention to inferences, Andrew.”
Okay, if I’m hinting at a second date, and she’s told me what she does for a living, I really need to come clean about my identity.
“Actually, everyone calls me Drew,” I begin.
She lifts a brow, her lips curving up too. “So you want me to be like everyone?” Gently, she pushes her sandaled foot against my shin.
I push back, my flip-flop against the side of her calf. “Considering my mom is the only person who calls me Andrew, and she usually only says it when she’s mad, I do want you to be like everyone.”
She smiles. “Then I will be. And I’m still Brooke.”
“Good,” I say. I glance around. No one is close enough to hear. “So, Brooke, where do you—”
“We don’t have to talk about work, Drew,” she says gently, giving me an out. “Unless you want to. But if you don’t want to, I’m kind of enjoying all thisnottalking about it. It was a helluva week.”
Oh. Well. That never occurred to me—thewe can table it for laterpossibility. But hell yeah. “Same here,” I say, relieved. “Everything with work’s up in the air for me.”
Her eyes spark. “Me too. I was hoping something would happen with a job thing I wanted. A promotion. It didn’t, and I came to the beach to escape.”
“Same. I sort of don’t know what’s happening next.” That hasn’t changed, but I don’t feel as frustrated as I did this morning.
She sits up straighter. “Exactly. It’s weird to even think about going in tomorrow, or how I should act.”
“It’s tough, when your work future is unclear,” I admit.
With a sage look, she says, “So, you’re okay to skip the whole what-do-you-do conversation right now? We can discuss it later.”
Later, as in after I take her home. Or later as in later in the week when I take her out to dinner. Either works for me.
“Then, it’s a topic for next time,” I say, then meet her brown-eyed gaze straight on. “You want to get out of here?”
“Now?” Her voice pitches up.
“Yes. Now. But if you’d rather not, that’s cool. If you’d rather wait, next time is more than fine too.”
