I’m doing my best to sound casual, but the truth is that I’m super curious about Simon’s job. I get the sense he doesn’t like talking about it much, which only makes me more curious.
Also, I’ll admit it—I’m wondering if he took a date. He didn’t say much about the event, except that he had to get dressed up. My sisters and I had plans last night, so I couldn’t have gone with him even if he had invited me, which he didn’t. Because we’re not dating.
But is it wrong to hope he didn’t take someone else?
“The event was good,” he says in response to the question I’ve forgotten asking. “Actually, really good. Get this—I won a two-night getaway to Ponderosa Ranch. That’s that fancy resort in Central Oregon.”
“You’re kidding me.” I drop the Cheeto I’d been holding and try not to feel jealous. “My sisters have been dying to go there since it opened. They made me look at all the pictures on the website. Lisa’s been trying to get her fiancé to take her.”
“Yeah, I hear it’s amazing. So is the package I won. Here, I’ll read you the certificate.”
I hear a rustling of paper, and I try to picture Simon at home. I’ve never seen his house, but I imagine it’s tidy and sparse with a lot of computer stuff lying around. Or maybe it’s more of a bachelor pad with piles of laundry in the corner and a roommate or two.
He begins to read, and I order myself to pay attention.
“This certificate entitles the bearer and one guest to round-trip limousine transportation from Portland, Oregon to Ponderosa Ranch Resor?—”
“A limousine? You’re kidding me.”
“That’s just the transportation. Once we get there, it says we get lunch for two, an all-inclusive spa day including double mud bath and ninety-minute massage. There’s a two-night stay in a deluxe cabin, plus a few other things in this basket—looks like a bottle of wine and some slippers and?—”
“Holy shit.” I’m not sure if I’m dumbfounded by the magnitude of this prize package or by the fact that he said “we.” Does he mean us? Simon and me, together?
I don’t want to presume anything. I wipe Cheeto dust on the knee of my leggings and pick up my wineglass off the end table. “That’s great, Simon. Congratulations. You won this at a work event?”
“It was a charity function I had to go to for work. Normally, I dread those things, but it really paid off this time.”
“I’ll say.” I’m not sure what a charity thing has to do with his job as a computer repair guy. I open my mouth to ask, but he’s quicker than I am.
“So, what are you doing this weekend?”
“This weekend?” I should probably invent something so I don’t sound desperate and too available, but the only thing I can come up with is testing the pH levels of my houseplants’ soil.
That’s lamer than being desperate and available.
“I don’t have plans,” I say. “Why?”
“Come with me. Be my date.”
“Are you serious?” My heart is thudding in my ears, but I tell myself it’s just the excitement of a luxury getaway. It has nothing to do with Simon himself. With the feelings that may or may not be growing bigger than I expected.
“Totally serious,” he says. “This seems like fate, doesn’t it? Number ten on The List?—”
“‘Naughty spa day at super-snooty place for rich assholes,’” I recite, a little embarrassed now by my own word choice.
“We can be assholes together,” he says.
“There’s no one else I’d rather be an asshole with,” I tell him, which is true.
I bite my lip, wondering what the odds are that he’d win a luxury getaway at a place that so perfectly fits what I described on the list. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is fate.
“Okay,” I tell him. “I’d love to go.”
“Awesome. I’ll email you a pic of the certificate. That has all the details about the package.”
“Perfect,” I say, imagining myself as the sort of woman who’d hop in a limousine bound for a luxury spa resort at the foot of the Cascade Mountains. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“Thanks for agreeing to come.”
