So, when the purpose of her message is to ask me if I’m free for brunch Saturday morning, I couldn’t say no. Not that I don’t want to see her, but as soon as I read her message—a sweet and simple “brunch?” followed by a grinning-smiley face emoji—I became vividly aware of all the things I’ve been keeping from her. I can’t tell Teeny about Andrew. I can’t tell her about this guy I just started talking to or all the hours he and I have logged over the phone. The old-fashioned way of communicating instead of through a back-and-forth game of text message tag. I have to pretend like my love life is as bland and listless as it’s always been. It’s not just Teeny. I can’t even tell Jade about it. My own sister. The two people who have always invested so much interest in my dating history. Whether it was to hold me while I cried over my failed marriage or to clink a glass of champagne over my first rebound after my divorce. I have to keep all of this, these new and exciting feelings, from both of them. I guess it’s just as well. There shouldn’t be any new, exciting feelings to tell anyway. Andrew and I are friends.Secretfriends. There’s nothing to tell, and it should stay that way. Spreading gossip over these confusing thoughts would definitely complicate things.
I feel like a damn metronome, swaying back and forth with this annoying synchronous rhythm. I’m caught up in thesewishy-washy feelings, going back and forth from feeling giddy and excited every time my phone buzzes with a new message from Andrew and quickly smothering it the second I remember he’s just a friend. I’m giving myself whiplash.
But right now, I have to smother whatever waffling thoughts keep popping up in my head. I’m meeting Teeny in five minutes at a quaint mom-and-pop diner called Marie’s in Del Mar Heights. Teeny brought me here for the first time about a year ago. I ordered a plate of hazelnut waffles, and I haven’t been able to stay away since. I walk in, and just as I tell the hostess it’ll be a table for two and step aside to wait for Teeny, my phone buzzes in my hand.
“Hey,” I say, answering Teeny’s call. “I just got here. It’s just a few minutes for a table.
“Grace, I’m so sorry, but it’s going to be a while until I make it there,” she says. She sounds distracted and worried.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she answers. “Sadie just called me and said her ankle rolled during morning practice, and now she can’t walk.”
“Oh, poor baby.”
She sighs through the slight drum of traffic while talking through the speaker system in her car. “I told her not to join track. That girl is so clumsy. Organized sports is not her thing.”
I laugh at her small attempt at a joke at Sadie’s expense, knowing she’s doing it to snuff the worry rattling her nerves. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, I think so, but she wants me to come get her,” she explains. “And I called Everett. He was playing pickleball with Josh. He’s meeting me at her school.”
“Pickleball?”
“Yeah, it’s their new thing,” she explains. “I told him it’s probably nothing, but he wouldn’t hear it.”
“Okay, do you want me to wait for you then?”
“If you don’t mind. If anything, I’ll just pick her up and bring her with me. If that’s okay.”
“Of course,” I answer. “I’m sure she’s fine. You know, kids injure themselves like this all the time.”
“Yeah. I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
I hang up, a little disappointed while hoping this scare turns out to be nothing.
“I’ll show you to your table.”
The kind hostess smiles at me, a small stack of menus held to her chest, while the expectant look on her face urges me to follow her. I follow her despite the change in plans and once I’m at the small booth, I turn to her and apologetically say, “It’ll be a few more minutes for my friend can get here.”
“Okay,” she answers with a nod. “I’ll let your server know.”
I open one of the menus, though I already know what I’m going to order. I consider adding a side of bacon or breakfast potatoes at the same time a server breezes by, placing two identical glasses of water in front of me. I order a cup of coffee, still waiting for the other half of my party, and continue my perusal of the menu.
It’s when I’m adding two packets of sugar to my coffee that I look up only to be greeted by the last person I thought I’d run into here.
“Hey.” Andrew smiles down at me, his arms out in the open for all of humanity to see in his cutoff sleeves. And of course, those tattoos licking down his strained biceps. He’s wearing gym shorts and sneakers, the epitome of a lazy Saturday morning and someone who most likely spends his free time working out.
“Hi,” I respond. “What are you doing here?”
“Just ordering some waffles to go.”
“Waffles?” My brow shoots up, and I purse my lips into an approving smile.
“Yeah, why?” he asks. He slips into the seat across from me, settling into the cushioned seat with a pleased smile as if he plans to stay. His eyes gleam in the light streaming in from the window right next to us. They look even more caramel-colored than usual, swirling in pools of brown with small flecks of bronze and copper. They curve when he smiles, the brown turning warmer under the shadows now cast from his brow.
“What?” I respond, feigning innocence. Our eyes lock in a flickering pause filled with silent smiles. I can feel the taunt in the playful bounce of his brows and the slick way he rolls the tip of his tongue across his perfect teeth.
