Sorry, no. I was many glorious things. A girl who forgot about food I was not.
And I wasn't taking Cal anywhere unless I had a plan. No plan, no penis.
"Then we'll sit," I said. "We'll stay awhile."
The beers arrivedfirst but Cal didn't seem to notice. He was looking at me in a way no one ever had before. Like he needed to gobble up every inch of me before I disappeared. I didn't know how to make sense of it.
So, I didn't. Not everything required analysis.
I lifted my glass. "To sitting," I said with a laugh.
Cal nodded, raised his glass to mine, and then watched while I drank. He went on staring for another second or two but then he blinked away and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry about that," he said. "Whenever I stop to think about this, I realize how crazy it is."
"Don't stop," I replied. "Don't think."Don't plan. I shocked myself with that thought but shook it off as quick as it came.
He took one sip, then another before setting it down. He ran his fingers over his lips before dropping his chin onto his fist. "Where did you come from, Stella Allesandro?"
"Quincy. I already told you that. Come on, Cal. You gotta keep up here."
Cal laughed, quick and surprised at first but then deep. As if I'd presented him with true comedy. "That's fair," he said. "That's a fair response. I probably would've said the same thing."
I reached for my glass and gestured for him to do the same. "And where did you come from, Cal Hartshorn?"
"Anywhere you want," he replied.
"No. Nope. Offensive foul. Ten-yard penalty." I shook my head, putting my drink down while the server set our plates in front of us.
"Ten yards?" he asked, his face crinkling in mock outrage. "You gotta be kidding me, ref."
"Illegal play," I replied, stealing some fries from the basket between us. "Sweet talk. Pandering to the receiver." I sliced my hand through the air, the call official. "Ten yards."
Cal brushed his palms together, an inkling of mirth peeking out from behind the heavy fog of his adoration. I couldn't operate like that. If there was one thing I'd learned from my life before the color-coded calendar it was that relationships required balance. I could be his queen but only—only!—if he was my king. Anything less and the whole thing teetered on unsteady legs.
I wasn't saying—after a matter of hours with this guy—he couldn't be my king. But I needed to know my king lovedThe Gooniesand understood the happiest place on earth was the fifty-yard line and let me borrow and then slowly steal his t-shirts and never asked whether I was wearing too much mascara because—in the immortal words ofMean Girls—the limit did not exist. And my sisters needed to love him. My parents too.
"All right," he muttered, resting his forearms on the table. "What do you want to know, Stel?"
Stel. I'd never heard that one before. It was usually a deep, bellowed "Stella!" or my sisters' favorite, Stellaluna. I'd takeA Streetcar Named Desireover the children's book about a bat any day.
Fuck plans. Just…fuck plans. I could get away without a plan this one time. What was the worst that could happen?
"I want to know the same things you do," I replied. "Everything."
And that was it. That was the worst thing that could happen—everything.
11
Cal
"Everything,"she said, as if it was the simplest request ever made.Give me everything you have and don't think twice.
Where did I even start? What could I say that would allow us to bypass the bullshit and get right down to business? I wanted to know what she loved, what she craved, what she wanted from this life. But I didn't know how to get there from here.
I didn't know when it happened but I was a heathen. I wasn't about to apologize for it either. Stella's presence, it loosened something in me, granted me permission to be—to be a little wild. Then again, maybe it wasn't Stella so much as me wanting to be wild with her. For her.
"I'm from rural Oregon," I said, plunging straight into the bullshit while I arranged my burger. "Went to OSU. Undergrad through med school. Then the Army, Ranger school, two tours in Afghanistan. After that, residency in Minnesota. Attending gig here in Boston. Never married. One sister, older. Mom's a family physician, Dad works with wood."
Her eyes glittered as she asked, "But you're open to the possibility?" I frowned, not immediately understanding her question. "Or was that proposal this morning purely comical?"
