About how you hugged me after I scored and I wanted to never let you go. About how you knew exactly how to calm me down today. About how I’m completely fucked because I’m falling for you, but you don’t appear to be interested in anything more than friendship.
“About how Mel from work offered to set me up with her brother, and I should probably accept,” I say instead.
Jared goes still. “Oh?”
“Yeah, she asked me today. I’m thinking it might be good for me to go on a date.”
“Right.” His voice sounds weird. Flat. “That’s…good. Getting back out there.”
“Exactly.”
There’s a commotion because Mattie has come back to the table, sheepishly clutching some beers he’d been sent to order ten minutes ago. He got caught up talking to an Australian guy at the bar.
The guys give Mattie shit about flirting with the enemy, but I don’t pay close attention.
Anyway, I’ve made my decision. While Jared’s in the restroom, I pull out my phone.
Hey, Melissa, I’ve thought about it, and I’d like to meet your brother.
She replies immediately with about twelve exclamation points and a string of emojis.
His name’s Mason. I’ll set it up for this weekend!
I stare at the message. Mason. A nice, normal name for what will probably be a nice, normal date with someone who isn’t my neighbor, isn’t my friend, isn’t the person who held my hand in the dark during the worst moments of my life and now makes me laugh until I can’t breathe.
“Another cider?” Jared asks.
“Yeah,” I say, shoving my phone in my pocket. “Another round.”
Maybe dating Mason will fix this. Maybe someone else’s hands on me will finally overwrite the memory of Jared’s.
Maybe I’ll stop wanting something I can’t have.
Chapter 6
I want it on record that I try extremely hard for my date with Mason.
I spend an hour getting ready, which is approximately fifty-five minutes longer than I usually spend on my appearance since the accident. I dig out a fitted burgundy shirt from an upcoming New Zealand designer that I purchased when I had my old staff discount.
I even attempt to style my hair in a way that artfully covers the worst of my scars while still looking effortlessly tousled, which takes approximately forty-seven attempts and half a bottle of product.
Mason has suggested meeting at this gastropub in Mt Eden. It’s the kind of place that serves deconstructed shepherd’s pie and charges forty dollars for it. He pulls out my chair, compliments my shirt, and makes conversation about neutral topics like the latest season of that crime documentary everyone’s watching. His voice is pleasant enough, but it’s not chocolate cake. It’s more like…store-bought vanilla frosting.
And when we go up to pay the bill, he does this smooth move with his card that makes it clear he’s paying without making it weird or patronizing.
Melissa didn’t oversell him. He is a genuinely nice guy.
But that indefinable spark, that pull toward someone that makes you forget your own name when they smile, is definitely missing.
And somehow, the date just leaves me craving Jared. Craving his chocolate-cake voice, his warm smile, the simple miracle of being near someone who already knows all my damage and still chooses to spend time with me.
So when I get home, once I’ve comforted Patches, who acts like I abandoned her for three years in the Siberian wilderness, I can’t help staring at my phone. I type out a message to Jared, then delete it. Type another. Delete. Finally, I just send:
Are you still awake?
The dots appear immediately, almost like he was waiting.
Yeah, I’m still awake.
