For instance, Why hasn’t Adam called or texted? And what will I do if he does either when I’m with Jack?
For now, I stay in the present and dive further into the topic of dating options. “We could hit the party buses,” I joke. “Or,” I add, “Carly on floor two met her husband at a wedding. Maybe you shouldn’t be taking me as your date, but rather a friend. Then you leave your options open.”
“Well, we can tell my sister you’re my date. If there’s some gorgeous woman who hits on me at the wedding, I’ll disappear, and you can tell her I’m an asshole for cheating on you. She’d love it.”
“Oh gosh, maybe we should plan it and make it happen. If only we could get Jess to attend the wedding and play the game with us.”
“I’d rather it really happen,” he comments as the tacos are set in front of us.
“True,” I say. “Maybe it will.”
“Or maybe we’re getting married in ten years, two best friends who are both losers with the opposite sex.”
“Good Lord,” I say, finishing off a bite of taco. “Now you’ve wiped away all flattery over your dating proposition.”
“I could do worse,” he comments, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.
“Okay, stop while we’re still friends and have not killed our ten-year safety net.”
His cellphone rings, and he snags it from his pocket, glances at it, and says, “I need to take this. I’ll be right back.” He slides off his stool and leaves me and his food behind.
I frown as I watch him appear outside the window just a couple of tables down. Jack has never taken a call and not told me who it was before, let alone left the building to speak in private.
What the heck is going on?
Chapter Seventy-Seven
When Jack returns after finishing up with his mysterious call outside, he doesn’t explain himself at all, and I don’t push him. Lord knows, I’ve checked my phone for anything from Adam numerous times, and I even considered a run to the bathroom to try to call him.
Thankfully we fall back into our easy banter, and Jack never questions me or my weird behavior. That could translate into me managing to act normal. Or maybe whatever is going on in his life that he’s obviously not telling me about is distracting enough for me to earn a pass for the evening. I’m not sure I like either option.
When dinner is over, we begin the stroll back to my loft. “I’m just going to write up dating-site app notes for Jess and email them to her,” Jack says decidedly, as if the topic has been under grand debate, when it has not. We haven’t talked about it at all over dinner. “Then I’m just done with this,” he adds. “You could do the same for the last time you were on the sites.”
“True,” I say. “And I might just do that.”
“How formal is Jess’s awards ceremony, and where is it?”
“You know, I didn’t even ask,” I say, “but I assume at her offices. They have an auditorium. I’ve been there a couple of times. It’s actually a really nice building.”
“They’re owned by some major publication,” he replies. “That really doesn’t surprise me.”
We near my loft, and I’m already debating ways to convince him he doesn’t need to come up, but it turns out that’s not a real challenge. Once we’re in the building, Jack is ready to head home, glancing at his watch. “How is it almost nine already? We both better get some rest. You have to deal with Akia in the morning, and I have to deal with my sister on Saturday. Maybe I need to go get one of those vitamin drips at that place down the road at lunch tomorrow in hopes of combating the stress of her for an afternoon and Jess for an evening.”
“Maybe we both do,” I say, and neither of us is laughing.
The two of us understand stressing over little things that feel big to us and small to others.
I open the door to the building and pause. “I think I’ll start with wine tonight. Per Akia I’m to meet him at eight in the morning to pass the baton. And Kara is radio silent. I do hope she’s okay.”
“Maybe she’ll show up tomorrow, but drink the wine in case you’re stuck with Akia.”
We say our good nights, and I head inside the building, pausing as I notice the bookstore door cracked open, with no sound blasting from within.
Curious if Ben actually listened after I threatened to murder his iPhone, I ease into the doorway to find a short, middle-age woman in a frumpy dress cleaning the store—sweeping, to be exact—instead of Ben. “Hello,” I greet.
“Oh, hello,” she says, smiling at me, her hand settling on her robust belly, while the other holds the broom. “You must be Mia, the tenant upstairs. I’m Blanca.”
“Where’s Ben?”
