(For the record, I would never allow Luna to fall into such a trap. I pose the question merely out of curiosity.)
His face darkens. “It’s too late. I’ve already shown public interest in you, by buying your auctioned date, and she’ll get suspicious if I try to switch Tempests.” He leans his elbow on a shelf, bestowing me with a megawatt grin. “Bail on your date and I’ll show you the time of your life. I know I didn’t mean all those pretty things I said to you before, but I do now. Truly.”
I swat him away. “Here, shelve these last two, will you?This occasion calls for my best bra, which means I’ve gotta dig through an avalanche of unfolded laundry.”
At the mention of the wordbra, Morgan’s intense stare locks on mine, and it’s as if his skull is transparent, so easy is it to see the wordsDon’t Look at Her Chestrolling across a billboard in his brain. He fails to heed them.
I point. “Caught you.”
“There was a fly on your shirt. Don’t look, he’s already gone. I can’t believe you’re taking valuable time away from our mission to sit with a man who probably floods anthills for fun.”
I roll my eyes, annoyed that he’s made me smile. “Bye, Morgan.”
—
I open theshiny silver door to Dark Side of the Spoon, fully aware that I am overdressed for a first date at a small-town diner. I tried on several low-key outfits before giving it up and throwing on a black spaghetti-strap dress with a corseted waist and black lace tights along with the most gorgeous green Pendragon boots you’ve ever seen—they look as if they’re made of leaves, spiking up my ankles. I am obsessed with these boots. Pendragon shoes are quite pricey, and twice now I have splurged on their Enchanted Forest collection. What I’ve saved in rent money by living in a camper van these past few years, I’ve channeled into clothes and shoes. This is my curse: I hate drawing attention to myself, but I love fashion more.
I haven’t been in here before, and the interior matches the front door: shiny and silvery. It has a fifties retro-futuristicmotif, with space art on the walls. The long counter is packed with customers, but Dylan’s the only person sitting in a booth. He waves when he spots me.
Nerves flutter.
“Hey, you.” I slide my purse along the vinyl bench across from him. There’s a glass of water and a menu waiting for me, and his soda is half gone. “Am I late? We said six, right?” I laugh nervously.
“No, you’re not late. I’m always early. Kind of an annoying habit sometimes.”
“If only you’d been early to the auction,” I joke. “Then we could’ve had this date three weeks ago.”
His face falls. “I tried to be. Extenuating circumstances.”
“I was just kidding,” I rush to reassure him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
He nods, perusing his menu. It’s quiet for a beat.
“Have you eaten here before?” I ask.
“Yeah. I had the burger last time.” He makes a so-so motion with his hand. “Wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Oh. I hope the other food’s good.” Another nervous laugh. “If it isn’t, I’m sorry for suggesting this place. It’s the only restaurant in town I haven’t tried yet.”
“That’s perfectly all right.” Dylan flips his menu over, skimming appetizers on the back side.
I fiddle with a pepper shaker shaped like a rocket ship, unsure of how to steer a conversation.
“You look amazing,” he tells me.
“Thank you, I—”
The door opens behind us and right by walks a man with ahead full of (lustrous) black hair. He slips his fingers into it and keeps them like that, elbow blocking the face, as if that will conceal his identity. He sits in the booth directly behind Dylan and vanishes behind a menu.
I haven’t finished my sentence, and Dylan is staring at me. His gray shirt is neat and crisp, bringing out the color of his irises.
“You look amazing, too,” I hurry to say. “I love the glasses.”
“Yeah?” He touches his frames. “I’ve been thinking about getting LASIK.”
“Don’t!” I blurt. Then I clear my throat, my voice lowering. “I’m a big fan of the glasses. Just saying.”
This pulls a genuine smile from him. “Good to know.”
