I jab in her direction with the thick plastic. There’s no point lying. Paloma’s bullshit detector is top-notch. “Klein sent me an interesting video.”
“Word Daddy?” Cecily peeks out from behind her menu, eyebrows raised.
I frown. “What kind of nickname is that?”
“The accurate kind,” Paloma not-at-all helpfully adds. “What kind of interesting video did Klein send you?”
I sip my sparkling water and look away. “Ice.”
“Ice?”
I nod.
“Wow,” Cecily deadpans. “Don’t get too wild. Ice is dangerous. Frostbite. Hypothermia. Whatever the fuck else.”
Paloma frowns. “I expect more creativity from a writer. Maybe he’s washed up before he got out of the gate.”
“He has plenty of creativity,” I defend. “He only sentme that video because I told him I like to watch different types of ice being made.”
“Hold up,” Cecily raises a hand. “We’ll come back to your weird ice fetish later. For now, let’s discuss him sending you something he thought you’d enjoy.”
I shrug. “He came across it and sent it to me. What’s the big deal? It’s not like he offered a kidney.”
“He didn’tcome across it,” Paloma says, running her finger underneath every item on the menu as she reads. She’ll have the salmon, as she does every time, and still, she’ll read the whole menu. “He went looking for it.”
“Oh wow.” Placing the back of my hand on my forehead, I pretend to swoon. “He typed three words in a search bar?” My hands dramatically drop to my chest. “Be still my heart.”
“Downplay it all you want,” Cecily says as she locks eyes with the server, nodding when he gives her the universal ‘are you ready to order?’ facial expression. “In today’s dating landscape that’s like trudging uphill both ways in the snow to deliver a single rose to your beloved.”
Paloma gives her a withering look. “It’s not that bad out there.”
“Correct,” Cecily nods. “It’s worse.”
The server arrives to take our order. Cecily and I order the bacon and tomato grilled cheese with a side of tomato basil soup.
“I’ll have the salmon,” Paloma announces with gusto, like she’s going out on a limb and trying something new.
“Surprise, surprise,” Cecily mutters, gathering our menus and handing them over. “Let’s talk more about Klein.”
“I really don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“There’s nothing to say. We’ve been doing what we need to do to get to know each other as much as we need to.”
“Klein the writer would vomit all over that jumbled sentence.”
“Not my best,” I admit. “Our relationship is professional. We’re not even friends.”
“Dumb,” Paloma says bluntly. “You might want to be friends with the guy you’re flying across the country and staying on a secluded island with.”
“There will be lots of people on this island. Family, friends, and strangers.”
“And Word Daddy.” Cecily pops her eyebrows, just once, while the rest of her face remains impassive. This is all I need to see to know that Cecily thinks well of Klein. “You know,” she says slowly, like the idea is occurring to her in real time. “You’re kind of checking the same boxes of people who are really dating.”
“How’s that?”
“Getting to know each other, meeting his family.” She counts off on two fingers, unfurling a third finger and adding, “texting videos you think the other might enjoy.”
