But also, if wedon’tdo this date in public, then people will question if I carried through with what I offered at the auction, and that will suck.
I delay deciding what to wear by doing my physical therapy exercises on my arm, and then I text Waverly.
What should I wear?
I don’t expect an immediate response, but I get one anyway.For the tea shop? Send pictures. What are you considering?
I lay out the four choices on my bed, snap a picture, and send it to her.
There’s zero chance she’ll tell me to wear the ripped jean shorts and Led Zeppelin T-shirt that I bought at a thrift store in college. Very little chance she’ll tell me to wear the jeans and Fireballs polo either.
So will she suggest the black or the tan slacks? And the peach or the green blouse?
My phone rings.
Why am I friends with people who think texts require phone call answers?
Or, in this case, video calls?
I answer, watching my own face wincing on my phone screen. “None of them?” I ask Waverly.
She’s makeup-free with her hair pulled up in a ponytail, moving up and down as she apparently jogs on a treadmill. “Do you have a sundress?”
I make a face.
She laughs. “I thought you secretly loved dresses.”
“I do, but this is a professional transaction between someone offering an experience and a man who paid over a hundred grand for that experience. There will be pictures.”
“Ignore the pictures. Ignore the auction. If you and I were going to tea, what would you wear?”
I mumble an answer.
There’s zero chance she understood what I said, but her grin says she knows what the answer was anyway. “So go pick a sundress.”
“My favorite one has spaghetti straps and it might be cold in the teahouse.”
“Do you have a light cardigan?”
“It’s pink.”
“You look fabulous in pink.”
“I know.”
“Do you feel good in pink?”
“Yes,” I grumble.
“Wear your hair down. Go light on the makeup. Pick your favorite sundress. Add the pink cardigan. And then sit in that teahouse with both of you on your devices, playing that game where you’ll both be shrieking about eyeballs getting poked out and sticks up each other’s butts, and have a great time.”
“My creature died yesterday when my boat ride to another island was attacked by sharks.”
“This isexactlywhat I’m talking about. People will be so busy talking about how weird you are, they won’t even notice you and Duncan making eyes at each other all afternoon.”
She has such a good point that I do, in fact, pick my favorite sundress, strappy sandals, and the pink cardigan. I add tiny diamond stud earrings and the barest coat of makeup, and then I take her advice and leave my hair down.
And there she is.
