“I thought…” I shake my head. “I hoped you’d understand without a note.”
Her gaze softens. “I didn’t need words. It was a beautiful gesture.”
My head lifts.
“I kept it on the counter for a few days,” she says, voice calming. “And then I pressed a few of the petals between the pages in a heavy book. It will remind me that someone thought of me in a way that deserved even a small token. Someone saw me. You saw me.”
My throat tightens. “The rose was a bit last minute, an idea that just popped into my brain. But you wouldn’t leave my mind. I thought of you the whole walk there. And just about every minute since then.”
Her smile deepens and the corners of her mouth pull up. Small crinkles form around her eyes.
I clear my throat, searching for composure in the face of her joy.
“Would you want to?—”
“Yes.”
A quiet laugh escapes me. “You didn’t even let me ask.”
“You didn’t need to.”
I grin. “Old-fashioned way it is, then.”
She leans in, brushing a knuckle against my arm. “I like old-fashioned.”
The Griddle & Grain buzzes with its usual cozy clatter—cutlery tapping against plates, chairs scraping across wood floors, Marty whistling off-key in the kitchen. The booths are alive with chatter and clinking coffee mugs.
We slide into one across from the window. The vinyl squeaks beneath us. A chocolate cherry milkshake arrives, absurdly oversized, in a frosted glass goblet.
Marty eyes me as he sets it down. “That’s a lot of dairy for a man on a date.”
“I plan to share.” I slide the milkshake an inch closer to her side of the table.
“Smart,” Marty grunts. “Pen would’ve had my head if you keeled over from milkshake brain freeze.”
Maisie giggles and hands me a straw. Our fingertips meet again, briefly. She doesn’t pull away.
Pen approaches with fries and her usual sass. “I still can’t get over the potluck challenge.” She leans closer. “You saved his booty, you know. Real smooth work, flower girl.”
Maisie shrugs. “Spontaneous teamwork.”
Pen waves a hand. “Same thing in romance.” She smirks. “So it’s official now?”
A blush rises on Maisie’s cheeks. I rub the back of my neck.
“We’re figuring it out.”
Pen gasps. “After that kiss? Oh, honey. That was fire.”
Marty calls out from the kitchen, “Aren’t the kids saying something else now?”
Pensnorts. “‘Rizz.’ That’s the new one. Means charming. As in, ‘Beau rizzed Maisie for a kiss.’”
Maisie laughs so hard she nearly chokes on her straw.
“Used to call that being smooth,” Marty mutters, back at the table next to Pen now.
Pen shrugs. “We’re elders, my Mart man. Can’t keep up with the young ones in body or lingo.”
