And to top it off, the reason he’s not in an Emerald Canopy Lodge shirt is because it’s his day off.
Fantastic.
“You don’t have to do that. I mean, I appreciate you at least finding the boxes, but I don’t want to take up anymore of your—”
“Ivy. It’s fine,” he interrupts and says it in a way that’s final.
“Thank you… I just realized I never asked your name.” My cheeks flush hearing him say mine. My skin color probably resembles a beet at this point. I have no chill.
“It’s Holland.”
“Like Tom Holland?”
“No, likemeHolland,” he says, hands on his chest, reiterating his point.
“Is your first name Tom?”
“My first name is Holland. Like your first name is Ivy. When’s the last time you did this whole introduction thing?” He looks at me, almost skeptical, but still making progress with the boxes.
“I blame this on the caffeine crash, time zone difference, and response to the crisis this morning. Okay, Holland, tell me you were named after the best Spider-Man of all time.”
“I doubt that, since I’m thirty-four, and was born before Tom Holland,” he exclaims, matter-of-factly. “And easy with the best Spider-Man of all time label.” He rolls his eyes.
“Youdon’tthink Tom Holland is the best Spider-Man of all time?” I fake gasp but am also interested in his response.
“Boxes first. Merits of each Spider-Man later,” he says as he points to the boxes.
A little embarrassed, I nod and we get to work. Together we unpack and bring the long-awaited life to the table. We get the other tablecloth out, steamed, and on. After assembling the rest of the tabletop display, we arrange giveaway items.
I pack bags for the individuals I know will stop by. I want them to easily find their names and be on their way; people love a low-time commitment. Without saying much, Holland and I have an assembly-like line going; I write the names on the bags and add the plant-based pillow spray, collapsible water bottle, and reusable produce bags while he finds their quarter-zip size and folds it on top of the items.
Why could I watch this man fold sweatshirts all day? He does it neatly and carefully. They fit perfectly in the bags.
Conference attendees trickle in and I can’t believe we’ve managed to get everything ready in such a short amount of time.
“That’s my cue.” Holland points to the groups of people making their way in.
“Thank you. I would’ve really struggled to do this on my own.” That is an understatement.
“Glad I could help.” He stands tall with his hands on his hips. “Anyways, I owe you a Spider-Man conversation. When’s this whole thing wrapped up?”
“Tomorrow night. The networking event ends at eight,” I say, unsure of where this is going.
“I’ll be around. Drinks at the restaurant bar sound good?”
“Okay. Sounds like a plan. Thanks again, Holland, not Tom.” I smile and prepare for the waves of people.
Holland turns and leaves. I’m surprised with myself. While I’m still disappointed I wasn’t proactive enough for this hiccup, I’m no longer only thinking about how stupid I am.
Instead, I’m strategizing how I’ll defend my Spider-Man.
Chapter Seven
WHAT THE HELL is wrong with me? Helping with the boxes makes sense. Asking her out for drinks? The fuck. Who am I?
After helping Ivy, I return to the front desk with Bea. I pat my face, making sure I don’t have a fever. Getting sick would help explain my recent change in behavior. Unfortunately, no fever. Damn.
“You say I can’t make fun of your employees.” Bea puts employees in air quotes. “But they had that poor gal in a fit.” She puts her hands on her hips—a look I’m accustomed to. I find myself doing it sometimes as well. Embarrassing.
