I try to speak but end up inhaling a bunch of crumbs into my throat instead, sending me into a coughing fit.
“Hey, drink something.” Aaron looks vaguely worried as he hands me my cup. I take a small sip, but it’s still burning hot, and I can’t get more than the tiniest bit of liquid into my mouth without risking my tongue. I’m not sure which is the worst way to go—death by scone or death by scalding coffee. Neither is going to look good on my tombstone. “Here.” He hands me a bunch of napkins. I don’t have many options, so I spit the remaining piece into the napkin.
Cool. That has to be the worst early impression I’ve made on either a friend or a date. Can a person actually die of embarrassment? I’ve wondered that before, but now I’m running my own mini experiment.
“Want me to get you a water?”
“No, I’m good.” My voice is strained and rough, but at least I’m getting enough air to speak. Not great, but an improvement.
“You sure?”
I give him two thumbs up. It completes my complete and utter mortification.
Aaron looks skeptical but doesn’t say anything else, giving me a minute to pull myself together and drink a few more sips of coffee. Clearly, it should’ve been an iced coffee night.
“So, how was your day?” It’s the first complete sentence I’ve been able to get out in a bit.
“A bit crazy, but okay.”
“Um, this is going to sound bad, but what is it you do?” I probably should’ve led with that the last time we hung out. We were so busy swapping stories about our childhood and bad dates that I didn’t think to ask. Or if he said, I don’t remember.
“I’m an engineer at the airport.”
“Like for the planes?” Maybe he’ll be the one to help me get over my fear of flying. I’ve watched all the videos pilots doon social media explaining why, supposedly, turbulence is not dangerous. It sounds fake. Maybe Aaron can finally be the way to give me a lecture on it that sticks.
“Not exactly. I occasionally work on a plane, but it’s the more boring stuff. Making sure everything in the airport works, like the baggage system and escalators. I know it doesn’t sound nearly as exciting, but there are a lot of things at the airport that require regular maintenance and improvement.”
I work extra hard to keep the excitement on my face. I can tell by the way he says it that people often give him crap for it. “That sounds cool. I’ve never been in the airport.” It’s only partially true. I’ve picked a few people up, but that’s typically waiting for them to grab their bags and meet me at the curb.
“Really?”
“Um… yeah? I don’t really fly much.” Or ever, if I can avoid it. For the last five years, I’ve managed to get away by taking either my car or a train. I don’t see a future where that changes. Well, maybe. The author I work for lives on the East Coast. He’s asked me to come out to visit a few times, reminding me how much work we could get done if we were in the same room for a weekend.
He’s right. I’ve been hinting that he should come out here instead. The only thing saving me is that he’s a bit of a recluse and rarely attends events. As it is, I’ve done a few overnight trains to meet him at places. It’s not an ideal situation, but it keeps me from getting on a flying death trap.
Aaron must sense that I don’t want to talk about it anymore, because he changes the topic. “What did you say you do for work?”
“I’m a virtual assistant. Mostly for this one fantasy author, but I do some work for a few others. It’s a lot of keeping them organized and making sure they don’t miss deadlines.” I hold my breath a bit. It’s sometimes a weird conversation. I’ve been toldit doesn’t sound like a real job. Which is fair enough, because I thought that, too, at first.
“That sounds so cool. Do you get to read the books early?”
“Usually.” I think about the manuscript currently on my e-reader back home. It’s the newest one. I’m doing a final pass to make sure no typos have slipped through. It’s been proofread a million times, but there’s always something. Getting to read books before the general public is a nice perk, though it comes with a non-disclosure agreement that threatens to take my firstborn if I disclose any of the details. “I’ve usually read it a few times by the time it goes to publication.”
“That must be nice.” A long moment passes, during which neither of us says anything. Maybe our time at the bar was a fluke? A weird off night where there was a connection between us that’s faded. In all the options I thought through tonight, that one didn’t pop up on my radar. I assumed either he wouldn’t show or he’d only be here long enough to turn me away. Maybe show up with a girlfriend to make a pointed statement about how incompatible we are.
As much as I wouldn’t put it past a lot of people, Aaron doesn’t seem like that kind of guy. At least from the little I’ve seen so far.
“So, what do you do for fun?” he finally asks. “I didn’t really get the chance to ask you the other night.”
Small talk. Great. “I crochet a lot.”
He gives me a slight head tilt, like he’s trying to work things out. “With yarn and stuff?”
I hold up the scarf that I brought with me. It’s not a great example of my work. The only reason it’s mine is that it turned out so poorly I can’t possibly gift it to someone else. There are a few skipped stitches and frayed ends throughout, places where the pattern got screwed up, and the edges only look straight after a few glasses of wine. It was my first attempt at a morecomplicated pattern, and I couldn’t bring myself to unravel it or throw it away. So it’s mine. When it’s on, people can barely tell it’s uneven.
I think.
“You made that? That’s incredible.” My face heats at his praise. Usually, people have strong opinions about crocheting.
