I scribble my number onto Calvin’s cup with a smiley face and my name and then slide it over the bar to him. “Here ya go.”
He studies it. “Blair. That’s a beautiful name.” He looks up with a smile and nods. “I’ll be in contact.”
“Oh, thanks. I will respond to your contact!” I shout as he walks out the front door. “Oh my gosh,” I slap both hands over my mouth, wanting to crawl out of my skin.
Harper looks at me from the cash register, a poorly hidden smile blooming on her face.
“I can’t believe I just said that,” I say to her.
“Honestly, I can’t either,” she giggles, incapable of sounding mean.
“?‘I will respond to your contact’? Who says that?”
“You, apparently.” Harper looks amused to be in on something with me.
Declan shuffles past meagain.This man never stops moving.
“Oh, Declan,” I call.
He motions with his eyebrows for me to go on.
“Hey, uhm,” I start, not quite sure what I was planning to say.How do you know the man who asked for my number?didn’t really flow off the tongue. “Who’s Calvin?” I ask instead.
“Calvin?” he repeats, scratching his eyebrow with a slight head tilt.
“Yeah.”
“He owns the auto shop down the road. Comes in pretty often at lunchtime,” he says, looking away.
I nod. “You guys pretty close?” I continue, trying to justify my reason for stopping him.
He shrugs.
I nod, slower this time.
He grabs a rag and starts wiping down the countertop, coffee grounds falling off the side.
“Oh, don’t worry. I can get that,” I say, putting my hand on his arm.
He stiffens slightly and I yank my hand back, embarrassed by my reflex to touch him.
“No. It’s fine,” he says, returning to wiping, the muscles in his forearm flexing and relaxing with the effort.
“Are overtime hours available for tonight?” I ask. Switching topics seems like a good idea.
“Oh. I can’t actually. Everyone’s going to Jonny’s Pints and Pins after work.” He returns to scrubbing the already clean countertop.
I nod again, beginning to turn since I can’t think of anything else to say.
“You should come,” he adds abruptly, as if the guilt of not inviting me weighed on him in the silence of my turn.
I didn’t want a pity invite from Declan. Me being there was probably the last thing he wanted.
“That’s okay. I have”—I wave my hand in the air—“stuff to do.”
Gosh. That’s the best I could come up with? What about ‘I have to finish the novel I decided to write’ or ‘Ernst & Young wanted to do another interview with me for fun because they can’t wait for my arrival in September’?
“Stuff?” he repeats, mouth pulling up into a sly grin.
