Page 23 of Man Flu

“We have a big market down there,” I tell him.

“Well, I’ll go book your flight and room,” Brielle tells Logan. “This will be a great way for all of us to get to know each other.” Because she hasn’t made things awkward enough, she feels the need to throw me a not-so-casual wink.

“Wait, Brielle?” I call out as she’s strutting out the door in her heels.

With a twist of her toes, she turns back to face me. “Yes?”

“You said you had the promotional material being delivered today. Wasn’t that supposed to be done in-house?”

“I meant the swag items,” she says. “Yes, you were supposed to design the promotional material for me to print.”

Shit. “Right, I’ll get that to you today.”

“What can I do?” Logan asks.

“Once I have the graphics ready, you can bring them up to the print room and collate.”

“I love being a temp,” he says with a cute smile. I kind of wish I was the temp right now. I’d rather mindlessly collate than focus on creating a promotion while imagining my temp naked.

* * *

It takes me way too long to create these damn things, and it’s just about lunchtime. Knowing I didn’t bring anything to eat at my desk today, I stand up and grab my coat. “I’ll have those graphics for you after lunch,” I tell Logan as I pass by his cube.

“Hey, wait up,” he says. “Where is there a good place to grab a bite around here?”

I stop and button up my coat. “There are a lot of cafes and fast food options in the center of town, about five minutes down the road.”

He stands up and grabs his peacoat, which looks like it was tailor-made for him. “Which one are you going to?”

Wow. That’s forward, but I’m not complaining. “I actually haven’t decided yet.”

“You don’t like making decisions, do you?” he criticizes.

“I hate making decisions, because I feel like that’s all I do,” I tell him, honestly. It is all I do. I mother. I finance. I taxi. I chef. I’m sick of making decisions.

“I’m in the mood for a sandwich,” he says. “Which is the best place to grab one?”

“Anthony’s or Perka’s,” I reply, noting that we’re now walking side by side out the door. I notice Brielle has already taken off for lunch, which isn’t a surprise. She runs out at noon each day to talk to her beau of the month and sits in her car, drinking her lunch smoothie.

“Will you show me where I can find Anthony’s?” he asks.

“On a map?” I ask, trying to be funny, which isn’t working for me.

“No, like in person,” he jests, elbowing me gently.

His friendly gestures hint at a lack of hierarchical attention. His demeanor is more on the lines of friendship, but maybe more. Except, I don’t understand why. What’s so exciting about me and my baggage full of drama that would cause someone to be so determined to have lunch with me? This is what a divorce does to a woman in her thirties. It kills every ounce of confidence a person could possibly have left, being so close to mid-life.

“I can do that,” I tell him, while wondering if it’s inappropriate to be having lunch with the temp. The men all have lunch together several days a week, and they’re at varying levels of stature in the company, so I suppose this is no different.

“I’ll drive,” he says, as we step into the elevator.

“I can drive too. You don’t have to do that,” I tell him.

Logan turns to me and tilts his head to the side as if I’m crazy. “Hannah, we’re both grown adults. We don’t have to play this game. I’m offering to drive because I want to, not because of any other reason. I know you’re my boss and I’m a temp, but we’re still people. Relax a bit.”

I never wonder why so many people tell me to breathe and relax. I wear stress on my face as if it were makeup. It’s hard not to.

I have no rebuttal to his perfectly stated explanation, so I wait the elevator ride out and follow him to the main doors. “Damn, snow. I was hoping we’d go all winter without a flake this year,” he says. “Once the seal is broken, it’s like there’s an endless sky-size bag of flour pouring out all over this state.”