Yes, she remembered that, but Roman was the kind of guy you didn’t forget. Even if they’re just kids, a girl noticed when a guy like Roman was around. Even if the attention was totally platonic. Even if the attention was only because she happened to share the same air with him.
“I asked how you liked the seventh grade,” he continued. “You gave me a solid two-minute dressing down of all the reasons middle school sucked. You liked to argue back then, too. Glad to see that hasn’t changed.”
Sadie took a drink of warm beer because she wasn’t quite sure what else she was supposed to do.
“Next time I saw you,” he went on, “you were probably around sixteen, hanging out at the creamery place near your house. The one that blended all the stuff into the ice cream.”
“Frozen yogurt,” Sadie corrected. “Totally different than ice cream.”
“Details.”
Oh no, that’s where you get into trouble—the details. “Details are important.”
He scrunched up his forehead in clear question.
“Frozen yogurt is not ice cream. Like if you get the Oreo cookies blended in, then you have to get vanilla frozen yogurt. If you were to go with the Reese’s Pieces, then you’d go somewhere they serve chocolate ice cream. Everyone knows that.”
“Seriously?”
“You brought it up.”
“I didn’t come inside because I got a call. I’m still a little pissed Babushka chose the moment I was about to get my frozen yogurt fix to insist she needed urgent help. Turned out that she just needed someone tall enough to switch out the soft white light bulbs to brighten the dining room.”
“Since we didn’t technically speak, I don’t think that time counts,” Sadie said.
“You like the fine print, don’t you?” he asked.
“It’s my favorite.” She raised her cup and clunked the plastic edge against his.
Here’s the thing, she wasn’t trying to be challenging. Not at all. But she’d been training to be an attorney for God-knew-how-long—it’d been her dream ever since she was five and her mother had watched some lawyer show on television—which meant that she had a predisposition to uncover holes in all theories, all stories, all…well…everything.
Her best friend Marlee now refused to take her to the movies because Sadie was the queen of drilling holes into any plot.
“You may not believe me, but I don’t have a photographic memory.” Roman uncrossed his arms, the muscled bulk bulging as he set his cup on the wheel well of the truck bed. “Sometimes there are people in your life who stick. You remember everything about every interaction,” he said. “You ever experience that?”
Not that she was ever aware of. She shook her head.
“Every time you brush past each other. Every time you get a little piece of their attention, it sticks. Doesn’t mean I had a thing for a kid when I was eighteen, but it means I knew that person was special. And she’d grow up to be someone special.”
“You thought I was special?” She gave an inner high five to twelve-year-old Sadie.
“I thought you were special back then. Now, I think you’re fucking stunning. And we’ve spoken at least a dozen or more sentences to each other, if you want to get technical. I can go over them, if you’d like.”
Well. Okay, then. Her breath caught in her lungs.
“Seat’s free.” Sadie shoved the satchel she used as a purse behind her to create even more space.
The bed of the truck bounced with the addition of his muscle as he lifted himself up so that they sat thigh-to-thigh. Their thighs actually smooshed together—which seemed like an important note to make so she could tell Marlee later when they caught up after she got back from her family trip to the Maldives.
“I can’t believe Eli still has this piece of crap.” Roman bounced a little, the shocks creaking with the movement.
Her brother Eli’s beat-up, blue Ford should’ve been retired about two decades ago, but he wouldn’t let it go.
Speaking of… Where the heck had Eli gone? She scanned the crowd. No sign of him.
“You were also at the horrible party my parents threw when I enlisted,” he mused.
She’d tagged along with Eli to Roman’s going-away party when he went off to basic training.
