“I have an idea,” I say.
“Oh boy.”
“What?” I ask.
“No offense, but your ideas have a tendency to worry me,” she says.
“I take offense!” I say. “This idea is a good one.”
“Alright, fine,” she says with a sigh, sliding her empty glass forward on the bar. “Let’s hear it. It can’t possibly be worse than barbecue sauce and olive green taffeta.”
“Taffeta?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“Never mind. What’s your idea?” she asks with a small smile playing on her pink lips. I can’t stop staring at them. It’s taking physical effort not to kiss them.
“We start over,” I say.
“Start over?” she echoes with a giggle.
“Yeah,”
“How are we supposed to do that? No matter how much I hate it, I think Holly is set on the olive green.”
“I don’t mean with the wedding junk. I just mean with us,” I say, swiveling my stool to face hers.
“Us?” Charlotte asks skeptically, pretending not to notice that our knees are pressed together.
“Yeah. A second chance at first impressions.”
“I don’t hate that idea considering the first time we met I was tossing tequila shots,” she mumbles, and I chuckle.
“You just have to promise me one thing,” I say. “You can’t fall in love with me.”
Charlotte laughs at that. “I didn’t fall in love with you the first time.”
“Are you sure about that?” I tease with narrowed eyes.
“Oh trust me. I felt something for sure, but it wasn’t love,” she says. She swivels back and forth on her stool, her knees between mine and bumping into them with each turn.
“Attraction then?” I ask.
“Eh…I mean you’re not ugly,” she says, and this time I really laugh.
“Glad I got your seal of approval,” I say, lifting my glass to take another sip.
“You should be. I don’t plaster it on any ole’ mug,” she says, and I spit out a laugh into my beer. I am drinking a nitro beer with a creamy, foam head, and it sprays in her face.
“Oh shit,” I say, grabbing a napkin. I’m actually mortified, but Charlotte can’t stop laughing. “I’m sorry,” I say, and I really do mean it.
But Charlotte just takes the napkin from me and dabs her face with it. “So much for second first impressions,” she says, and now I’m the one laughing.
We walk out to our cars, and the parking lot is nearly empty. It’s a small lot in the back that most people don’t even know is there anyway. The city is dark, cold, and crisp, but humming with nightlife. I don’t mind standing out here with her, away from it all.
“It’s chilly,” she says, hugging her white and black plaid peacoat tighter around her thin frame.
“You should’ve worn your sweater dress,” I say, and her blue eyes flash up to mine.
“Are you making fun of my dress again?” she asks, but there’s a smile behind it. “That’s it, I’m going to put it in the Goodwill bag as soon as I get home.”
