“No problem,” I said, and it wasn’t really a problem. I liked dogs, and I—well, I kind of liked Jack Hart too. Apart from the night we’d spent together, and his vast opus of, um,work, I also found his catty arrogance a little endearing. I didn’t really know why—maybe it was a side effect of growing up in the industry and learning the difference between fun-catty andhold up a productioncatty at a young age. Or maybe I was just so boring myself that I gravitated toward interesting people, like a law of physics or something.
But despite liking both dogs and Jack, I found myself having a real bad attitude as I buckled myself into the back seat and we started crunching our way down the mountain.
I didn’t want to drive away from Sunny with someone else, I didn’t want to leave her alone in the mansion when I wanted to—
God, I didn’t even know. Fight with her? Beg forgiveness for storming off earlier? Have more sex with her that never fixed anything and just made everything worse?
But I hadn’t been brave enough to tell Sunny that I didn’t want to go on this date, and I had justified it to myself earlier as a Good Guy thing, like I was being heroically noble about her boundaries and her anti-desire to be my muse, but in the end, it was more cowardly than that.
I didn’t want to be rejected.
I didn’t want to admit that I kept feeling like things were changing and deepening between us, that we were reaching some kind of place where we couldn’t live without each other, and then have her gently remind me that she didn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to have to put all these feelings into words and then have them sound stupid to her when said out loud.
And besides, this whole “date other people” thing made me sad, and sadness really cohered with my brand. People were always saying how important brand was.
“I hope you like charcuterie,” Jack said as he drove us—quite capably—down the mountain to the road that led into town. “They were the only dog-friendly restaurant in town, and I refuse to ask Teddy to dog-sit again. There’s a squirrel in the yard of their rental that bullies MissCrumpets mercilessly.”
MissCrumpets snored in response.
“Charcuterie sounds good,” I said, hoping I sounded like a normal date person and not like aI wish my roommate were sitting on my face instead of being on this dateperson.
The noise of the car over the snowy road was too loud for casual conversation, and so we didn’t speak again until we got into the twinkle-lit streets of Christmas Notch and pulled up in front of a small brick building that had a faded advertisement for a photography studio painted on the side. Through the large windows of the former storefront, I saw trestle tables, open shelves, and faux-industrial lights. A sign above the door announced the restaurant was called Say Cheese.
We parked and got out of the car—Jack carefully tucking Miss Crumpets into his arm—and then walked up to the restaurant. I opened the door for him, and tried to think date-ly thoughts. Not that I really knew what those would be. I would never regret meeting Brooklyn when I did, but shit, finding your soul mateas a teenager really left you without a playbook for adult dating sometimes.
A host with bright orange hair and blunt bangs led us to our trestle table, which already had some strangers at the end, and handed us wooden clipboards with paper menus on them.
“Your server will be right over,” the host chirped, after bringing us mason jars filled with ice water.
I took a drink and tried to discreetly—and date-ily—study the man across the table from me. He had suntanned skin, a square jaw, and a straight nose with a hint of width to it. His lips were full and pink, and he’d bleached his already-blond hair to a shocking platinum. He was on the shorter side, but even his loose trousers and sweater-cape couldn’t hide the sculpted lines of his body. I’d heard him compared to a more sartorially adventurous Ken Doll, and I had to agree, although I thought even Ken would draw the line at giving Barbie’s dog, Taffy, water straight from his glass, which was what Jack was doing with MissCrumpets right now.
Jack looked up and caught me staring. “She’s thirsty,” he said defensively. “And dogs have cleaner mouths than humans anyway. And don’t make a joke about how clean my mouth is or isn’t, I can see it in your eyes!”
I held up my hands in mock-innocence, but found myself smiling a little. “I wasn’t watching MissCrumpets,” I said with honesty. “I was watching you. You’re incredibly good-looking.”
Despite the fact that Jack had an entire series of videos on his website calledFiremen Fisting I–XIV, he blushed at my compliment. “Thank you,” he said. “And if you didn’t know from our first hookup... or the fact that I agreed to anything my mortal enemy Sunny arranged, I think you’re very good-looking too.” And then he shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m tellingIsaac Kellyhe’s good-looking. That’s like telling theMona Lisathat it’s a well-known painting or saying celery is spicy.”
“But celery isn’t spicy.”
“If you’re allergic, it is. Are you allergy-shaming me?”
Our server approached before I could respond to that, but I was pretty sure I was blushing now too. It was a nice thing to say—or at least, nice for Jack Hart—and it made me feel even worse that my mind was still mostly back at the mansion with Sunny.
“Any questions about the menu?” the server asked. He had a beard scruffier than MissCrumpets’s and was sporting a plaid bow tie. “As you can see, it’s all charcuterie, and the meat and cheese are locally sourced. Our Midwinter Gathering Board is very popular, as is our Book Club Board—that one comes with a complimentary bottle of wine—and my personal favorite is the Mood Board, where the chef curates her favorite—”
“Do people like the vegan board?” Jack interrupted. I looked down at the menu at a board with cheese names like Cashew Later and Be Soy Kind.
The server took a minute to smooth his beard. “Actually,ah, I don’t know. Nobody’s ordered it since we opened.”
“Are you vegan?” I asked Jack.
“No. I just like to check on their behalf.”
“I think we’ll do the Midwinter Gathering Board,” I suggested, catching Jack’s eye to make sure he was fine with this configuration or if he’d rather have another random array of animal products.
“That’s fine.” Jack waved a hand. “And I’ll have a glass of something red and under fifteen dollars.”
“Anything for you?” the server asked me.
