“Surprise me,” I say.
He turns to the barista and orders two vanilla lattes, each with extra caramel.
“That’s a good surprise,” I say.
“Had a feeling you’d like it.”
When they’re ready, Lake carries the mugs to a table—the same one as last time, only there’s a different puzzle on it now. Instead of the Golden Gate Bridge, the Formica’s home to a puzzle of signs with sayings—hit the road, get your ducks in a row, two heads are better than one.
He slides a piece of a head of lettuce into thetwo heads are better than onesection. I spot a duck’s bill and slot that in as Lake takes a drink, then gives an approving, “Damn this is good.”
I try mine. “It really is.”
But the hot beverage love fest ends there because this list is serious. It’s poignant. It’s full of hope—but hope that never came to be.
I overthink everything: the kiss in the car, asking Lake to be my plus-one, even my potential proposal in the twenty-four hours before it didn’t happen. All this overthinking has left me feeling a little jumpy, a little tightly wound. What would it be if I let go a little? If I stepped outside of my normal life and let someone else’s plans guide me?
“I should do this list.”
He squints, tilts his head. “I don’t think I heard you right.”
Spreading open the piece of paper next to the half-done puzzle I speak a little louder. “I think I should do this. Is that ridiculous?”
His answer is instant—stern too. “Yeah, it’s ridiculous.”
My brow knits. Why would he say that? Lake’s an athlete. He’s trained to take chances. This feels like a risk I should take. “Why is that ridiculous?”
It comes out like a challenge since, well, it is.
He sets down the cup with a decisive clink, his eyes locked on mine. “Because it is.”
I scoff. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He holds my gaze, his eyes darkening with frustration.
Well, I feel the same. I cross my arms. “It’s not ridiculous.”
He arches a brow. “It’s ridiculous that you saidI.” He points to the paper but doesn’t touch it. He treats it like it’s a piece of art, something precious, something he doesn’t want to sully. “Weshould.”
We.
The word echoes. It vibrates inside me. I didn’t see that coming. Should I have? I take another drink, processing his reaction. He wants to do this too? What would that look like? Him and me tackling a list of date-like experiences? A bucket list of romantic wishes? My breath catches with excitement, but I swallow down a healthy dose of worry too. It feels dangerous.
He breaks my thoughts with a question. “Remy, why did you think I bought the dress? Like, right away offered to buy it?”
I meet his determined gaze, focusing on his questions, not the million running through my head. “Because you want to be a good fake boyfriend? The whole ‘be the best rebound ever’ thing?”
Blowing out a frustrated breath, he leans back in the chair and drags a hand through his now very short hair. “Because it clearly touched you. Because it matters to you. But also, we found it together. It’s like finding a wallet on the street. You’d try to return it, right?”
“Yes!”
“Or a dog who didn’t have a collar or tag. You’d help the dog, right?”
“Of course. I’d take him to a rescue. Or give him a home if he needed one.”
“The list is the same. We can’t return this list. We can’t give it back to her family.”
“And we can’t leave it undone.”
