I shake my head. “No, I don’t need that.”
She frowns. “Are you sure? Because sometimes you come across a little snippy in text form and I just—”
“No, I don’t need you to draft anything,” I cut her off, pausing for dramatic effect as I take the last sip from my mug. “Because I’m going to tell him in person.”
Their celebratory squeals echo in my head as I pack up my things, set off for the Friends of Flavor offices, and start my day. Buoyed by their excitement, I consider how to carry out my mission as I tend to the various likes and comments on FoF social media.
By lunchtime, I’ve got a plan. I grab a piece of paper from the copy machine outside marketing and scribble down a note. This isn’t totally in line with what I told Nat I’d do, but I figure a written transaction is safer. Less awkward for both of us if he’s changed his mind about said non-platonic hangout or, I don’t know, found a less neurotic girl to date.
I swing by one of the pantries and find the other prop I need for my gesture—a small, wax-covered wheel of cheese. Securing the note to it with a piece of tape, I head for the cubby where Benny keeps his things, surreptitiously keepingan eye out for the boy in question. I make it there without spotting him, thankfully, and am starting to wedge the package in a spot beside his backpack where he won’t be able to miss it when his voice behind me nearly scares the life out ofme.
“Ah shit, is the dress-code justice fairy coming for me now?”
I whirl around to face Benny. “I swear, I should put a bell onyou.”
His lips edge up on one side and he crosses his arms over his chest. Today’s shirt, I can’t help but notice, is especially tight in the sleeve area. It’s honestly rude.
“Whatever you’re into, Reese’s Cup. That for me?”
He nods at the offering I haven’t quite let go of, the note now crinkled in my death grip. Guess we’re doing this. I thrust the cheese toward him, unable to look away from the wall behind him as I do. He takes it and when his head tips down to read the note, I watch the smirk fall from his face.
B,
Let’s go on that date. When’s gouda for you?
R
“Reese…” Benny looks up and meets my eyes, a series of expressions flashing across his face. Blankness bordering on confusion shifts to surprise, then, finally, to absoluteeye-twinkling, toothy-smiled elation. “I didn’t know you were so cheesy.”
A relieved laugh escapes me, and I echo his words from the pantry a few weeks back. “Is that a yes?”
He shoves my shoulder playfully. “Like you even have to ask.”
I stand in front of the mirror the next evening, minutes before I said I’d meet Benny by the fountain. I don’t look especially flushed nor abnormally pale. No goose bumps or beads of sweat. All in all, nothing to suggest that I’ve legitimately come down with a fever.
This morning when I woke up and remembered what I had done the day before, fever was my first guess as to what must have come over me. Why else would I have sought out Benny, despite all my reservations, and used a food pun to ask him on a date? Second guess was that I’d been possessed by demons, but it’s hard to plan an exorcism with such late notice. So here I am, slipping my feet into my fancy sandals and setting out to meet my possible knight in shining ball cap.
And, against my best judgment, feeling excited about it.
Turning the corner from the stairwell into the lobby, I catch a glimpse of Benny through the glass front doors before he can seeme. He’s also changed clothes since we walked home from work together a couple hours ago, so I won’t look overdone. He’s wearing fitted khakis and a light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up. The T-shirts he usually wears draw attention to his biceps, but it’s clear that I’ve been overlooking some seriously nice forearms. Am I into forearms? I didn’t know that about myself. He has sandals on, too, and a brown ball cap, which keep him from looking too formal. The word “dreamy” floats through my mind and out again before I can linger on it or wonder when my relationship-adjacent vocabulary became so 1950s.
Goodness, I’m just going on adate,the first in almost four years and with a guy I’ve been trying hard not to like, but I’m so nervous you’d think I was expecting a marriage proposal. I was happy when we’d agreed to meet up later in the evening, after each doing our own thing for dinner, thinking the extra time to myself would help me chill out. Clearly that didn’t work as planned. Benny must see me in his peripheral vision as I step outside, because he turns my way, his eyes widening a touch before his face breaks into a big smile.
“You look gorgeous,” he says matter-of-factly, and my stomach does a backflip as I briefly glance down at my simple yellow sundress, its skirt swishing just above my knees. I lean into his open arms for a hug and notice that he smells amazing, like cinnamon or nutmeg, a spicy sweetness. Because of course he does.
“You clean up pretty nice yourself,” I allow myself to say, still fighting the grin I’m feeling on the inside.
“I don’t know about all that.” He waves a hand in apsshgesture. “Shall we?”
He tentatively rests his hand on my back as we head down the sidewalk, and the touch is surprising but not unwelcome. I remind the part of me that wants to freak out that this is Benny, who has shown me nothing but kindness so far, even if he’s a little much at times. Trust until given reason not to.
“I wish I could tell you I have a car to drive us in, but my brother Enzo has mine for the summer. I’m going to make him feel really bad about it now that I—well, now that I need it more than I thought I might.”
I smile at that, and the fact that he seems to be implying something like “now that I’m taking out a girl I like.” He pulls out his phone with a look of apology and goes to call a rideshare.
“No worries,” I assure him. “I don’t mind helping pay for the ride, either.”
“Nope, not tonight. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a big internet star now. Raking in some serious dough.”
