“What are you talking about?” I ask, but based on the dread that’s pooling in my stomach, I already know.
“I thought we had an unspoken agreement to be real with each other tonight, but if that’s not the case, let me know, and I can slip back into social niceties.”
He stares at me, his words hanging in the air.
“I’m not going to say you’re right—”
“You know I’m right.”
“I’m not going tosayit,” I stress.
He laughs, a short and rough sound of surprise, and says, “Fine, you don’t have to say it.”
“Thank you.”
He smiles, his eyes twinkling with humor as he says, “Now thatwe’ve establishedthat, do you actually want to go somewhere or should we head back inside and pretend this heart-to-heart never happened? You can take Ellie up on that dance he saved you.”
I roll my eyes at his sarcasm. “Since we’ve agreed to be real with each other—”
“I can’t wait to hear what’s coming,” Alex cuts in.
I shoot him what I imagine to be a stern look, but I guess there’s no heat to it, because he just keeps smiling while I continue. “They refused to tell me the wedding cake and groom’s cake flavors—they said it was a surprise, but I’m now convinced it’s because they knew they were choosing two of the worst cake flavors in the history of cake flavors.”
“The worst,” he agrees.
“Ineeddessert.”
His eyes, already bright with mirth, light up even more.
“How do you feel about pie?”
Despite my love for the east side, I’ve never been to House of Pies in Los Feliz, which absolutely shocks Alex, who refers to it as an LA institution.
I text a lie about drinking too much and calling an Uber to both Ellie and Madison before turning my phone to Silent.
When we arrive at House of Pies, I fumble to get my door open, and I learn that fancy cars are somehow too good for normal door handles. Alex has to lean over to help.
Somewhere between Alex’s car and the booth, his suit jacket comes off. His tie gets loosened, top button unbuttoned, and shirtsleeves rolled up. It’s an enticing image, but I do my best to pretend I don’t notice.
Alex and I decide that this is an evening for celebration, after all, and order two kinds of pie each—strawberry cream and Bavarian chocolatefor me, fresh peach and southern pecan for Alex. We end up sharing all four slices.
We stay in the booth for hours, talking about random stuff. College, work, movies and books we like. Embarrassed, I admit that I’m not a big reader and would rather just watch the movie, even if everyone in the world is going on about how much better the book is. He doesn’t judge me for it. We don’t delve into anything too deep, but we get to know each other in little details that have never come up.
Before I know it, it’s after midnight. The wedding reception has long since ended.
Alex makes a comment about it getting late, and we leave.
He pulls up to my apartment to drop me off, and I direct him to the tandem parking spot where my car is. He turns to me, the car still running, and we both pause, allowing the moment to drag on. I should get out of the car. IknowI should, but I can’t quite make myself.
Over the course of the night, something has shifted, and this man who was nothing but an acquaintance earlier feels like so much more.
I know the moment he leaves, the illusion will shatter. Almost like it never happened.
After several moments of silence, Alex turns off the engine. “What are you thinking?”
“Do you ever know you’re about to make a mistake you’ll regret later, but you can’t stop yourself?”
“Sometimes I stop myself and regret that,” he counters, his eyes heating in a way that makes me think he knowsexactlywhat I’m talking about.
