“What’s that face mean?” asks Nash.
“It’s nothing…just figuring a few things out.”
“Anything I can help you with?”
“No. Thank you,” I say. “I think I just need to contemplate and absorb, you know?”
He nods.
I check on the state of my side boob. Something as special as a first official date with Nash deserved my blue halter-neck, open-back midi dress with strappy flat sandals, since we decided to walk the couple of blocks into town. Such a great dress, however it does require occasional maintenance. What I need to do is buy some boob tape to keep things in place.
He, meanwhile, is wearing his usual jeans and boots, only with a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Look at him baring his muscular forearms in such a slutty manner. I applaud the move.
“You’d be proud of me,” I say.
“I’m always proud of you. You’re amazing.”
I pause because he means it. He really means it. “Thank you. I think you’re amazing too.”
He just smiles.
“I made some friends today.”
“That’s great!”
“Yeah. Remember how the idea of summer holidays was so exciting when we were kids?” I ask, taking a sip of iced water.
“Freedom. Fun. They were all good.”
“And some years they’d just be perfect. The weather and spending time with the right people and everything came together. This summer feels sort of like that…”
“You’re right, it does.”
There’s such warmth in his gaze. Almost enough to distract me from the many sets of eyes still watching us from the bar. And there seem to be more of them now. I know we’re often the subject of attention due to shenanigans and brouhaha, along with how beautiful and special the man sitting opposite me is. This, however, seems extreme.
I cock my head “What’s going on? Did something happen I don’t know about?”
“Have I told you how pretty you look tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me tell you again. You shine brighter than the stars, my light,” he says, making flickering finger motions in front of my face. “It’s like you twinkle.”
Which is when I notice something. “What happened to your watch? You’re always wearing it.”
He winces.
“Nash…”
“You know Gordon?” he asks.
“The guy who owns the antique store?”
“Yeah. We got to talking after morning meditation and he admired my watch. I said I inherited it off some distant relative and didn’t know much about it,” he says. “It probably would have been prudent for me not to have worn it here, because it’s worth some money. Anyway…Gordon had heard about our pretend progeny and wanted to help me out. Sort of.”
“Help you in what way?” I ask. “Did he offer to buy it?”
“Not quite.”
