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“Racecars?” Dan asks as a follow-up.
“Yes.”
I blink, realizing how good it feels to say all that out loud, to claim it semi-publicly. I’m not looking to shout it from rooftops or anything, but even the small step of speaking it to an outsider is powerful. Brody squeezes my shoulder, and I glance over to find him looking at me proudly. He knows what a big step this is for me too. His joy feels warm, like honey smoothing over the fizzy nerves and excitement of my own pride.
“Cool,” Dan says, not understanding the foundational shift that just occurred.
The waitress brings our dinners, which look and smell delicious. The burgers and chicken are fresh off the grill, steam still rising from them. Emily’s salad, because of course she eats vegetables, looks bright and lush. Brody cuts our sandwiches, re-plating them so that we each have a burger half and a chicken half. I grab an onion ring from his plate to munch while he does the work.
And dinner is relaxed and comfortable, chatting about this and that.
Emily tells the story of how we switched places for a test one time in middle school, which would’ve gone well except while I was covering her math test, she had to do a surprise pop quiz in my history class. She got an A and I got a D, which warranted further questions and staredowns from Mom and Dad until we confessed. In the end, we both got Fs for cheating. I’ve heard the story dozens of times, told it myself half of those, and still, I smile at Emily, remembering those days when everything was so easy. I find myself missing that straightforward effortlessness of youth that we all lose as we grow up.
Emily pulls her napkin from her lap, laying it beside her bowl of rabbit food. “Excuse me for a moment.” She stands, and both guys lift out of their seats like gentlemen. I shove another fry into my mouth. “Ahem.” Emily clears her throat, and I look up from my internal debate of fry versus onion ring. Emily tilts her head toward the bathroom, the universal sign of ‘come with me.’
I know the female code of always going to the bathroom in packs. Hell, of going everywhere in packs for safety. But in the middle of dinner, in the middle of the restaurant, when there are onion rings to be had? Because I’ve decided they’re the better option of the two, for tonight, at least.
She blinks slowly at my lack of hop-to-it-ness. “Rix.”
“Excuse me, apparently,” I tell Dan and Brody. Okay, and maybe the onion rings too.
Emily locks our arms at the elbows, already gushing as we walk into the bathroom. “Oh, my gosh, Rix . . . I love him! And so do you! I never thought you’d beat me down the aisle, but there are like bluebirds of fucking happiness singing all around you two.” She’s dancing around the bathroom, nearly banging her swinging hands into the paper towel dispenser as her fingers flit around like . . . birds, I think they’re supposed to be?
“Uh, slow that roll. We’re dating, not getting married.”
Hands on my shoulders, her nose is suddenly inches from mine. “Yet. Mark my words . . . he’s The One for you.”
I blink, the argument on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t voice it. I won’t lie to her again. I place my hands on her shoulders, copying her pose and intertwining our arms in a knot. “Don’t freak out. I need you to stay calm, okay?”
She nods, biting her lip with bright eyes.
“He might be The One . . .”
Her squeal is loud for a split second before her hands slap over her mouth, her eyes going so wide I can see the whites.
“For later,” I finish. “I’m not ready for that, still have the shop and the custom work, and he’s got his family and the animals. We’ve got stuff, Em. And literally just admitted to giving a shit about more than bumpin’ uglies a week ago. Slow down.”
Her light dims, but I can see that spark of romantic hope still burning inside her. “But one day?”
“Maybe.” It’s all I can give. All I know for sure is that when I wake up, I reach for him. When something good or bad or funny happens at the shop, he’s the person I want to tell. When the workday is over, I want to collapse into him and be the place for him to fall into too. And when I go to sleep, I want to do it in his arms, preferably with his dick still inside me after we fuck each other stupid.
That’s romantic, right? The sum total is, I’m sure of that much, at least.
Emily claps a few times, ridiculously overexcited compared to what I just admitted to. “Okay, let’s go back to dinner.”
