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Erik Varg:
Like what?
Quinn Cooper:
To see you too, Erik.
Erik Varg:
I have meetings all day Thursday. Can I take you to dinner?
Quinn Cooper:
I have plans with Jen. She’s away for the weekend, but I can reschedule?
Erik Varg:
Friday. I’ll pick you up at two.
Quinn Cooper:
It’s a date.
I didn’t mean a date date.
Like a friend’s date.
Like two friends hanging out. When one of them is in town.
Erik Varg:
It’s a date, Quinn
Quinn Cooper:
Oh. Okay.
Good.
Great, actually.
Erik Varg:
See you Friday, Cooper
Quinn Cooper:
Friday, Varg
My palms leave sticky sweat prints on Vic’s steering wheel, but I try to ignore them. I’ve been sweating for almost a week now, all of my nerves focusing on this one moment: Friday, 2pm. Vic left me the Mercedes as he headed out of town on a five-game stretch. When I balked at taking the keys, he reminded me it would be sexier to pick Quinn up myself, rather than call an Uber. I could have told him that Quinn was going to drive, but I didn’t like that thought either. I have one chance here. One date, one trip, one weekend. Technically, a second chance. I need to do this right.
I let the car idle in the driveway of a little yellow two-story house—with a wraparound porch my sister would love, complete with a swing—and count down the last ten minutes before I can go ring the doorbell and not look like I’m overeager or a stalker. Quinn already knows I’ve been counting down the days until this date. I told her as much. She doesn’t need to know I’m counting down minutes, seconds, too. Here I am, sweating in a borrowed vehicle, about to take her on a date that I’ve been planning for a week, but that I am terrified is going to be an unmitigated disaster.
The curtain over the front window moves and I think I see a flash of Quinn’s copper hair. Probably just checking to make sure the car parked in her driveway isn’t here to kidnap her or proselytize on her doorstep. Less than a minute later, the bright blue front door opens and there she is, stepping out onto the porch. She glows in the early afternoon sun and I’m blinded more by the light glinting on her curls than by the kickback from the snow.
I unfold myself from the front seat and smile at her over the top of Vic’s too-small car.
“I’m early,” I say.
