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“My wedding, huh?” I take the shrimp. “How hetero-normative of you.”
“What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.”
“Hm.” I chew thoughtfully. Swallow. “How are things with Iris?”
“Same as they were this morning. Weren’t you listening to me?”
“Valentine’s Day. Dinner. But I can’t remember if you’re up to renting the U-Haul yet or you’re waiting.”
She throws her napkin at me, but she’s laughing.
After dinner, we curl up on the couch with our glasses of wine, and I suggest watching Good Omens. Again, I get a look from Marney, but she scrolls through our options until she finds the show. We have to start back at the first season because neither of us have ever watched it before, but I’m hooked before the first episode is over.
* * * * *
I spend the weekend trying to get ahead of the work I’m going to miss during the trial and making sure my team knows what they need to do while I’m gone. Monday morning rolls around a lot quicker than I want it to, but when I remember that I’m going to get to see Tyler again, I have no problem getting out of bed. I’m not going to deny the flutter in my stomach as I get ready. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone for whom I feel such instant attraction.
I’ll also confess to feeling a bit irritated when I forget that my travel mug was destroyed only after I brew a fresh pot of coffee to take with me. But then I think about Tyler’s blue eyes rounded in horror and his embarrassed apologies and offers to buy me another coffee and decide maybe the sacrifice of my mug will have been worth it. Reminding Tyler he owes me a coffee might be a good way to initiate a conversation with him, and I think about it all the way to the courthouse.
I don’t see Tyler waiting in line outside, nor is he in the cafeteria when I get inside. It’s still early, though. Now that we’re on a jury panel, we don’t have to report until nine thirty. We can go right to the courtroom, as well, though we’ll have to wait until the judge is ready to start proceedings for the day.
As I’m contemplating getting a coffee, a man approaches me. “Hey, juror twelve, right?” When I nod, he holds out his hand. “Juror four. Name’s Aaron.”
I introduce myself, and he invites me to a table in the back where a couple of other people are sitting.
“Tough break,” Aaron says as he leads me to the table. “The only way you weren’t ending up on this jury was if the prosecution didn’t like you. The defense was out of challenges after bouncing that last juror. I don’t think the lawyer wanted to, but one of the guys on trial was insisting.” He shrugs. “So, you got lucky, I guess.”
I shrug, too. “I suppose so. At least it’s not going to be a long trial.”
We reach the table, and Aaron introduces me to four of my fellow jurors. I sit, and the conversation resumes. It’s the mindless, getting-to-know-you chatter of people who are going to be forced to spend the next several days together: Have you been on a jury before? When? How many times have you been summoned? Where do you live? What do you do? The talk flows around me, and I’m trying not to be too obvious that I’m looking for Tyler, wanting to see him as soon as he walks into the room. Wanting to get another hit of those amazing blue eyes.
I’m disappointed, though. The time comes when we need to get up to the third floor, and there’s still no sign of Tyler. I hope he’s not late. Judges do not look kindly on anyone who holds up their proceedings.
The group is still chatting as we climb the stairs. It’s odd how quickly these bonds start to form simply because of a shared designation. I won’t even call it an experience because we haven’t done anything together yet except sit in a room and answer questions, but the fact that we’re all part of the same jury is enough of a commonality to bridge the social awkwardness of initiating conversation. I wonder if the same will be true with Tyler and think about Marney’s insistence that this will be an epic meet-cute. I’m still not so sure, but I do agree with her that it’s been a long time since I’ve been attracted to someone enough that I’d like to ask them out.
When we reach the third floor, my heart gives a crazy little jump when I finally see Tyler, just in case I needed any further proof that I’m interested in him. He’s sitting on one of the benches that run down the middle of the wide corridor but stands as soon as he catches sight of me. Should I go over to him? Say hi? Ask him to lunch now? I almost want to text Marney to ask her advice, but then Tyler starts toward me. He’s got a travel mug in his hands, and I think that’s really unfair of him to flaunt my lack of a mug like this.
“I’m glad you didn’t replace yours yet,” he says, and holds the mug out to me with one hand while he digs in his messenger bag with the other. “It’s got coffee in it. I didn’t know what you like, but there’s this great coffee shop near me, so I figured I couldn’t go wrong. I’ve got sugar and creamer for you as well.”
“Thank you, Tyler.” I take the mug from him, then select a couple of creamers from his outstretched palm. “You didn’t have to.”
“Oh. Um…” He bites his lower lip. “I… How do you know my name?”
I’m trying to find a flat surface on which to put the mug so I can add the creamer, but I pause to look at him. “From the voir dire. I’m Cameron, by the way. Cam.”
Tyler holds out his hand, and at first, I think he wants to shake. When I extend my free hand, he laughs, but shakes anyway. “I was offering to hold the cup for you,” he says.
“Ah.” I remember the way Tyler’s face turned bright red when he was apologizing after knocking my mug out of my hand and sympathize retroactively as my own face heats. “Of course, you were.”
I get my coffee fixed up, and thank Tyler again for replacing my mug. “This is a great brand,” I say, then take a sip. The coffee is excellent and at the perfect temperature for drinking. “Where’s this coffee place?”
“It’s over by me in the outer Sunset.”
“Right. You said you lived in that part of the city.”
He gives me a weird look that makes me wonder if I sound like a creeper because, apparently, I memorized everything he said about himself during voir dire. Jeez. Marney’s not kidding when she says I’ve got no game.
Fortunately, I don’t have a lot of time to think about it because the bailiff opens the doors to the courtroom just then and tells us to take our seats in the jury box. We file in and stow our belongings in cubbies along the wall. No cell phones are allowed, but thankfully, coffee and water are perfectly fine. Every seat in the jury box has a notepad and a pen on the cushion. As we get ourselves situated, I think that the chairs aren’t too bad. They’re upholstered in a generic nubby gray fabric, and mine rocks slightly when I sit down. I try not to notice Tyler sitting right next to me, but he’s in my peripheral vision when I look toward the front of the room.
