“That’s what I thought. But then I kept second-guessing myself because he didn’t do it to me and maybe I was being too sensitive?”
“No. No, no, no.” She waved a finger. “Brielle. Rule number one. You can tell who someone is by how they treat peoplethey don’t need to impress. And if I was that server? Yeesh. He would’ve gotten a piece of my mind because we both know that he wouldn’t have tipped anyway.”
I nodded, but it didn’t feel like it should have mattered this much. It had been one date. A few hours. I shouldn’t have felt this heavy after.
Still, I felt … tired. Like I’d wasted something intangible I couldn’t quite name.
“He kept acting like he was doing me a favor just by being there. But also like I should be impressed by him. Like I was the one who needed to catch up. I don’t know. It was weird.”
Gina sat next to me and leaned her head on my shoulder. “That sucks. But, hey, you wore heels. That’s a big deal. You left the apartment. That’s all a win.”
I snorted. “It’s a low bar.”
“Dating is a low bar. Welcome back to the trenches, babe.” She bumped her shoulder against mine. “Seriously though, you did it. You got through the first one. And the next guy might be a total gem. Or, you know, not a finger-snapper.”
“Small victories,” I murmured.
“And, hey, if nothing else”—she looked up at me with that wicked grin she shared with her brother—“this is going to make great newsletter material.”
I groaned, but even as I rolled my eyes, I felt it. The tiny seed of relief from telling someone.
And somewhere deep beneath the awkward tension and the sore feet was that other feeling again.
The one I kept pretending not to notice whenever I walked past Josh’s room.
The one that bloomed when he asked me how my day was.
That was a problem for later.
nine
The second thebathroom door clicked shut behind me, I turned on the water and stripped off the outfit Gina had painstakingly chosen for my first date. The curls she had given me were already limp from the cold wind outside and smelled like a little bit of garlic from the restaurant.
Soap couldn’t scrub that out of my memory, but I gave it my best shot.
By the time I emerged from the shower, wrapped in my pajamas and robe, hair damp and hanging limp, I felt marginally more like a person again.
Gina’s bedroom door was cracked open and dark. She must’ve gone to bed already. Her work had required early morning wake-up calls this past week.
I padded quietly into the living room, expecting it to be quiet.
It wasn’t.
Josh was there stretched out on his sofa bed, remote lifted to pause the screen in one of his old hoodies. The TV volume low and a half-empty glass of water on the coffee table in front of him.
He looked up when he heard me. “Hey.”
I blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Hi. I thought you were out for the night.”
The apartment was cast in a low glow from the television and light above the stove.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your decompressing time.”
He shook his head. “Decompressing time?”
I shrugged.
“How was your date?”
