Carter gives me a soft smile, clearly taking that in. "Well, the plan is to tell the team this year. Not the league. Not the public. Just the guys I see every day. But listen, if it happens, it happens."
I stand up, grab his hand, and pull him into a hug. I kiss him on the cheek and say with a grin, "That's enough deep talk. Let's go wander the streets of Newark."
It's 9:30 a.m., and I bring Carter to Ferry Street, a mile-long stretch lined with small businesses, family-owned restaurants, bakeries, and more. It has a cool energy, a mix of old-school charm and modern flair. We walk the length of it for a few hours and just explore.
Carter keeps asking about Newark's history, pointing at old buildings, and asking about different buildings. I lose count of how many times I remind him that I've only lived here for a month or two and that I have no idea about Newark's history. It's kind of adorable how much he seems to care about this place.
As we walk, I start to notice a few people glaring our way, not at me, but at him. I don't think Carter realizes it yet, but people are clearly starting to recognize him, even though we're in New Jersey. I spot it in the double-takes, the subtle pointing, and the whispers as we pass. It's not overwhelming, but I notice it.
Then, a young gay couple actually approaches us. One of the guys looks directly at Carter and says, "I can't believe I'm seeing you in person. This is wild. Can I get your autograph?"
Carter blushes but smiles. "Of course."
The guy glances at me, then back at Carter with a curious, maybe suspicious look, like he's trying to piece together what we are. I don't think Carter notices. He's relaxed, happy, in his element. I don't want to break that feeling by saying anything.
He signs the guy's shirt with a Sharpie they apparently carry around just in case, and then both guys pull Carter in for a hug. He doesn't hesitate and hugs them back like a pro, laughing with them.
After they walk away, he turns to me with a smirk. "You jealous?"
I snort. "Honestly? I'm jealous of you. Those guys were hot."
Carter laughs, and I laugh with him. We keep walking and talking about everything, from nothing to everything. We talkabout life, food, and football until I bring him to Sabor Unido for lunch.
As we're being seated, I look at him and ask quietly, "Are you sure you're okay with us being in public like this?"
Carter pauses for a second, then gives me a look that's somewhere between guilt and reassurance. "Of course. I doubt anyone knows we're on a date."
I raise an eyebrow. A date, you say? How sexy."
He shakes his head and smirks. "Shut up."
We sit down and watch as the waiter walks over. I order us an appetizer: yucca with pork sausage, one of my favorites, which I know Carter will love. For his main, he goes with grilled chicken and peppers, such a health nut. I order the salmon with spinach and dig in as if I haven't eaten all day.
Quickly, our food starts to arrive. Mid-bite, Carter looks up and blurts out, "I really think you should rent that spot on Christopher Street and open your dream cafe. There's literally no good coffee place near my apartment. And the open mic idea? Genius."
I stop chewing for a second, surprised he remembered. It makes me weirdly happy.
"I'd love to," I say. "But I don't have the money for something like that. I do think a BYOB open mic would be amazing, though. Maybe weekends. Or a couple of nights a week. I was also thinking of doing themed drinks, likeSchitt's CreekorHarry Potter, obviously."
Carter laughs, then looks down at his food. When he looks back up, he's more serious. "You know I am a football player, right? With a football player's salary.
I know exactly what he's getting at. And there is no shot I'd ever accept a handout from him. Not now, not later.
I look him in the eye and say firmly, "No."
He leans in slightly. "Think of it as an investment. I'd invest in your idea, and you'd run the cafe."
Carter continues, "You'd probably need another investor, at least until I get another contract, but it's something."
I look at him with so much admiration. "I love that you care enough to offer this," I say gently, "but I can't take it. Let's change the topic."
He nods, sensing this is a touchy subject. "Okay."
I don't mean to be short or snappy, but I just don't want him to pity me. I don't want handouts. I want to make my own money and feel like I earned it. I've always felt like I shouldn't need anyone else.
Then again…a small part of me wonders: if we did find another investor, Carter wouldn't have to put in that much, and maybe I could pay him back later. It's definitely something to table for now. I still haven't even figured out if I'm staying in Newark, moving back to Philly, or crashing at Carter's place for a while to get my shit together.
After we finish our meals, we both order vanilla ice cream for dessert. While we wait, Carter lights up, talking about football again. He brings up the first game of the season, Arizona, and how they're projected to win by three points.
