“It’s Ms. Fontaine, actually,” Mom corrected politely. “I kept my maiden name.”
I watched Carter’s reaction to that. Some men at Alderton-Du Ponte turned their noses up at Mom for that, muttering under their breaths about it. Carter, though, remained cheery. “Ms. Fontaine. Is your husband here? I’d love to meet him?—”
“Oh, he’s not feeling well.” Mom hid her anxiety behind a perfectly curated smile. “But come around another time, and I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”
Jamie appeared in the doorway to the living room, hands in his pockets, eyes roaming Carter. “No flowers?”
Carter looked down at his empty palms almost in surprise, as if he hadn’t realized. “Oh.Oh. I should’ve—I can’t believe I didn’t?—”
“It’s fine,” I told him quickly, grabbing his hand. It felt clammy. “I don’t need flowers. I actually don’t even like them much.”
The stress on Carter’s face didn’t fade, though, and I turned to glare at my brother.Thanks a lot.
Jamie just arched a brow.
After giving Mom a hug goodbye, I let Carter open the front door back up and stepped outside. He stumbled around me to grab at the passenger door handle, hauling it open and nearly clipping me on the hip as he did so. “S-Sorry,” he stuttered out.
I bit down on a laugh. “It’s okay.”
Carter nearly shut the door on my dress before hurrying to the driver’s seat. His right hand fumbled with his car keys to twist the engine on.
I watched him all the while. “You don’t have to be nervous.”
“I’m not.” He swallowed hard enough that I heard hisgulp. “I just… don’t want to mess this up.”
Thiswas such a loaded word. “You never seemed nervous when we DM’d.”
“That’s because I could think over my response beforesending it. Check and double check and triple check to make sure what I said wouldn’t be misunderstood. This isn’t like a YouTube video—it’s like a livestream, where I can’t edit out anything I do wrong.” Carter rubbed his brow. “I can’t believe I forgotflowers.”
I studied his anxious profile. It was strange to see someone so handsome be so worried, as if life and death hung in the balance of this outing. “Unedited footage is nice.”
“You haven’t seen mine.”
“Would it help if we didn’t think of it as a date? If you thought of it as just us hanging out? Getting coffee? Blooper reels are allowed between friends.” I emphasized the word lightly.Friends.
The question reassured him far more than I thought it would’ve, and I realized,yes, that was his problem. I could see it in the plain way his shoulders slumped with relief. “Deal. But I’ll try to keep my outtakes to a minimum.” When his hand reached for his gear shifter, it was a lot steadier. “What kind of coffee do you drink?”
“An iced brown sugar shaken espresso, please, with extra ice, and a hot caramel mocha,” Carter said to the barista when it came to our turn in line. Crushed Beanz, the most amazing coffee shop in the Village of Hallow, was mildly busy for a Tuesday afternoon. But I’d planned on that. Busy was fine. Preferred, even, since it’d take some of thepressure off.
Carter shot me a proud smile at having remembered the order I relayed to him fifteen minutes ago. I gave him a small smile back.
The girl behind the counter quickly hopped to crafting our drinks, and I gently laid a hand on Carter’s shoulder. “I’ll go find us a seat.”
Mildly busy meant there were a few options in terms of seating. The double chairs near the small stage in the back of the coffee shop were occupied. The tables furthest from the door were taken, as well as a few booths. But there was one left, underneath a large windowpane, and I beelined for it.
I sat facing the microphone on the small stage. It was poetry night at Crushed Beanz, where any amateur poet could waltz up and hold the audience captive, willingly or unwillingly. Another thing I’d planned for, a distraction in case the conversation lulled too flat.
It only took a few minutes for Carter to come over with our drinks, setting the iced brown sugar shaken espresso down in front of me. “I can’t drink a true coffee,” he said a bit sadly as he eyed my drink. “It tastes like dirt water. I just got a mocha.”
“Unsweetened iced tea tastes like dirt water,” I corrected him, giving my drink a swirl. “Espresso, however, is the liquid of the gods.”
Carter laughed and settled more fully into his booth. The partitions between the booths were short, so when he leaned his head back, he nearly collided with the woman behind him. “This is a cute place,” he said, glancing around. “Seems like it’d be good for… well. Acoustics.”
“You mean for your ASMR?”
A small flush stole across his cheeks. “Yeah.”
“Why are you embarrassed about it?” I propped an elbow on the table. “No one here knows you. No one here will eavesdrop.”
