A laugh reverberates around my ribcage. Mom middle names me when I’m in trouble.
“Trust me?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to make a quip about him cheating on Molly, but I don’t want to get things off on the wrong foot between us. I’m trying to put that small voice in my head to bed and get past it, even if it’s hard. I need to get over it. I know this.
“Okay.” I nod twice, hoping that it’s a convincing, reassuring nod.
I can tell from how he’s drumming his fingers on the wheel that he’s nervous, and my curiosity is on full alert right now. What could we possibly do at a laundromat for a date? Are we going to steal people’s undies? Is that his kink? Getting arrested for underwear stealing would certainly be a memorable first date to tell the grandkids.
Huh. I guess I can see myself with this guy in the future. I don’t have time to unpack that thought as he leads me inside, still holding my hand, to a door behind a long workbench that has a sign overhead: GTFO.
I mean, call me cautious Cathy, but I question the logic of going through a door that clearly tells you to get the fuck out.
There’s nothing particularly impressive about the door. It could do with a fresh coat of brilliant white paint to cover the scuff marks. And the sign hanging over it looks like someone wrote on a piece of cardboard and stuck it up with crazy glue.
I’m not sure whether to laugh or run. If it wasn’t for the comforting warmth of the room, the drone of tumble dryers, and a weirdly sweet smell permeating the air and making my mouth water, I’d definitely run. Or at least walk quickly.
“Are you sure we should be here? I feel like we shouldn’t be here.”
He squeezes my fingers, and with his free hand he opens the door. A gasp escapes me as we walk into a secret room. It’s a hidden cafe of some kind. There are maybe a dozen brightly colored two and four seater tables with chairs around the homey space. Bookshelves to my left have a variety of well-loved books, and shelves lining the wall to my right house a collection of games, both board and card.
There’s a small counter with a bright pink fluorescent GTFO sign overhead. The lighting is intimate, the smells incredible, and we’re the only people that I can see in the space.
Justin pushes a button on the counter. It doesn’t make a sound but he turns to the tables and leads me to one in the back corner, grabbing Scrabble from a shelf as he passes.
There’s a large chalkboard on the front of the counter. It’s got a savory pie of the week, sweet pie of the week, and book and game of the month written on it. The book for this month is the same book Justin gave me for Christmas which makes me smile.
Clearly the owner of this quirky establishment has impeccable taste.
Justin pulls out my chair, and I can’t stop myself from looking all around the small space as I sit. There’s so much to look at. Fairy lights, a shelf of succulents, a large glass lemonade dispenser on a stand. This might be my new favorite place on earth. I feel so at home here, so comfortable, so safe, that I never want to leave.
A giant of a man comes out from behind the small counter. He’s probably taller than Justin, which is saying something, and his shoulders are twice as broad. He’s giving me hot Hagrid vibes. His jet black hair is shorter than the groundskeeper’s from Harry Potter, but not short. It’s glossy and wavy, falling perfectly over his forehead.
He looks like he stepped right out of a commercial for conditioner. He’s got a goatee, the palest skin I’ve ever seen, and he’s wearing a Ted Lasso shirt.
I like him already.
“Savannah, this is Brian.”
“With an I.” The giant arches an eyebrow like he expects me to ask about Bryan-with-a-y and why he feels the need to distinguish himself from him. Brian has the most divine Irish accent I’ve ever heard. I don’t know if he does audio work, but he needs to.
I’d listen to so many more books if he was the narrator of them, and I’d love an evening wind down podcast by him. Something to sooth my racing mind right before bed. He’d make a killing at guided meditation.
“I issomuch better than y.” I arch my brow right back, except because I can’t control them independently, both of them shoot up and I’m 100% sure I look like a surprised idiot now.
He nods like it’s a given. I dunno who Bryan-with-a-y is, but he can’t be this cool.
“Brian, this is Savannah.”
“Huh.” Brian doesn’t say anything else as he hands me a laminated menu.
“Huh? What huh?” I accept the menu that says “Get the Fork Out” across the top of it, and hug it against my chest not looking at the offerings yet.
He ignores my question and gives Justin a menu, too, jerking his chin at the box between us on the table. “Same game, different date?”
Justin rolls his lips between his teeth and turns the color of ketchup.
“I guess you’re just going to keep bringing new ones until you win?”
