—
Four hours andfar too many discussions about Theo’s ideas for a new Instagram handle later, I sit in the back office at The Disco Diner with a Trapper Keeper full of notes in front of me,revisiting some of Penn’s ideas that I’d initially pushed aside. First up: a liquor license.
When there’s a knock on the door, I call out, “Come in.”
The door doesn’t open, so I swing around.
There, on the checkerboard tile floor beneath the door, is a pink slip of paper. Folded neatly into a triangle. Heart lurching, I pop out of my chair to grab it.
On the front, my name is written in all caps, a small and sad excuse for a heart drawn in each corner. Clearly, all of Penn’s creative genes were funneled into brainstorming business ideas, leaving no room for the rest of the arts.
I unfold the page, laughing so loudly I cover my mouth even though no one can see me.
Dinner Date?
Yes / No / Only if there’s intimate gyrating
Still grinning like an idiot, I open the door, but Penn isn’t standing there. I spot him heading out the main doors.
Back at my desk, I chew at my nail, deliberating. There’s no question I’m saying yes, but after last night’s kiss, and today’s hug that I never wanted to end, I’m well aware that a date with Penn could be dangerous. Lines are blurring. I’m playing with fire.
Then again, I do want to discuss some ideas for the rink. And it’s only dinner.
I reply with a text I know he’ll appreciate.
-.—.
That’s Morse code for YES.
Does the intimate gyrating remain optional?
Quite the forward question for a first date.
That’s not a no.
Dress code?
Casual. Think: More than underclothes.
For now.
—
With precisely fiverestaurant locations to choose from in Lakeville, the brick patio at La Trattoria is usually packed, especially on a Friday night. But Penn “knows a guy”—the owner, whom he often treats to free drinks at Curly’s. So tonight it’s just us sitting at a table for two beneath a starry sky and a sparkling web of string lights, Italian music drifting out of the restaurant, the earthy smell of potted flowers potent after today’s rain.
I tried on at least sixteen different outfit combinations tonight, enjoying a nostalgic turn at playing dress-up. After much consideration, I settled on a plum-colored camisole with green pants and floral ankle boots, a violet coat wrapped around my shoulders. Turns out I like myself in purple. And from the way Penn stared when I came down the stairs, his gaze raking over me so unabashedly that something wild and warm rippled through me, he must approve, too.
I love being around Date Night Penn. He’s sweet and earnest. He’s asked three times if I’m comfortable, and he’s in a navy sweater that does something altogether unfair to his eyes.
All night, he’s found excuses to touch me. His hand in mine on the walk to the restaurant. His palm against the small of my back as we were led to our table. His sneaker dancing around my ankle on and off for the past twenty minutes.
When our drinks arrive, I call him out on it. “Have you been trying to play footsie with me? Or are you just tall?”
Penn slouches back in his chair, biting at the small black straw he’s pulled from his Old Fashioned. “That’s the benefit of being tall. People never know.”
“That’stheebenefit of being tall, huh? Ambiguous footsie?”
He shrugs. “It’s a three-way tie between ambiguous footsie, clean ceiling fans, and unobstructed parade views.”
