Page 43 of The False Flat

Should I?

The last time I’d done something like this, I’d ended up in the hos . . . won’t think about that.

Without thinking about anything, I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. The term “meat ’n’ three” had come up in conversation several times before I finally realized what they were talking about, but now, I knew the place Deanna was referring to.

I kept my head down in the lobby so I wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact with Handsy Piper. In my woe-is-me funk, I’d had one burst of business effort. I’d set up a meeting with Piper to discuss her personal finances the second week of June because it was the first time she’d had a gap in her schedule. Apparently she was good at her job and in high demand. Though I didn’t plan on ever personally finding out.

A glimpse at my reflection in the glass door to the restaurant made me pause and ask myself what I would tell Grant if he was in there.

He was my friend, wasn’t he? It wasn’t like I was trying to date him or anything. We were friends. He had Elaine; I had Chad, whom I l . . . l . . . liked a great deal.

This is innocent. I ripped the door open as if I owned the place.

Grant sat alone at a table in the center of the room, the sleeves of his blue collared shirt rolled up on his forearms. I lost my nerve, making a beeline to the stream of people getting food, as far from Grant as I could get without stepping into the ladies’ room.

When it was my turn to order, I pointed, aiming for the fried chicken breast behind the glass, but when the man in a white apron slopped some brownish meat dripping with gelatinous blobs of gravy onto my tray, I didn’t say anything. Though I did make sure I clearly pronounced my other choices so I wouldn’t end up with the alien greens.

What did it say about Grant that this was his favorite place to eat? I scooted my tray off the line and headed for a table, forcing myself not to look at him. It was like his body was giving off heat from across the room.

I slid into one of the red booths that lined the walls, my heart racing under my ribs.

I was repeatedly picking at a dent in the Formica tabletop when a familiar male voice said, “Penelope? What a coincidence.”

If by “coincidence” you mean planned, noncommittal stalking . . .

“Grant?” I questioned, as if I was as surprised as he was. I flipped my flat-ironed hair back nervously, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on my awkwardness.

“This is great. Deanna had to cancel on me. Some salad emergency. Mind if I join you?”

I gestured to the other side of the booth, then tucked my hand under my thigh because I was shaking, which didn’t make sense, except that it did because I’d opened up to him. That was it, the reason for my awkwardness. He knew something about me that other people didn’t, which made him a slightly different kind of friend.

I was still working this out in my head as he said, “I’ll go grab my tray.”

As he walked away, I took a deep breath and turned him into the number ten with a charming monocle. I thought I was growing out of the number thing, but my shaking hands and spastic stomach suggested I might be better off talking to an integer.

If the number ten wanted to think this was a chance meeting, what was the harm in letting him do so?

“Completely naked?” I leaned forward, engrossed in the conversation.

“Completely naked.”

My back hit into the taut seat cushions as I raised my eyebrows at Grant. “What did you say?”

“What could I say?” He let his shoulders rise and fall. “I stood there for several seconds, hoping I was having some sort of episode. Then, when they invited me in like everything was normal, I turned around to find the cameras.” He forked a piece of baked fish and chewed. Halfway through the bite, he opened one side of his mouth and said, “No cameras.”

“You went in?”

“‘Shock’ is all the explanation I have. They seemed completely normal the first time we met to discuss their project. Delightful couple.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know what I said the whole time I was there.” He put his hands to his face. “At least the woman put a shirt on after their workout.”

“Workout? What kind of workout could they possibly . . .”

“Naked yoga.” He shrugged again. “Very freeing, I suppose.”

I laughed, a little too loud, but it felt good. It felt good to be with Grant. A friend. The conversation was happening without effort, and sometime in the past several minutes, the numeral armor I’d mentally cloaked him in had faded.

“Who thinks it’s normal, or even slightly okay, to meet your architect in the nude?”

He stroked his mustache. “They were young and in incredible shape. Who knows, maybe if I’d ever looked that good, I’d have done the same thing.” He winked, and I did not picture what was under his clothes, but during the rides, his bikewear had highlighted promising features.