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I was surprised. It was exactly the advice Nina and I needed but couldn’t hear through all of the Pearce drama. “That’s really—sweet, I guess.”
“I have my moments.” He winked. “What about you? Are you dating the quarterback?”
I almost spit my wine out. “No, I’m not dating a football player.” I wished I had said I wasn’t dating anyone. Suddenly, I wanted Beau to know I was single. Although, it shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know my personal love life status. I abandoned clarifying my relationship situation and focused on my wine drinking. He had chosen an excellent merlot.
He raised his glass. “Since we’re supposed to be mimicking Love Match. Let’s make a toast.”
Every date on that show had no less than three toasts. They were always toasting to true love, finding forever, or dreaming big.
“Do you have something in mind?”
“How about to making it count?”
“Isn’t that a quote from Titanic?” I would be surprised if he had seen the epically tragic movie.
“I don’t know. It sounds like something they would say on the show.”
I inhaled the
icy January air and raised my glass until it tapped Beau’s.
“To making it count.” I smiled at him over the rim of my glass. His eyes were locked on mine. A little chill rippled through my chest and it wasn’t from the air. I was completely caught off guard.
“You sure you’re ok, London?”
I nodded vigorously, trying to convince myself more than Beau.
“All right. We’ve got two parts to this not-date. Ready to go paint some pottery?”
“Um. Yes. Let’s do that.”
Beau was standing next to the table with a hand extended. I hesitated, for a second, but placed my hand in his.
“Ok. Pottery Paints. Here we come.”
During last week’s episode, Victoria took five of her suitors to a pottery shop where the men painted various figures in an effort to capture the eye of the bachelorette. By the end of the date, the guy with the best piece of art received a rose and some special one-on-one time. Beau and I laughed at the guys’ attempts to make a bisque model car or frog look like anything other than an elementary school project.
Pottery Paints, the studio on Franklin Street, was brightly lit. Across one wall was an assortment of plain, untouched clay molds. On the opposite wall were the finished products of the customers who had spent time in Pottery Paints.
I selected a canister with a lid that had a small bird perched on top. I watched Beau as he scanned the choices. He reached for a plate.
“What are you going to paint on there?” I asked.
“I thought I’d go ahead and make the commemorative championship plate.” He started sorting through the various shades of blue on display.
“What kind of championship?”
For a second, I thought there was something on my face. His shocked expression had me brushing my cheeks.
“What kind of championship? Girl, you’re at the mecca for college basketball. I’m talking about our championship.”
“Oh. Ok. Cool.” I sat on the bench next to him.
“Well, I learned something about you tonight.” His voice was playful.
“What’s that?”
“You are definitely not a sports fan.”
