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“Could you be ready by one?”
One? “That's an early date.”
I can practically see the grin on his face in my mind as he speaks. “Don't worry. You won't be home until after dinner.” He pauses and then says, “I only have a minute; I'm on break at work. So, I'll pick you up at one?”
“I'll be ready,” I confirm, curious as to what we'll be doing.
“Good. I'll text you later.”
We hang up and Catherine looks at me expectantly. “He's picking me up at one.”
“Did he say where y'all were going?” When I shake my head, she adds, “Then how do you know what to wear?”
Crap. I didn't think about that. I'll have to talk to him again then. The smile on my face turns into a slight frown. How am I this giddy already? It doesn't matter. This thing with Emerson is just me seeing what happens, nothing serious, and it's definitely too early to start overanalyzing. By the time I get through my classes and head to work, Emerson is far from my mind.
“Eva, you're my favorite person I've seen all day,” Barry says with a large smile.
“That's because I'm your favorite employee. How's it been today?” I ask as I clock in.
“Slow, so you should be good tonight. Just find some way to keep busy. In the mean time, I actually need to take care of some stuff in the office. You should start making sure everything isn't too low.” He pats me on the shoulder as he disappears into the office, and I walk over to the kitchen.
While it's not my dream job, making subs isn't too bad. I love the regulars who come in. The work isn't all that hard, and I have good coworkers. I chuckle to myself at the thought. I work alone ninety-eight percent of the time. Barry leaves me around an hour later. Slow is an inaccurate description to describe tonight. It's dead. For three hours, I wait on three people. Some nights are just like that. It'll probably be overwhelmingly busy tomorrow.
Usually, I'm a good little worker, finding something productive to do on nights like these, but I'm not feeling it today. Plus, I'm running out of things to do. I pull out my phone and text Emerson.
Me: Hey, what are we doing? I need to know if there's any particular way I need to dress.
Emerson responds rather quickly.
Emerson: Wear tennis shoes, jeans, and a shirt. Something you wouldn't mind getting dirty/messed up, just in case.
For a moment, I'm wary over how he did not answer my question of what we're going to be doing, especially with that last bit he tagged on. I'm dying to know, but I decide not to ask yet. A customer walks in, so I slip my phone into my pocket to wait on him. Figures someone would show up when I have fifteen minutes left. Just my luck.
My car spent Wednesday in the shop once a lady from my insurance agency came to take pictures. I'm just glad Catherine has a car to take me to and from work. Thursday, I rush across campus from my last class back to the dorms, so I can get ready. I only have forty-five minutes once I get there. The good thing is I already know what I'm wearing. There will not be any time wasted on trying to figure it out.
Emerson texted me this morning to find out which building and what room I'm in. Ever since, I've been anxiously waiting as the minutes pass. The minutes dragged by earlier, but now, they're speeding by through my shower, drying my hair, and getting dressed. My hair decides to be extra unruly and frizzy today, which takes more time than I want to waste on trying to contain it.
I've just tied my shoes when a knock sounds on the door. With a deep breath, I allow the action to soothe me. I stick my phone into my back pocket, grab my purse, and then open the door. Emerson is standing on the other side, his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. He's so good looking I doubt any woman could see him and not have her heart pick up its pace. His short hair is nearly the same black shade as mine, his eyes a softer toned blue, and lips worth nibbling on. Those same lips are lifting into a smile, as I look him over without an inkling of shame. He's similarly dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt.
“Are you done drooling?” he asks, lightly teasing as he smirks.
I pretend to wipe my mouth of imaginary drool. “Better than dropping my jaw and saying, 'Hubba, hubba'.”
Emerson laughs, holding his hand out, which I take. His hand is warm, larger than mine, and his strength is clear with his strong yet gentle grip.
“Your jaw did drop, Eva. Mine did too though. How's the leg?” he finishes as we walk outside.
“Good, nothing worth complaining about. Where are we going?” I finally ask.
He grins as he opens the passenger door for me. “It's a surprise.”
I smile back. “I love surprises.”
My answer causes his smile to widen. I climb into the truck and watch as he walks around to get in. He starts the engine and immediately does two things. He rolls our windows down about halfway first. Then, he turns the radio to the station I was listening to the other day. His slick grin tells me all I need to know. He's trying to impress me with his memory. I look away, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a smile because, oh my god, I'm a little impressed.
“I hope you're up for a bit of a drive,” he says.
“How long is a bit?”
