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***
We browsed Reade's aimlessly, chatting with Bill and sipping on drinks made by his son, Scott. A soft snow sprinkled the roof of the quiet store as we slipped between shelves and listened to the gentle music playing over the speakers.
“What's your favorite book?” Dylan asked with one hand stuffed into the pocket of his leather jacket while the other held his vanilla chai.
I remembered him wearing that jacket in one of their music videos. It had been open, he'd been shirtless underneath, and the sight had done things to my body I'd never experienced before.
Biting my tongue, I looked away and hoped my dark glasses hid the desire in my eyes.
“I have a few favorites,” I replied, turning down the aisle of horror and mystery novels before lifting my chai to my lips.
“You gotta give me more than that.”
I scoffed mid-sip. “Why?” I asked, lowering my cup. “Are you planning on actually reading something?”
Dylan burst with an abrupt, amused laugh. “Actually, yes. Yes, I was. But if you're going to act like that, then maybe I shouldn't.”
I stopped in the middle of the aisle and let the sentiment settle in. “Wait, you're serious? You really want to read my favorite book?”
“Yeah, I did, but never—”
“No, no,” I quickly interjected, hurrying to the very place I knew the book would be. Then, I pulled the heavy paperback from the shelf and handed it to him. “Here you go.”
He took it from me and grimaced at its size. “You don't like anything, uh … smaller?”
“Trust me,” I said, “it's a good one.”
Turning it over in his hand, he read the title. “Lisey's Storyby Stephen King.” Then, he nodded. “Well, it might take me the next three years to read it, but I will.”
“You have to tell me what you think when you're done,” I said, already clenching my fist and biting my lip with excitement. “Honestly, I'm jealous you're going to experience it for the first time. I hope you love it.”
Nodding, he clapped the book to his chest, between the lapels of the leather jacket that had fueled my first fantasy. Then, with a smile, he said, “I bet I will.”
***
Although I had gone out with Dylan, fully expecting he would at the very least try to kiss me, he never did.
He had been the perfect gentleman, and as I watched his BMW disappear from my view, I couldn't stop the wave of disappointment that washed over me. But it had also been nice just to spend time with him, and after seeing him in this new light, friendship seemed like more of a possibility.
***
The next day, Peter pulled into the driveway in his modest Toyota and walked up to the door, wearing a button-down and khakis. He greeted my parents with a handshake, addressing them as Mr. and Mrs. Mom shot me a pair of wide, impressed eyes before asking if we'd like to stay for dinner.
“Thanks, Mrs. Jacobs, but I've been dying to take this lady out for a nice dinner since I asked her out,” he replied, laying his arm casually over my shoulders.
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and laughed. “I can't help that I'm a cheap date,” I replied.
“Hey, I'm fine with chicken fingers and fries too,” he said, grinning warmly and giving me a reassuring squeeze that felt comfortable. “But I'd like to take you to a place with utensils. Just once.”
Before we could leave, Mom pulled me to the side and told me not to let him go. “I know you had fun with that Dylan guy,” she whispered, and my stomach turned at the mention of his name, “but Peter's good for you.”
I smiled and told her I agreed, and I meant it. Peterwasgood for me. He was stable with a nine-to-five as a manager at a local bank. He made enough to own a small condo, went to the gym five times a week, and spent the weekends on his father's boat. He loved to cook, enjoyed the occasional concert, and never turned his nose up at my dislike toward cheese.
I liked him a lot.
That night, he took me to Vincenzo’s, an Italian restaurant on the water. Through the window, our table had a clear view of the Great South Bay, and I smiled with my chin propped in my hand, enjoying the sight of the moon reflecting off the water's surface.
“It's crazy that I never really looked at you when we were in school,” Peter said after the waiter walked away with our order and menus.
