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“Hello there. I didn’t expect to hear from you today.” Charlie’s voice is calm, and I can almost hear the smile in his tone.
My heart leaps a little just at the sound of his voice. I look around, peering through the leafy branches to spy on nosy coworkers, otherwise known as Rachel. “I was just thinking about you and—”
“Oh you were, were you? I like that.”
“Hush, smuggsters.”
His laughter fills my ears. “So what can I do you for?”
“That has to be one of the perviest phrases ever.”
“Perviest. The word perviest is pretty perverted sounding.”
“Well, yeah, it’s pervilicious.”
He chuckles. “My gut can’t handle your humor today. What’s up?”
“Nothing much. Like I said, I was just thinking about you. Are you busy later this week?”
“Are you asking me out on a date, Ms. Barrow?”
“That warrants an epic eye roll, and since you can’t see me right now, please hold while I proceed to do just that.” I hear him humming When The Saints Go Marching In while he waits for me to eye roll him. So I do.
“All right, I’m back.” I giggle. “Not a date. Just two friends hanging out together. I was thinking Saturday, if you’re free.”
“What time?” I hear shuffling on his end.
“I don’t know. I’m free all day. We could have another movie marathon.”
“You want me to come over to nap with you again? Admit it, Charlie, you are a Saturday afternoon napper, and you liked the company.”
I shrug, though he can’t see me. “I’m not ashamed. Are you?”
“Nope, not at all. How does two work for you?”
“Perfect napping time.”
“What can I bring?”
“Beer. I have none.” I want to ask something, but I’m nervous about the answer I might receive. “I can make dinner if you’re also free in the evening?” So the question I really wanted to know the answer to might have been wrapped up in a casual package, but it’s still there.
“What kind of guy do you take me for? You think I’d nap with one woman, then have dinner with another? What a low opinion you must have of me.”
I love that he didn’t make me ask. “Not low, quite high actually.”
“Oh really? You can tell me more about that on Saturday.”
“Yes, I look forward to filling your head full of compliments and ego boosters.”
That earns me a laugh. “Charlie?”
“Yes?” I lean against the wall and grin from ear to ear.
“I have to run, but just so you know, I’ve been thinking about you, too.”
“Well, in that case, maybe you can toss a few ego-boosters my way on Saturday, too.”
“Happily. I’ll see you then.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I end the call and lean forward, pressing my forehead against the window. Two days. That’s all. I can wait until then. The cool glass calms my warm skin, and I realize I already want to call him back to chat again. I don’t, though, because I know he’s busy and I should get back to work, but for a moment, I think that maybe I do have it bad.
I like him too much to risk it away on a fling or frivolous relationship I don’t think either of us is ready for, so I pocket these feelings away. They’re troublesome and could lead to heartache. “Only friends,” I remind myself. Only friends.
Later that evening, I’m home, and it’s dark outside. I want to curl up on the couch and flip through the channels for something I don’t have to think about while watching, something I can zone in and zone out of real life.
I grab my uninteresting meal out of the microwave and carry it on my oven mitt-clad hand over to the couch, but I don’t make it there before someone knocks on my door. I detour and look through the peephole. I see him and feel the giddiness bubble up inside. Charlie knows I can see him because he’s all smiles and funny faces. I unlock the door and open it wide.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” I put my free hand on my hip and sway them with sass.
“I couldn’t wait until Saturday.” He smirks, holding up two white bags in his hands. “I come bearing food.”
“So what you’re saying is that you find me irresistible?” I present my awful, tasteless meal to him. “Anyway, I’ve already got dinner covered.”
He laughs but says nothing as he walks past me straight into the kitchen.
“And the market on worn-out workout pants,” he says, unpacking the bags on the counter, “but I won’t hold those against you. By the way, that’s not dinner.”
I kick the door shut and lock the deadbolt, then follow him. “Don’t judge my comfy leggings. There are only two holes. And if this isn’t dinner, what is it?”
He looks over the little black bowl of steaming food still sitting atop my mitt-covered palm. “I don’t know,” he replies, scrunching his nose. “But you’re not eating it.” He picks it up and tosses the tray into the garbage can before I have a chance to protest. “I have food. Go sit over there in your holey pants, and I’ll serve.”
