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“That’s great.”
There’s a natural lull here. He’s waiting for me to explain why I’ve hunted him down, and I’m trying to work up the courage to accept his offer of a date, but it’s been so long since he originally issued said offer that now it feels like I’m the one doing the asking.
“So…about that date,” I say, rocking back on my heels. “Is it still on the table?”
He blinks as it takes him a moment to realize what I’ve just said. He’s stunned.
“Date? Y-yeah.” He stammers for a moment before continuing more vehemently, “I mean, yes. For sure.”
I smile with relief. “Okay. Great! I’m off tomorrow?”
“That works. I’ll probably be out of here before dinner. I could pick you up around 6:30?”
Wow, this is actually working! It almost feels too easy.
“Okay, and since I sort of sprung this on you, I’m happy to help plan things. I could make a reservation for us somewhere?”
He plays like he’s completely affronted by this suggestion. “Don’t worry about it.” He winks. “I got this. Just text me your address. You have my number, right?”
We’ve shared numbers for work purposes. There are times we need to coordinate procedures and exams with the PT and OT teams.
“Yep. Okay so, tomorrow?” I ask, sounding hopeful.
“Tomorrow.”
I feel…a lot of things as I walk down that hallway away from Michael. It’s not every day that you accept a date with a coworker. It could be the biggest mistake of my life trying to mix romance with work—something I’ve never done before—but there’s no real way around it. Michael’s the first guy I’ve met in a long time who doesn’t make me feel like too much or too little, which I know sounds bad…but maybe it’s a good thing to feel like Goldilocks in a relationship? There’s nothing worse than feeling like the scales aren’t balanced in your favor, as if you’re chasing after a guy. This way, I have the slight upper hand, and that’s for the best.
It means I can start work without any distractions. I’m not losing my head over it like I would be, say, if I’d just agreed to go on a date with Grant tomorrow. I could puke just thinking about that scenario. If I had a date with Grant instead of Michael, I’d be locking myself in a supply closet somewhere and huffing into a brown paper bag. I’d be walking around here with my head in the clouds the entire day.
Without a doubt, this is better for me and for my patients. In fact, I’m so focused through my entire shift I forget to update Daphne and Sophia about the Michael news until I get home.
They’re perched on the couch with their feet up on the coffee table, watching the tail end of the Pinstripes away game with individual pints of ice cream.
“You just missed Grant bat,” Sophia says, licking some chocolate off her spoon.
I ignore that, drop my hospital bag by the door, and launch into my news instead. “Michael and I are going out on a date tomorrow!”
Sophia’s jaw drops. “What?! Really?!”
Daphne squeals.
Their enthusiasm rubs off on me. This is a good thing, for sure.
“You don’t work tomorrow, do you?” Daphne asks.
“No. I’m off.”
I grab a spoon from the kitchen before I take the seat beside Daphne so I can steal some of her blanket and some of her mint chip.
Her eyes grow wide with possibilities. “Okay, here’s the plan! We wake up and go on a run. Shower, get ready. You branch off, get waxed, like really waxed, you catch my vibe? Then we can shop around for an outfit.”
I laugh. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
She reaches over to jostle my shoulder. “This could be your last first date ever, Tate!”
Oh wow. When she puts it like that, I almost feel sick.
“Okay, whatever. Let’s do it.”
Agreeing to her plan feels like the easiest way forward. I love a good plan. Step-by-step instructions I have to follow? Be still my heart. It takes all the thinking out of it. Emotions be gone.
I believe this is all exactly what I want—or at least I pretend to—right up until I tuck myself in my bed that night and check my phone to see a message from Grant waiting for me on Instagram.
Oh Jesus, where’s a brown paper bag when you need it?
Don’t check it!
Check it!
Don’t.
DO IT.
I set my phone down and pick it back up a dozen times until impulse wins out and I hold my breath and open the message.
Grant: Turns out your luck worked tonight…we won.
He only sent it a few minutes ago, which means I can do one of two things: ignore it and go to sleep…zzzz…or reply and open up a can of worms.
Before Grant, I would have had no issue choosing the wiser option. My fingers hover over my phone’s keyboard, and then, as it turns out, I simply can’t do what’s best for me in this situation, which is odd considering how much restraint and self-control I exhibit in all other areas of my life. I am extremely by the book in every other respect.
