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“Well, I will keep my fingers crossed then. It was nice to meet you tonight. Thanks for keeping me calm during the ruckus.”
“It was nice to meet you, too. Normally, I wouldn’t be so forward when meeting someone new, but I highly doubt we’ll see each other again unless it’s on purpose… Would you want to have lunch or dinner with me this week?”
If my cheeks are as red as they feel, he’s probably safely assuming I’ve been living in a cave for years, not as someone in my mid-twenties living in a beach town. I don’t get out much unless Willa drags me somewhere. “Uh—yeah, I think I’d like that.” I fidget with my firefly charm necklace, trying to ease my nerves.
“You sure?” he asks, his dimples deepening at the corners of his lips.
“Yes, of course.” I try to shake off the nerves.
“Awesome. Thankfully, I didn’t rip the corner off my first-aid manual for nothing. That would have been a waste.” He smiles and hands me the small piece of paper with his name and number scribbled down. “Send me your number so we can make plans, unless you change your mind.”
He must sense my uncertainty, a result of all my bad luck with men over the years.
SIX
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7TH 7:30 PM
There’s a mess of traffic weaving between City Hall and my apartment. All the brake lights are giving the streets a red glow. The summer rush is sweeping through early this year. Aside from some branches in the street and scattered puddles there’s no sign of a storm tearing across the island, which reminds me that Willa never responded to my text, checking to see if the power went out. The parking lot lights are on, so that’s a good sign.
I pull into the spot next to Willa’s lime green hybrid SUV and sigh, already dreaming about planting my butt on the beach before my new job consumes the summer. I drag my bag out of the back seat and take a moment to sweep off the excess sand that’s accumulated over the last couple of weeks.
After my hike up the three flights of stairs along the outside of the apartment complex, I’m greeted with a familiar Dave Matthews song pouring out from the doorway. Willa’s love for music always brings a little extra life to this place, but I can’t help wondering if we ever bother the neighbors. No one has ever said anything, but maybe it’s because they know Willa—loud, vibrant, and unapologetically herself. She attracts happiness and shares it with everyone around her.
As I push open the unlocked door, the aroma of tomato sauce and roasted garlic carries me into the galley kitchen where Willa is in all her glory, cooking up a storm. The glass slider to the balcony is wide open and the sheer curtains are fluttering like flags in the wind.
“I’m making dinner for my favorite person,” she sings out, holding the dripping mixing spoon up to her mouth. While working at the restaurant, she’s picked up some amazing cooking skills. My stomach grumbles like a mini thunderstorm. She already knew I would be hungry. We’ve been friends so long, she knows exactly what I’m thinking without me having to say a word.
“This wasn’t necessary,” I say. “You didn’t have to do all this.” I always worry my contributions aren’t enough or as much as hers, but I do try my best to keep the place clean and organized.
“What?” she shouts over the music as her thick hair bobs around in a messy bun on top of her head. Willa rolls the sleeves of her way-too-large chef’s coat up to her elbows. She’ll say she needs to look the part if it’s going to come out perfect.
“Echo, turn down the music,” I say, but louder, hoping the speaker device can hear me over itself. The volume cuts down a few decibels. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, but you sure do know the way to my heart.” I stretch my arm out to loop around her neck, trying not to get too close to the splattering sauce.
“It’ll be ready in about five minutes. How was your course? Did they have those CPR dummy dolls that you have to suck face with?”
I laugh while sliding open the coat closet and placing my bag on the floor against the side wall. “There was no sucking face, but it was informative—gory at points, but if anyone needs CPR, I know what to do.”
“Aw, man…well then, I guess I know who to call if I’m ever choking,” she says with a silly cackle. I wonder if I could save someone now after taking that class. I could use some more hands-on experience to call myself experienced, but I’d remember the instructed steps if need be.
I lean against the framed opening to the kitchen and rest my head on the wall. “Soo…there was a guy there.”
“A guy?” Willa echoes. “What kind of guy?”
A smile pokes at my cheeks. “The kind who gave me his number.”
Willa drops the wooden spoon into the pot and leans it against the side. “No, no, no. Not until I social stalk him. Give me the number and his name.”
“He’s a ninth grade English teacher,” I tell her. “I met him at a first-aid course.”
“Hand it over, lady,” she says, shoving her palm toward me, wiggling her fingers.
She turns the burner down to low but keeps her hand outstretched, waiting for the little piece of the first-aid manual with Liam’s phone number.
“Fine. I’m positive you won’t find anything wrong with him.” I pull the scrap out of my jean shorts pocket and slap it into her hand.
“Liam Gellar,” she says with a “hmm” to follow.
“Watch the sauce while I grab my laptop.”
