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Ugh… not true. Especially this date and this girl, who Annie picked and primed herself.
I will most definitely be thinking about Annie Archer. No doubt about it.
Annie told me to look for the brown and white sweater and, well, just Ang. It’s not as if I didn’t see a photo of the girl.
The restaurant is packed, but I spot the girl sitting at a table for two, all by her lonesome. Brown-and-cream sweater, blonde hair, high cheekbones.
She spots me too, apparently. She’s waving.
Did Annie post a photo of me along with the story? I don’t remember seeing one, but this girl has no doubt of who I am.
I pull up my Underoos, nod at the hostess, and head Ang’s way. I hold out a hand, but Ang, tiny in frame but strong in might, grabs onto my shoulders and pulls me in for a quick, WWE-type hug.
“Hmph,” I grunt as she squeezes all of the air out of my torso.
“I cannot believe we’re here. We’re here!” she squeals, and I hold back shaking a finger in my ear with the sharp pain that shoots through my head. “Can you believe it? I picked you. You picked me. And here we are.”
Do I tell her that Annie actually picked her? I didn’t have a say in the matter.
Ang blinks, smiling up at me like a Barbie doll, large and miniature all at the same time, waiting for me to say something.
That’s right—Owen must speak.“Yeah. Here we are.”
“Eeek!” Ang squeals again. “Here! We! Are!” she shouts, and a few people at tables near and far glimpse our direction.
“Ah. Should we sit?”
“We should. We should sit right down!” She beams—the girl isn’t lacking in excitement.
Our table is square with only two chairs. I sit across from where she sat just seconds ago. Ang sits too but takes one look at me across the table and shakes her head. Holding tight to theseat of her chair, she scoots it around the corner so that she’s sitting right next to me.
“Oh. Um. Hello there.” Heat surges up my neck and into my ears. My eyes itch. She’s so close, my pupils have to adjust. “That’s a nice sweater.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Ang snatches up my hand. “Touch it.”
“Oh,” I say, because apparently “oh” is my new favorite word. Ang rubs my hand over her arm, shoulder to wrist, again and again. My head knows it’s just herarm. And yet, not only do I feel uncomfortable, I’m starting to think I might be doing something inappropriate.
“It’s genuine.”
I nod. Genuine what? I have no idea. She forces me to pet her one more time, then I pull back my hand.
Clearly, this isn’t going to work. But I can salvage something. I can at least complete my assignment. Three meaningful questions and something about myself.
“Um, Ang, where do you work?”
“You didn’t read that on my application?”
I didn’t. Annie probably did. But I didn’t. “Um…” Perfect, a second favorite word:um.
“I work for the Post Falls animal shelter.”
That's right. Annie mentioned that.
A cross between a tickle and an itch run its way up my nostrils and out my eyes. I wrinkle my nose, attempting a scratch without actually scratching.
“What do you do there?”
“I help care for the animals.” She laughs. “I do whatever they tell me to. It pays the bills. And I like the cats.”
