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Make your date and yourself comfortable. Invite others to ease the pressure that a first date can create by including people who are known to ease your stress levels.
So… I’m not really doing this for Adam or me. I’m doing it for Owen. I’m doing it for the column.
So, while it may not matter if I’m late for Adam, it does matter if I’m late for Owen. I don’t want to ruin anything for him because my head is stuck in a folder of letters that are utterly strange and confusing.
I grab a jacket on the way out the door as a brisk, thirty-eight-degree November breeze hits my cheeks. I slip my arms through the sleeves of my brown leather jacket and ignore the texts pinging in my pocket from Kayla.
I skip up to Owen’s front porch with too much built-up energy inside of me. I knock and then push open the stiff, rickety door.
I step inside, not paying attention to the space in front of me, and almost run into a tall, stout chest that doesn’t belong to my best friend.
“Ugh.” I grunt as I stop myself short. “Levi. What are you doing here?”
He gives me a false, snarling smile. “Nice to see you too.” And then he snickers. His eyes glaze over me, and the snicker turns into a balking laugh.
“Excuse me?” I say, always ready to fight with Owen’s oldest brother. How did such a nice family end up with Levi?
“Setting trends as usual,” he says with another snicker. Then he pushes his way out the door.
Good riddance.
“O?”
“Coming,” he calls. He trots down the stairs, and I meet him at the end—forty-two letters on repeat in my head.
Why don’tyouwant to date your friend? What’s wrong with him?
Shouldn’t a life partner be your best friend?
I love you, Ask Annie. You deserve the best. Sounds like you’ve found that in your friend. Go for it!
Instead of your friend trying out your advice, why don’t you try it? Better yet, try it out on him!
Dozens more, and then there was this one:
Why anyone would ask you for help is beyond me. You have what you claim to be the best man in your life, and you haven’t even considered him for yourself?
Along with more that I have yet to open. I blink up at Owen and clear my throat.
“Ah, hey,” I say—in a totally normal way. Or… not so normal.
And Owen being Owen sees right through me. His dark brows pull together, and his eyes rove over me as if he’s solving a riddle. I wait for him to read in my expression that I’ve been reading letters, lots of letters with strong opinions on the two of us.
His hand comes up to the collar of my shirt and he gives it a little tug. “Is your shirt on backward?” His head tilts to the side. “And inside out?”
“Um.” I peer down, distracted from the letters haunting my laptop and head. And sure enough, my chin runs right into the back of the collar of my pullover blouse. How did I not notice that?
And—yep, inside out too.
“I was in a hurry.”
Owen chuckles. “You can use my room to change.”
I hurry up the stairs and into Owen’s room. It’s dim—lighting is on his long list of to-dos. But I like the space. The ceiling is slanted, and there are exposed wooden beams lining it. When he does get the time to finish them, they’re going to be gorgeous. Books are stacked next to his bed, with another pile on top of his desk. It isn’t a tidy space, but it isn’t messy either. It’s all Owen. The pine and musk of his soap and aftershave are strongest here. It’s like the room is hugging me, giving me a big, fresh breath of Owen. Someone could carry me into this room blindfolded, and I would know where I am.
I peel off my shirt, flip it around, and put it back on—a navy silk blouse with a winged collar. I should have realized it was inside out, at the very least backward. No wonder Levi snickered at me on the way out.
There’s a full-length mirror in Owen’s closet, and now thatwe’re here, together, I don’t feel the urgency I did before. I take a second and peer at myself, head to toe. Navy blouse, black jeans, black heels. My red hair is straight and shiny. My freckled face stares back at me.
