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“Did you seriously just bring up a thirty-year-old movie?” Brynn laughs.
“Hey! In my defense, you two sang the soundtrack so relentlessly, I have PTDSD. Post Traumatic Disney Song Disorder. There are still times when ‘Part of Your World’ gets stuck in my head.”
Brynn catches my eye, and we immediately belt out the chorus amid Ethan’s loud protests and failed attempts to silence us with marshmallow missiles aimed at our open mouths.
By the time our laughter dissolves, I can’t believe I ever doubted my decision to come to New York. In fact, I’m almost sad I’ll have to leave in three months. In a matter of hours, I already feel more at home around Brynn and Ethan than I do with my own family. I try not to dwell on the depressing realization.
“In all seriousness,” Ethan says, munching on one of the errant missiles. “I hope the date goes well.”
“Thanks. Although, there isn’t much point, is there? I head back home in three months. So, any relationship I start here is basically doomed.”
He chews in silence but seems to be mulling over my words.
“But what if you hit it off?” Brynn asks. “Can’t you do long distance?”
“That never works. Besides, I’ll be so busy with my new position in the company, I won’t even have time for dating.”
I toss out the well-rehearsed excuses easily, knowing Brynn wouldn’t accept my real reason for remaining single. To this day, I’ve never told her what Chad said to me all those years ago, the summer we spent in New York. The summer he broke my heart.
And if I’m honest, I don’t plan on ever telling her. Or anyone.
CHAPTERFIVE
As I stare up at the whimsical sign for Catnip & Cappuccinos, guilt swirls in my stomach. Considering I’m ten minutes late, poor Sebastian is probably sitting inside waiting for me right now. What if he’s hoping to meet his soulmate while, to me, this is nothing more than an opportunity to cross off another task?
I’ve been so focused on my objective—complete the list and create a winning ad campaign—that I hadn’t stopped to consider real people might get hurt in the process.
I smooth back the flyaways disheveled by the chilly gust of wind, reminding myself that it’s just one date. Besides, we might not even like each other.
With that thought in mind, I push through the front door.
Once inside the cozy cat café, some of my anxiety wanes. It’s the cutest coffee shop I’ve ever seen, all bright pops of color and funky, bohemian fabrics. The ruddy brick walls are covered in artwork featuring famous literary cats, from the cheeky Cheshire inAlice’s Adventures in Wonderlandto Dr. Seuss’s Cat in the Hat. There are a few less obvious ones, too, like the ginger cat with a smooshed face that I’m pretty sure is supposed to be Crookshanks fromHarry Potter. As an unabashed booklover, I immediately feel at home.
While I unbutton my new coat—an Isabel Marant shearling jacket I found on sale at Bloomingdale’s earlier this morning—my gaze sweeps the café in search of Sebastian.
Cats and kittens in every size and color imaginable canoodle with coffee-sipping patrons, creating a happy, contented aura that spills into every nook and cranny. I can feel my own mouth curling at the edges until a loud sneeze makes me jump, and the smile vanishes.
A man seated in the far corner blows his nose into a napkin, then crumples it into a ball and drops it on the table near a pile of other wadded-up napkins.Ew.
My heart plummets when I see his face. Although it’s blotchier and rounder than I expected, the man is clearly Sebastian. He retrieves a small lint roller from his briefcase and rubs it furiously over his immaculate navy suit.
The ungracious part of me wants to turn around right now, but it wouldn’t be fair to judge him so hastily. Besides, I need to make it through the entire date or else it doesn’t count.
“Sebastian?” I say tentatively, approaching the table.
He glances up and smiles. At least, Ithinkit’s a smile. The chiseled features from his profile photo are now so pink and puffy, he resembles a bloated salmon.
“Quincy, hi. Nice to meet you.” He sets the lint roller on the table next to his mountain of soggy napkins. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered for us while I was waiting.”
“No problem. Sorry I’m late.” I shrug out of my coat and loop it over the back of the chair before sitting down. “Have you been waiting long?”
“About twenty minutes. I like to arrive ten minutes early. But don’t worry, a cute girl like you is worth the wait.” His left eye twitches slightly, and I think he’s trying to wink, but it’s impossible to know for sure. His eyelids are so swollen, they barely budge.
“Welcome to Catnip & Cappuccinos.” A young Lucille Ball look-alike wearing a retro-style apron and cat-eye glasses sets two mismatched mugs on the table. “Here are your PersianPurr-overs,” she says, rolling herr’s.
I thank her and reach for the mug, in desperate need of caffeine. And maybe an EpiPen for Sebastian. I’m pretty sure he’s having an intense allergic reaction.
“I hope you don’t mind, they’re decaf,” he says, dumping a sugar packet into his coffee. “My body doesn’t react well to caffeine.”
