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“Your sister’s birthday party.” Arrogant, he lifts his beer and tips it my way in cheers. “Can I stay at your place for a while?”
“Are you fucking serious? No!”
“Uncle Axel,” June admonishes. “Now you sound like the bully.”
Hannah
THOMAS IS SWEET. THOMAS IS KIND. THOMAS IS… EH.
Pinocchio’s is a mid-level Italian restaurant in the middle of town that pushes enough delicious carbs to keep us all coming back for more.
Pizza. Pasta. Gnocchi. Risotto. And all things garlic. It’s a well-known spot for first dates that is neither stuffy and overly priced, nor is it tacky and cheap.
Thomas picks me up from my place at seven on the dot, just like we agreed, and we find ourselves seated in a corner booth by seven-ten.
Candlelight, comfy bench seats, and a glass of sweet wine leaves me smiling as I look across at a man who, when standing, towers over me at six and a bit foot tall. He works in finance, which might imply a desk-jockey’s body, but his shoulders, stretching his button-up shirt, promise some kind of five-day-a-week CrossFit program that creates a treat for a woman’s eyes.
He kinda looks like Enrico from that deserted island show.
His smile is playful, his eyes are attentive and a beautiful shade of green, and when his foot accidentally bumps mine beneath the table, he leaves it in place so a warm blush fills my cheeks.
So far, this date is going well.
“So, tell me about your business.” He spins a beer between his fingers and watches me intently. “Juniper’s Bakery, crossed with…?”
“Well… I haven’t actually named my side of the business yet.” And because I’m speaking to a guy whose job is literally to process business accounts, a nervous laugh rolls along my throat. “My trading name is just my name. Not very creative,” I concede, “but there’s only so much braining I can do in a day, and I use all of mine while working. Naming it just fell to the wayside.”
“If it works,” he shrugs, casual and carefree, “no need to fix it. Do you enjoy your job?”
“Absolutely.” I cup my wineglass in both palms and leave my leg exactly where it is when his foot glides, ever so gently, across my ankle.
It’s low commitment. No pressure. Just a foot touching a foot.
“I’ve worked at Juniper’s from the moment I dropped out of high school, and I’ve loved every minute of it. But this past year, I guess I realized I have spare time and brain space. So what began as a single request to cater a birthday party turned into something more. Then that something more turned into acome-to-Jesustalk with my boss, because the workload was growing too large.”
Because I know I’m rambling, I bring my wine up and take a small sip. “I was reaching a point of no return: either set catering aside and re-focus on my actual job, which was the commitment I’d made to Nicole years ago, or propose something bigger. Go into business together, and watch it flourish.”
“Which,” his eyes shimmer with a playfulness that makes my stomach tingle, “it has. Juniper’s is no longer just Juniper’s, and you’re being pressured into coming up with a business name.”
A soft laugh tickles the back of my throat. “I probably won’t go to the trouble of changing it at this point. Like you already know, setting this stuff up takes a ton of paperwork. I have zero desire to do it all again. So… Hannah Sullivan’s. That’s what we’re gonna keep calling it.”
The small town we live in putters along just outside our window. Streetlights flicker on, and familiar faces wander by. The pizza delivery boy races in and out every few minutes, and in the street behind him, for just a beat, I could swear I spy a familiar truck rumbling past.
I slam my eyes shut, and open them again to search for the shiny silver tailgate. The wide black wheels, and the license plate I know so well.
But when I scan the street outside, it’s gone. My vision clears, and what I thought I saw no longer exists.
“Hey.” Brave, a little forward, Thomas leans across the table and slides his finger along my wrist to catch my attention. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I suck a deep breath into my lungs and force a smile onto my lips.Sure, Axel will be home this weekend. But it’s not the weekend yet. It’s Wednesday.“Sorry. Everything’s fine.” I refocus my attention and meet his eyes. “My mind wanders when we talk business.” Lies. Lies. All lies. “Tell me about your family.”
He chuckles, teasing. “You don’t wanna discuss numbers?”
“They bore me,” I counter quickly. Flirty. “I pay guys like you to remove the monotony from my life. Let’s discuss secret hobbies instead.”
“Secrethobbies?” he ponders. “As opposed to regular, daylight, full-disclosure hobbies?”
“Mm.” I bring my wine up and drink just a little more than a polite sip. I’mtechnicallynot legally old enough to drink here, but that’s the beauty of dating someone a little older than me. “Regular hobbies might include reading John Green on the weekend, and paddling a kayak on the lake to while away an afternoon.”
