Page 18 of Love and Other Goals

If I were keeping score, tonight would be a definitive tick on Mateo’s side. Aaron may have a few years-long head start, but I’m starting to wonder if he’ll be ticking any more boxes.

CHAPTER NINE

Teegan finger-combs her way through the curls in my hair to coax them into loose waves. “I wonder if I should add a bit heavier eyeliner to your makeup look,” she questions as she steps back to assess her work. “This is a dinner date after all.”

“Leave her alone now, Teeg,” Amaya interjects from her observation chair. “She wants to look like herself. The light makeup already looks perfect.”

Teegan pouts a little but gives in. I give my completed look a once-over in the full-length mirror. After way too long spent going through my closet, Teegan and I finally decided on a flowy, tiered dress from Anthropologie she found on clearance over the summer. I should fit in regardless of whether we’re at an upscale or casual restaurant.

At 6:23 p.m., I head downstairs to wait on the porch. I’m hoping I can race down to Mateo’s car and avoid any AOPis seeing me with him. I made Amaya and Teegan promise to stay inside and watch safely from a window so as not to draw attention to my departure. Suffice to say, Teegan is acting like I’ve ruined Christmas at the moment.

I take a deep breath and open the front door, relieved that no one is hanging around in the entry. Closing the door behind me, I turn around to see Mateo coming up the front walk. He’s wearing chino shorts and a blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He pulls his sunglasses off and smiles when he sees me. I glance around quickly (no witnesses) and hurry down the steps toward him.

“You’re early,” I say.

“Well, Coach is constantly drilling into us that to be on time to practice is to be late, so I guess the habit spills over.” His eyes quickly scan down to my toes and back up to my eyes, and I feel the first whisper of a blush forming.

“Wow, you look amazing, Lana.”

“Thanks,” I say nervously. I’m fumbling to know how to accept compliments from Mateo. Objectively speaking, he’s strikingly handsome with bronze skin, tousled black hair, a strong jaw, and deep brown eyes—not to mention his muscular, athletic body build. The perpetual five o’clock shadow along his jaw has to be intentional because it always looks well-kept. I realize he has one dimple on just his right cheek as he smiles at me.

I feel so self-consciously average next to him. Once again, I’m in my head, wondering why he’s standing here with me instead of someone like Bailey. I clear my throat and ask, “Am I dressed okay for where we’re eating? Where are we going?”

“You’re perfect,” he says with a smile, gesturing for me to follow. “And that’s for me to know and you to find out.”

He opens the passenger door of an old blue truck. This isn’t a huge, look-at-me truck like a lot of the frat guys drive. It’s an unassuming, older Toyota model that looks well taken care of. I climb into the seat, and he closes the door behind me. I smooth my hands across my dress to calm their shaking.

It’s fine, you’re fine, everything is fine, I chant internally as Mateo gets in and starts the truck. “Ready?” He checks in with me with a quick smile. I nod and try to smile back.

We pull away from the AOPi house, past campus and Center Square. I’m not sure where we’re going since we’re driving away from most of the retail areas of town. Maybe Mateo knows of a hidden gem of a restaurant.

Mateo makes small talk, asking about how my classes are going. I ask how soccer practices have been this week. He tells a funny story about some of the team reenacting the “So Long, Farewell” scene from Ted Lasso. We’ve been driving for about fifteen minutes and made our way to the small highway heading out of the city. I have no idea what our destination could be.

Finally, Mateo pulls into the prairie reserve on the outskirts of Brooklyn, winding through the driving paths until we reach a parking area on a hilltop overlooking the Flint Hills. He backs the truck up to face the view and puts it in park. “We’re here!” he says with a mischievous grin. “I told you to dress for dinner outside.”

I laugh and open my car door. I’ve only been out to the reserve a few times, even though I’ve been at Townsend for over three years now. Looking out at the never-ending rolling views and feeling the breeze blow through my hair relaxes my nerves.

Mateo leads us to the back of the truck where he stashed a picnic basket. He pulls down the tailgate and arranges a thick blanket on it before hopping up to sit with his feet dangling over the edge. I follow suit, settling in next to him.

“Welcome to the Flint Hills Café,” Mateo says as he sweeps his hand toward the view. The truck is perfectly angled, so we won’t be staring directly into the sun but will be able to appreciate all the colors of the sunset. He sets up a wireless speaker and opens his phone to connect. Ed Sheeran starts streaming through the speaker, and Mateo turns the volume down to a nice background level. I tap my fingers along with the melody, the subconscious movement calming my heart rate.

Mateo hands me a Spindrift from a small cooler and opens the picnic basket. He pulls out two brown-paper wrapped sandwiches that I recognize from Sandy’s, a local sandwich shop. He also sets out a bag of ruffled chips and a tub of their famous dip—a secret recipe full of cheese and bacon and I’m convinced some sort of addictive substance that makes it so good.

He hands me my favorite Thai-inspired chicken salad wrap and says, “I’ll admit I had to enlist Teegan’s help to know what you like to order from Sandy’s.”

“Mateo, this is incredible,” I tell him, and take my first bite. “What did you order?”

He tilts his sandwich toward me. “Classic BLT, but add smoked turkey and chipotle aioli,” he says. “It’s my favorite, but I like to change it up and try different things from the menu. I’ll have to give your wrap a try sometime.”

“How did you even get these when they close at 3:00? It tastes fresh,” I ask him, chewing another giant bite.

He looks a bit sheepish and says, “I know Sandy, so I begged her to meet me there tonight to make these two sandwiches. I promised I’d bring the soccer guys in sometime for lunch in return.”

I swallow and look into Mateo’s eyes. He hasn’t said this with any degree of arrogance, just stating a fact. But he pulled those strings for me. He planned ahead, making an effort to do something extra special for our date. The fact that we are out in the open air with zero other people around, some of my favorite chill music playing in the background (a song by Piano Guys followed Ed’s lead), enjoying one of my favorite meals together—he’s done everything right so far to help me relax and feel special on this date.

It makes me realize once again how thoughtful he’s been—literally how much thought he has put into this night, into me—and how little thought I’ve given him leading up to now. I take another bite of my wrap to give my attention to something other than how I still feel like a bit of a jerk.

I need to divert my train of thought, so I ask Mateo how he’s feeling about their soccer match tomorrow. They lost some key seniors from last year, but a couple of transfer students came to play with their team because there was a lot of positive buzz about the coach and the program after winning the DII soccer tournament last year.

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