Page 8 of Lost Love Found

Her eyes widen and her eyebrows jump up. Somehow, her smile gets even bigger, and that little dimple taunts me. “Of course! You’re right. There are essentials we need to know. OK, you ask first because I just got three very crucial things answered nearly perfectly and I’m worried you’re some sort of mind reader.”

Damn it, she’s cute. “Best movie snack foods?”

She scoffs. “Easy.” She puts up a finger. “Popcorn loaded with butter and a glass of wine. Coke if wine isn’t on the menu for whatever reason. None of that diet shit, either. For sweets, always milk duds.” She slaps her hand on her lap, confident she’s just aced the test. “Yours?”

“We can work with this. Though I will say the nachos with the disgusting yellow cheese are a good popcorn alternative. I’ve never had wine with popcorn, but I’m willing to try it.” I watch her facial expressions as I respond, and she seems pleased. “OK, you ask.”

“I know you said you love animals, but…. cats or dogs?” She holds her breath immediately after asking, so I sense there’s a lot of weight on this seemingly simple question.

“Dogs. Obviously.” I keep my tone flat, but I want to laugh, seeing her let out her breath loudly, another of those wide smiles taking over her face.

“Thank. Goodness. I was legitimately worried you’d say something crazy like both. I should also tell you I have a dog. He is perfect in every way. His name is Frankie, and he’s an excellent judge of character who hates all men. So, you’ve been warned, for… you know… when you meet him.” She smiles shyly when she finishes speaking and that adorable blush spreads from her cheeks to her neck again.

The words when you meet him play in my head. I want to meet her dog. I want to know this girl. Really know her. And now I’m staring at her, neither of us speaking.

“Oh. My turn.” I finally say, my mind full of questions for her, but also void of any actual intellectual thought.

“You catch on quick, Adam.” She shifts on the couch and inches closer to me. Her knee is now pressed against my jeans and I can feel its warmth through the thick fabric.

I clear my throat. “Where did you grow up?” Yeah, that seems safe.

“Massachusetts. A small town called Marblehead on the coast. I pretty much always wanted to live there, but then…” She scrunches up her face before continuing. “Then I left for NYU, spent summers in London with Maeve and Char, moved to LA and I never went back other than for a few visits to see my family, but it’s been a long time.” She looks down at her lap and her voice is almost a whisper when she mentions her family. “And you?”

“I’ve never been to Massachusetts. I grew up in California. Here, in LA, mostly. Most of my family still lives here.” Wanting to avoid any further talk about my family, I move on. “If you could live anywhere, where would you live?” I lean closer to her, needing to take in more of her. When I talk, she looks at me like there’s nothing else she’d rather be doing — even if she can’t look directly in my eyes, she’s focused on what I’m saying, not what I look like or what the next question will be. She’s just focused on the now.

“Here. It’s my favorite place in the world. It's where I feel the most at home, and the fact that it's pretty much always sunny really amps up the allure. I love New York and London, but the weather… no, thanks!” Her eyes move over me, like she’s trying to see me. For a second I think she can, and I feel a slight panic. I don’t want to ruin this night with her recognizing me. She takes my silence to mean she can keep talking and I’m thankful for it.

“London and New York are special to me. I found myself in those cities. And my soulmates. Maeve and Charlie… they’re more than my best friends. They’re my sisters. They’re a part of me." She heaves a deep sigh, and her eyebrows furrow together as her forehead creases with apprehension. “They saved me. I wasn’t just broken when we started living together, I was gone. My body was here, but my spirit… it was gone.” She swallows, as if it takes great effort to do so and sniffles, but I don’t see tears.

“You know, Charlie said the same thing about you earlier. That you’re like a sister. That’s… that’s really beautiful. Especially coming from someone who is a twin.” I lick my lips, unsure of how to continue this. The way she looked when she talked about herself being broken makes my chest hurt. Unsure of what to say, I settle on, “You’re really lucky to have found one another.” That feels lame, but also true.

She shakes her head. “I’m the lucky one. Maeve knows what I’m feeling before I even do sometimes. And Charlie has this uncanny ability to see things so clearly when others can’t.” She pauses for a moment, takes a long breath, then abruptly looks up. “Favorite meal? Like if you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

OK. We’re moving on. “Hmm, that’s easy. Thanksgiving dinner. Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, the desserts… all the things. I don’t recall the last time I had a full Thanksgiving meal. I was probably seven or eight.” I smile at her, but the smile on her face fades. “What’s yours?”

She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and licks her lips. Now I’m staring at her lips. Her plump pink lips. Focus! “Chicken pot pie. Ugh. God, I’m in lust with that fucking meal.” She licks her lips again. She really needs to stop doing that. “It’s so comforting and the flaky pastry with the mushy potatoes is the perfect texture combination, plus there’s the fact that it’s delicious both hot and cold so —“

“WHAT? No, Lainey. Just… no.” I make a disgusted face at her, shaking my head. But she can’t see any of it.

“I don’t understand. You have a problem with my favorite food choice?” Her tone is serious, but when she speaks, her lips twitch as though she's trying to hold back a smile. Her cheeks flush as she loses the battle and an impish grin spreads across her face.

“Where do I even begin? And cold?” I make a throwing up noise and the loud, uninhibited laugh that erupts from her is… it’s intoxicating. I’ve got to make her laugh like this again, but I'm out to make a point about this damn pie. “It’s leftovers inside of pastry! How can you eat that?”

She laughs even harder, wiping a tear from her right eye. “I have never ever had anyone have such a visceral reaction to chicken pot pie before.” She giggles. “Oh, fuck, and that sound you just made. Shit, that was funny.” She snorts, reliving the moment until she finally calms down. “OK. OK. So, we agree to disagree on this one.” She leans to put her hand on the couch seat in front of her, her warm palm landing right on the back of my hand. “And Adam? I will make you a full Thanksgiving dinner. Anytime you want.” Her voice is like her touch, gentle and sweet.

I don’t know what to react to first. Her hand squeezing mine before regrettably sliding away, or the sincerity and kindness in her last statement.

“It’ll give me a chance to cross another item off my list - hosting a dinner party. And we don’t have to wait until November. That’s too far away. You need to eat your favorite meal before then!” She’s leaning her temple on the back of the couch and that shy, tight-lipped smile is back.

“What list?” I ask, maybe too quickly, realizing I didn’t acknowledge her offer to cook me a meal. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me who wasn’t paid to do so.

“Oh, I made a list. Of things I’m going to do just for me this year. Well, next year. Maeve gave me the idea. I’ve been hyper focused on my career and while it’s been wonderful because I love what I do, it’s time for a break. There aren’t any upcoming projects that need my immediate attention, so… I made a list.” A warm smile lights up her expression, but her gaze shifts downward, and she nervously fiddles with the loose thread of a pillow. I can sense her hesitation, as if she's embarrassed, uncomfortable, or maybe just unsure of herself. “Can I ask what else is on the list?” I want to know what she deems worthy enough to put on it. What are the things she wants to do just for herself?

“Oh. Ummm n-no. Not yet. I just — I haven’t shared the contents with anyone and some of it is quite… personal.” She’s still playing with the thread on the pillow, her squinty gaze landing somewhere on my face. “Do you have a beard?”

Another topic change. Hmm. “Yeah, it’s for a, uh — it’s new.”

Not me nearly telling the perfect stranger I grew a beard for a role. Idiot.

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