Page 40 of Dropping the Ball

Now I need to figure out when and how to ask her in a way that makes her want to say yes.

I put my planin place the following Monday: Give her great reasons to come to the warehouse.

Trust me, I can’t believe what a genius I am either.

Normally, Austin is still hot in October. Low-eighties temperatures are normal, but the weather gods smile down in this, the second week of October, and we get some rain, which cools things down, and we’re in the high sixties two weeks earlier than usual.

Cool weather today. Warehouse isn’t an oven. Good day to stop in and see the progress.

Slammed with meetings. Progress looks great in the photos.

I try a variation of this every day until Thursday, when I get much more pointed.

Any chance you can stop in today? Would love to show you in person.

. . .

. . .

Unfortunately, my only open slot is lunch.

Great, see you then.

I put my phone away, smiling. I know that’s not what she meant, but I’ll make sure it’s worth her time. Today will be about reading her. I’m certain she isn’t annoyed by me anymore, but I want to see if I’m imagining that she feels a pull toward me.

Could I take her avoidance of the warehouse as a neon sign blinking NO? Yes. But there’s more to it. I’m sure of it. I don’t know if Kaitlyn keeping her distance is a her thing or a me thing, but that’s today’s mission: figuring it out.

That and getting her stoked about how this installation is coming together.

But mostly getting a read on her.

When she walks in at 12:30, Eva is on break in her truck, having cleared out when she saw me setting up for Kaitlyn. Specifically, after she saw me create a makeshift table withstacked paint buckets and plywood, covered with an unused paint tarp, and set with Styrofoam takeout containers from a food truck that comes through every day. The clincher was when I said, “Go eat in your truck so I can see if my client is into me,” and she’d walked out laughing ten minutes ago.

“Hey,” I say, as Kaitlyn walks over to meet me. She’s in a suit the color of pink lemonade, a fitted white top beneath, and pointy black shoes. “Wasn’t sure if stopping by meant you’d have to skip lunch, so I thought I’d better have some for you in case.”

Her smile is warm, like she’s never dreamed of dodging me. Maybe I misread the situation?

“That’s thoughtful of you. I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat, but why don’t you show me around first?”

“Or,” I say, sliding out one of the few folding chairs we keep onsite, “I can point it out to you as we eat because that’s the beauty of this open floor plan.”

Her smile widens, and she takes the seat. “What’s on the menu today?”

“Pork adobo nachos or chicken enchiladas in green sauce,” I offer, pointing to each container. “I bought it from a truck, so you can’t go wrong.”

“Is that the rule?” she asks, reaching for the nachos.

“Sure. You don’t eat from food trucks much?”

“I haven’t, no. What?” she demands when she catches me trying to hide a smile.

“That’s very Hillview of you, that’s all.”

“What does that mean? You’re as Hillview as I am.”

I shake my head. “I’m definitely not.”

“Okay, MicahCroft. I knew at least two of your cousins. Smells like family tradition to me.”

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