Page 22 of It's a Date (Again)

I furrow my brow and quickly relax it, busying myself by eating a large bite of my muffin.

“Yeah,” I say, but there’s apprehension in my voice because I have no idea what she’s talking about. I had a marriage pact. Who even does that? What am I, a character in a Hallmark movie? It has to be a joke. Or maybe she’s talking about a movie or a romance novel she’s reading?

She glances down at her watch. “Well, you have less than two weeks before you’ve gotta go through with it.”

I swallow hard, and it feels like a hunk of muffin is lodged in my throat. I slurp my iced coffee, trying to force it down, but whatever it is, it’s stuck there. Less than two weeks before I have to go through with what? This can’t be happening. Amnesia. Dating multiple guys. A marriage pact. What is this? Every romance trope shoved into my life? What’s next? Fake dating or sharing one bed? I let out a sigh and close my eyes briefly, wishing my memories would blast back into my head.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“It’s just a lot.”

“That’s life. If it wasn’t a lot, it wouldn’t be worth living.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“I think it’s fun that you and Robbie made that pact when you were what, nineteen, was it? I remember you telling me about it, and at first, I thought you’d gone mad. But I saw what it did for you. It helped. You’d been so worried about ending up alone because you kept dating bad guy after bad guy. But then you and Robbie agreed if you weren’t married, engaged, or in a very serious relationship by thirty-two, you’d be together. And those what-ifs melted away. You weren’t anxious or scared anymore.” She gives me a tender look.

A marriage pact in less than two weeks with Robbie? No, that can’t be right. He’s my friend, and he never once mentioned it to me. But I guess it’d be a lot to tell a girl with amnesia that she agreed to be with you if you didn’t date someone seriously in the next two weeks.Then again, he was the one saying it wasn’t a good idea for me to date right now. He told me I should wait until I’m better. Perhaps he was just trying to run the clock out on our pact. Is Robbie a saboteur? No, he wouldn’t do that. He makes me sandwiches. Saboteurs don’t make sandwiches.

“But we’re not actually going to do that,” I say, squinting. And I’m dead serious. There is no way I’d go through with something that silly.

“Why not? You two agreed to it, and a person is only as good as their word.”

“Yeah, but that’s ridiculous. We’re not just going to be together because we said we would over a decade ago when we were practically kids. And thirty-two isn’t even old.” I lean back in my chair and sip my coffee.

“I never said it was. I told you it was too young back then. But nineteen-year-olds look at thirty-two-year-olds like they’re crypt keepers. The brain’s not fully developed at that age, so I get it. What does Robbie say about your little pact?” She tilts her head and smirks.

“I ... I haven’t talked to him about it.”

Because he didn’t tell me about it, but I don’t say that part out loud.

“PEYTON! PEYTON!” a voice yells in the distance. I instantly recognize it. Robbie. His ears must have been ringing.

We glance in the direction of Robbie’s hollering. He comes into view dressed in a white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, running full speed toward us. His hair loops and swoops in all directions, and his face is beet red. He stops yelling my name when he spots me and slows to a jog, then a brisk walk. A look of relief washes over him. Once he reaches the table, Robbie practically keels over, panting and trying to catch his breath.

“Oh, hey, Robbie. Is the house on fire?” the woman across from me asks. Her question is laced with sarcasm.

Robbie gives her a puzzled look. “What? No, I was just looking for Peyton. Sorry, Debbie.”

Debbie. Finally, her name. I say it several times in my head in an attempt to commit it to my memory—my new one, that is.

“Pretty dramatic way to look for someone, if you ask me.” Debbie laughs. “And you’re still in your pajamas too?” She looks him up and down. “And where are your shoes?” she scolds, her lips forming a straight line.

Embarrassed, Robbie puts one foot over the other in an attempt to cover up his bare feet. I probably should have left a note or something, because him waking up with me missing clearly sent him into a panic. Then again, he’s the one withholding secrets from me. Big secrets that involve marriage or a relationship or whatever pact he and I made. I squint at him, and he gives me a perplexed look, clearly confused as to why I’m doing that.

“Peyton was gone when I woke up, so I was worried,” Robbie says, glancing at Debbie and then me.

“Oh, you two are settling that pact early, I see?” she says in a flirty voice.

“What?” he asks. He gestures to me. “No, it’s because of the ...”

A phone rings, interrupting Robbie. Debbie picks up her bag and fishes it out. “I’ve gotta take this. I signed up for one of those callbacks with some robot, so I didn’t have to wait on hold forever.” She gets up from her seat and gestures for Robbie to take it. “It’s gonna be a while, so I’ll see you at home. You can have the rest of my muffin.” She holds the phone to her ear and waves as she walks away.

At home. Oh, Debbie’s the woman that lives in the duplex below me. She’s my landlord. The pieces of the puzzle are finally falling into place ... well, sort of, if I jammed them in there and was still missing most of them.

Robbie takes a seat across from me. His tightened eyes tell me he’s mad, and I hope he notices the same look on my face. He eats a bite of Debbie’s muffin and stares back.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he asks.

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