Page 94 of It's a Date (Again)

“There’s a bar around the corner. We should go there after,” Tyler says, pointing in the direction of where it’s located.

I slightly nod.

“They’ve got a great beer selection,” he adds.

“Oh, well, I can’t have any alcohol yet. Doctor’s orders.”

“More for me then.” Tyler chuckles and sucks from his straw. It makes a slurping noise, signaling there’s no more liquid left. He shakes the cup and sucks again, making the same grating sound. “I’m gonna get a refill,” he says, sliding out of the booth.

I place the rest of my sandwich back in the basket, leaving the last two bites behind. I remember what Debbie told me about them and why Robbie always eats them. It brings a smile to my face and an ache to my heart. I wish he were here now.

“You look really pretty,” Tyler says, retaking his seat with a freshly topped-off soda.

“Thanks.”

He gestures to my outfit. “I like this style.”

I glance down at myself. “Maya got it for my birthday. It’s not really me, but I told her I’d wear it tonight.”

“She’s got great taste.”

My fingers touch the pendant of the necklace, moving it side to side on the chain. “And Debbie got me this.”

“Cute,” he says.

I hold out my wrist, and the coins clang against one another and shimmer in the fluorescent light. He clearly took the time and care to polish each one. “And this was from Robbie.”

Tyler leans forward, getting a closer look. “That is exactly why men shouldn’t pick out jewelry.” He chuckles to himself and sucks up his sugary soda.

I frown, pulling my wrist back toward me. I place my hand in my lap, hiding it from Tyler’s view. “He actually made it himself.”

His shoulders vibrate as he talks through his laughter. “I can see why he’s an actuary and not an artist.”

“I like it.” I take a deep breath and raise my chin. “Besides, it’s the thought that counts.”

He glances at his watch and then back at me. “At least I know your expectations aren’t too high,” Tyler teases.

I think he’s joking but maybe I’m not in a laughing mood. I force a smile anyway. The corners of my lips quiver from the strain, but I hold it.

“Are you all done?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I push my food toward him. “Do you want the rest of my sandwich?”

He stands from his seat. “Nah, I’m full.” Grabbing the basket, Tyler walks it to the garbage can and empties it. The last two bites fall into the trash. He tosses the plastic basket onto a stack and turns to me. “Ready to head out?”

“No,” I say without even thinking. It just comes out fast and hard like it had a jet engine powering it: 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... blastoff.

Tyler gives me a quizzical look. “Oh, are you still hungry? I can get you something else.” He gestures to the chalkboard menu above the counter.

I shake my head. This doesn’t feel right. In my gut and in my heart, it just doesn’t. There’s still an ache there, as though it’s longing for something. I meet his gaze. He appears just as confused as I am. I imagine myself running. The muscles in my legs explode. The cold Chicago air fills my lungs as I gasp for more of it. My heart races, pounding against my ribs. Even though I’m staring right at Tyler, I can’t picture him.

He waves a hand in front of my face like he’s trying to pull me from a trance. “Peyton, you all right?”

I blink several times, snapping out of it. “It’s not you,” I say.

His thick brows nearly become one. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not the one I was running to that night. It can’t be you.”

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