Page 20 of Meet Stan

I noticed the chalk muralist looking at us like we were crazy. She donned a pair of headphones and went back to her work. I wished I could escape the awkward conversation with a pair of headphones.

“I’d say a minimum of six weeks.”

“Six weeks! You make the guys you’re dating wait six weeks?”

“Sometimes I make them wait up to three months—”

“But you and I—”

“We weren’t dating then, not even fake dating, so don’t say it.” I sighed. “I’ve never actively quantified this stuff before, all right? It’s uncharted territory, like you said.”

“So I guess we’ll put lap sitting on hold until you’ve decided that our fake relationship involves sex.” He nodded as if the matter was decided. “Works for me.”

He took his phone out and gave me a look.

“I think we should take some photos to post to social media. You know, to sell this properly.”

I gave it some thought, and then nodded.

“Okay, that makes logical sense. Just don’t lay it on too thick.”

I got up and slid into the booth beside him.

“What are you doing?”

“You wanted to take pictures, right?”

I snuggled up against him and put my face near his, close enough I could feel body heat emanating from his skin. I smiled like I was having a great time but was trying to keep my emotions cautiously restrained. Typical first date behavior in my opinion.

Stan, though, tried to smile just huge, and it looked forced.

“Dial back the grin,” I said. “You look like an eight-year-old about to go to the amusement park.”

He laughed, and in that moment a genuine smile lit up his face. I snapped the photo, and then held it out to him.

“See? Much better with a natural smile. Now let’s take a few more.”

I held the phone out and leaned into him a little bit more.

“Okay, now look at me like you’re really into me—no, too much. That’s slavish devotion. Nobody wants to see that on a first date, it’s a red flag you’re with a weird stalker type guy.”

He laughed, and then a profound sort of calm descended over him. Stan looked at me—and I meanlookedat me. In that moment, I was utterly confident he was totally and completely thinking of me and only me.

It was so sweet, so sudden, and so genuine, I almost dropped the phone. I took a snap of the photo and smiled.

“Perfect.”

I showed it to him, and he gasped.

“Damn. You’re good. Are you, like, a photographer?”

“Oh please, I’m anything but. We sure look cute together. I’d buy that we’re a legit couple.”

Stan went silent, and for a moment we were both keenly aware of how close we really were. As close as we had been the first night we met. His hand was on my shoulder still from the last photo we’d snapped. His fingers slid down my bicep in a caress as he leaned his face in a few inches closer.

“Okay,” I said, swiftly disengaging myself and getting up from the booth. “If this was a real relationship, a touch like that might be appropriate.”

“Touches like that are part of any relationship.”

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