Page 97 of The Accidental Text

“Ah,” he says, giving me a rueful smile.

“I’m so sorry, Dawson, I—”

He holds out a hand. “It’s on me,” he says. “Maybe if I’d had the chance to dance more with you at the party.”

I think back to the party—it feels so long ago, like a different part of my life. What would have happened if Natasha had never shown up? Would it have been me walking hand in hand with Dawson toward the parking lot at the end? Strange how life works.

“Maybe,” I say.

“So, have you told him?”

“Chase?”

“Yeah.”

“I … haven’t yet,” I say.

“Well, you should,” he says. “Guys are dumb. We need you to spell it out for us.” He gives me a knowing smile.

I’m having such déjà vu right now. Wasn’t it not that long ago that Chase was giving me the same advice about Dawson? This is quite the odd turn of events.

I twist my lips to the side. “So … how do you go about doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Telling someone you like them.”

“Right,” he says, the apples of his cheeks turning just the slightest bit pink.

I shake my head in little quick motions. “I’m sorry, that’s … I shouldn’t be asking you that.”

“No,” Dawson says. “I don’t mind. I’d say you can either just straight up tell him, or … do what I did and steal a kiss.”

It’s my turn to blush now. “Well, he sort of did that.”

“Then he probably likes you.”

Yeah, this feels so weird. I’m currently getting man advice from the man that I was previously getting man advice for. But now for the man that was originally giving me the advice.

I’m just going to stop this thought train. I’ll get a headache for sure.

“Well, thanks, Dawson. That’s helpful.”

He turns to go but then turns back. “I don’t like to play second fiddle, but … if things don’t work out with the other guy, maybe I could get another shot?”

I smile at him. “Absolutely.”

Later that night after Halmoni has filled me withbulgolgiandrice and lectured Hannah for not dating, I walk over to my dad’s house to see how he is. I haven’t talked to him much since the whole dinner fiasco. I’ve seen him at work a couple of times, and we’ve talked on the phone once or twice. But not about anything important.

I want to see how he is … to see if he’s still looking at me like I’m fragile or need mental help.

I knock on the door this time, so as not to interrupt anything. I don’t need to learn that lesson twice.

My dad answers the door; he’s wearing khaki pants and a Cooper’s polo, even though he never came into the shop today.

“Hey, Magpie,” he says, opening the door for me.

“Hi, Dad,” I say. I stand on my tiptoes and give him a kiss on the cheek after walking inside. “Is June here?” I look around the front room to see if there are any hints of her. Shoes? Jacket? I don’t see anything.

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