Page 25 of Dear Adam
A few minutes later, the bell above the door tinkles. “Sorry, we don’t open until nine,” I say, and look up to find Hudson walking through the door, carrying a box of macarons and a coffee from my favorite bakery downtown.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” he says and hands me the treats while giving me air kisses on each cheek. I eagerly take a slurp of the coffee and almost whimper at how good it tastes. It’s a cinnamon latte, one of my favorites.
“Thanks, Hudson,” I say between sips. “You don’t know how much I needed this today.”
“I had a feeling,” he beams. Right as he’s closing in for a hug, Emma comes out of the back, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Aly, can you come help me with this arrangement?” she asks.
“Gotta go,” I say and swerve around him. “Thanks for the coffee and the macarons.”
“Wait. I wanted to see if you were free tonight. You owe me a date, remember?” He catches my hand, and I do my best to wiggle out of his hold without seeming rude.
“Tonight?” I repeat. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to say yes. He’s handsome, has a great job, and my parents love him. Saying yes would solve a lot of problems.
“Yes. I can pick you up around six?” he asks hopefully with a shy smile, eyes shining eagerly.
“That should work,” I say before giving it too much consideration. “I’ve got to go now, though. Thank you again.” I raise my coffee cup in a mock salute, and he smiles over his shoulder before walking back outside.
Emma’s standing at the work table in the back of the room, arms folded. “Did you just agree to a date withHudson?” She grimaces and practically spits out his name. “What about Levi?”
“What about him?” I ask, annoyed. She raises an eyebrow and then shakes her head. “He lives across the country, Emma. And even if things weren’t possible, he’s still my brother’s best friend. Something about that doesn’t feel right, especially with Adam in a coma.”
Emma doesn’t say anything; she simply keeps shoving sunflowers into the vase and taking them out again to rearrange.
“I do like Levi,” I confess. “I’ve always liked him. From the moment Adam brought him home after a soccer game and he told me the color I had picked for the bands on my braces was cool. It was burnt orange, by the way. But I don’t think it could work.”
“I think you're thinking too much, Aly. One date doesn’t mean you have to marry him. You’re also ten years older now. Do you really think your brother will be that upset if you go out with him?” I shoot her a menacing look and she backs away, hands in the air. “Or you can just go on a date with Hudson and be miserable. It’s your life. Not mine.”
“Hudson’s cute and you know it,” I say defensively.
Emma shrugs and says, “I can see where some people might find the just-stepped-out-of-GQ look attractive, but it’s not for me.”
“Tonight will be fine. Maybe even fun. You’ll see.”
Dear Adam,
I’m going on a date tonight with Hudson. I know you’d be so annoyed with me right now and I’M SORRY. But he showed up to work this morning with coffee and macarons after Betsy decided to die on market day and you know what macarons do to me. I’m only human. Plus, would it be such a bad thing to go out on a date with him if it makes mom and dad so happy?
P.S. Your dog ate all my underwear again.
P.P.S. When you wake up…If you see a meme going around of a woman driving a Vespa with a wiener dog strapped to her chest wearing swim goggles, IT’S NOT ME AND PRETZEL.
P.P.P.S. It’s totally me and Pretzel.
“Excuse me, waitress? Waitress?” Hudson picks up his wine glass and taps the side with his knife, which is completely unnecessary given it’s a Monday night and we have most of the dining room to ourselves. The two women seated in the corner shoot us annoyed looks, and I squirm a little in my seat. The waitress comes around the corner,again,and eyes Hudson warily.
“This one is dirty, too.” He picks up his wine glass and holds it in front of the waitress's face. “See? Right here.” He points to a nonexistent smudge, and the waitress squints.
“I apologize,” she says, struggling to keep her smile in place. “I’ll be right back with a new one.” When she leaves I hear her mutter, “Again,” and I can’t blame her.
Hudson has been a handful since the moment we stepped inside the restaurant. When they found our reservation on Friday instead of tonight, I thought he was going to lose his mind. His face turned tomato red, a vein bulged in his neck, and he tried to slide the hostess a hundred dollar bill before she politely explained that it’s Monday night and reservations weren’t even needed, which only made him more belligerent.
Then, he ordered for me, and okay, I see how someone could think that might be cute. But he ordered mespaghetti squash.At one of the nicest restaurants on the harbor. Not the sea bass, not the filet.The spaghetti squash.I didn’t even get to pick my salad dressing. Meanwhile, he ordered himself the ribeye. The description alone had me wanting to lick the menu.
I’m shoving an olive around my plate of salad with oil and vinegar dressing, fighting an eye roll when the waitress returns with another glass of wine.
“I’ve had my boss double check this one just in case. I truly apologize,” she says so sweetly that I instantly assume they’ve both taken turns shining it with their own spit before bringing it out.
