Page 35 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“But I’ll get hat hair.”
“My grandmother looks forty even though she’s sixty-eight and she says it’s because she never puts a toe in the sun without protection. I intend to benefit from her advice.”
“Fine. I’ll buy a hat,” I said to make him smile. “I’ll buy you one too.”
“But I’ll get hat hair.” He echoed me with more than a modest amount of mockery.
“That’s the price of beauty, my dear.”
He wrinkled his nose adorably.
After we got dressed, we ordered our car from the valet and headed into town. We found a place to park off State Street and started making our way from shop to shop, or rather Epic made his way from shop to shop, and I followed as his comic foil.
He kept up a running commentary, half of which was to express delight in everything he saw, and half was to keep me apprised of things he was certain that people in “my generation” weren’t clear about.
“See this?” He pointed to a T-shirt with a long-haired man on it.“That refers to The Witcher.”
“Oh really?” I let him enjoy his teasing.
“And this”—he picked up another graphic T-shirt—"is about Pokémon.”
“Very funny.” While our age difference rankled, I got the pop culture references. Epic didn’t have a clue how much time I spent online.
We finally found a hat shop, and I think we tried on half their stock.
“Oh, this one is dreadful,” I said about a black Fedora. “I look ridiculous, and it’s hot out there.”
“Yeah, no. Try this one,” he said hopefully.
The natural straw Panama hat didn’t work either. “Maybe I’m not a hat guy.”
“Wait. Try this.” He held up a two-tone trilby fedora with an olive plaid band. I tried it on, and I liked it.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I love it.” Epic clapped his hands happily. “It’s perfect. Now help me find one.”
I checked the price and gulped unhappily.
“Put it back on and just wear it for a second. It really looks good. It’s the perfect hat for a summer vacation.” He was right of course, but now I wanted retro sunglasses too.
Epic tried on a hundred hats and ended up with a straw fedora with a wider brim. He looked like he should be drinking Cuba libres and smoking a cigar, but it suited the shape of his face and his attitude perfectly.
I bought both of our hats, then we wandered until we found a sunglass shop where I could buy tortoiseshell sunglasses with green lenses. Epic already had classic Ray-Ban Wayfarers, so when we left the shop, we were as stylish as could be.
After we’d walked about another mile, I asked, “Are you hungry?”
He nodded. “I could definitely eat.”
We found a restaurant, and of course, it being Santa Barbara, the menu advertised locally grown produce, grass-fed beef, and buns made with love, or good karma, or some such thing. We tried their home-brewed kombucha and snickered over the fact that the burgers tasted just like ones made from regular cows.
We had an entirely drama-free morning, unless you counted Epic, who was so animated and delightful and easygoing it felt like I had unwittingly entered a rom-com.
I kept waiting for the bad news, a time when he was petty, or thoughtless, or immature, but it never happened.
As we made our way to the beach after lunch, he practically skipped along, talking about everything that interested him, and I found myself reawakening to a world I’d lost touch with a long time ago.
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