Page 4 of Is This for Real?
He smiles, and that dimple in his right cheek appears. “Great, then we’re on for Thursday. We’re having an event with the client that night.” A roguish glint comes into his eyes.
I look over at the hostess stand, where Jamie now stands with his new girlfriend. He’s wearing this blue shirt that’s my favorite on him. I can’t see his girlfriend Willow’s face, but Jamie is helping her take off her coat to give it to the hostess. An empty pit forms in my stomach. He wasn’t even willing to meet me alone. And I had to be the one to suggest we meet. And then I got the lunch slot.
I ask, “Should we start now and see if we can fool Jamie? That will certainly persuade Jamie I’m over him.”
“It may even make him jealous.”
I laugh. “I don’t think so. And anyway, I’m over him.” If I repeat it enough, it will come true.
Rory nods, but it’s that “you’re a poor, deluded soul” nod. “He may see you in a new light. As opposed to a completely self-sufficient sister type.”
My tea finally arrives. I add sugar and take a sip. “You’re right. Why am I writing romantic comedies? I should be writing cozy mysteries with self-sufficient spinsters investigating crimes.”
“I didn’t say spinster. I’m just saying that Jamie’s protective instincts might be raised if he thinks you’re dating a big bad wolf like me.”
“You’re so not a big bad wolf.” And I knew that from firsthand experience. I would’ve spent college as “the girl whose parents died in a plane crash in Peru on their wedding anniversary,” which was pretty much how I was known for a while there until Rory took me under his wing. Instead, I spent college as part of Rory’s crowd, trading quips around a round table in our dining hall.
“Okay,” Rory says. “So, starting now, we’re pretending to date?”
Jamie leans down to kiss his girlfriend as the hostess turns to lead them here.
Jamie will definitely think that I’m over him.
“Yes,” I say.Can’t hurt.
Chapter two
Jamielooksthesame,those bright-blue eyes, his curly, blond hair slightly darker, and athletic—no weight gain in the year since I last saw him. I ease out from our booth seat to give him a hug. He steps back, almost into his girlfriend behind him.
I stop, standing there, my arms outstretched.Heat warms my cheeks. I drop my arms. The clatter of dishes punctuates my confusion as the waitress clears the table behind me. We used to hug hello. Before I blurted out my feelings for him. The smell of hazelnut coffee fills the air as a waitress passes by with a fresh pot.Retreat.Then Jamie steps forward and hugs me. He smells of the same aftershave he’s been using since high school. He once lent me his sweatshirt, and I slept with it until he asked for it back. But that’s high school crush stuff. I pull away first. I’m over you.
“This is Willow,” Jamie says, his arm around her.
We both say hi.
I sit back in the booth next to Rory. Willow is muscular, with pale skin, sleek, brown hair, and big, brown eyes that remind me of an English springer spaniel.I’ve got to stop comparing people to dogs.She’s wearing a sleeveless shirt that shows off her sculpted arms. I’m relieved I’m wearing sleeves. Not that there’s anything wrong with my arms.
She’s totally Jamie’s type. She scoots closer to him.
The waitress returns to take our order.
“I’ll have a coffee and the market salad, dressing on the side,” Willow says.
Jamie asks for scrambled egg whites and black coffee, while Rory and I order our usual, less-refined brunch of whole wheat bagels, waffles with bananas and strawberries, and eggs to split. This is our perfect breakfast—some protein, some whole wheat fiber, and a little sweetness. I catch an exchanged glance between Willow and Jamie.
“Still the same type of food here?” Jamie asks me. Jamie and I used to come to this place in high school with our crowd of friends. It had been the neighborhood hangout, kindly tolerant of having groups of students who ordered little but sat there for two hours at a time, talking and doing homework until it was time to go home for dinner. Jamie joined us after soccer or baseball practice. It was more of a casual diner back then.
“It’s better now. Organic.” I frown.I should’ve suggested someplace different, especially for Jamie, Mr. Let’s-Live-in-Singapore-for-Five-Years. I thought he’d want to come back here, for a feeling of home, of connection.
“How are you?” Jamie studies me.
“Good.” I straighten.
Willow smiles at me. I smile back. I lean back against the rubber booth seating, as if I am relaxed. The waitress pours coffee for the rest of the table. The savory smell fills the air.
Has Jamie even noticed my hat? I don’t think so; I should wear it a little longer.
Jamie turns to Rory. “Haven’t seen you in a few years—since I moved to Singapore. Still in advertising?”
