Page 66 of The Auction
“Yeah? Cool.”
“You know what she was telling me? Her parents still go on dates,” I said, super nonchalantly. “Isn’t that crazy? They’ve been married for like fifty years.”
“Fifty?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow. “Jackson was probably what, twenty-five, twenty-six? Don’t imagine his folks have been married that long.”
“Whatever, I’m just saying, isn’t it crazy that they could be married that long and still date? Stupid, right?”
Creed paused then, one hand on the fridge door, the other holding a stalks of celery. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds and then seemed to reach some sort of conclusion.
“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem all that crazy.” He bent down to put the celery in the vegetable drawer along with the others. “I’m thinking you just bought that dress. Probably should have some place to wear it, no?”
I had my face in the cabinets above the counter. “There’s not really a place around here. No one is wearing a dress to Ruby’s or Pete’s.”
“You’re not twenty-one yet. You can’t get into Pete’s bar.”
I snorted. “Anyone over eighteen can get into Pete’s. It’s the unwritten, written rule in Riverbend. But also…I’m going to be twenty-one.”
“When?”
“Soonish,” I hedged.
“Jules,” Creed growled. “I’m sure I saw your birthday on some paperwork, but remind me.”
“The thirteenth. Next month.”
“Next month?” he asked, his voice going higher. “That is soon. We should probably do something to celebrate.”
Herb didn’t celebrate my birthday. Not shocking. Most years it came and went without me even remembering it. The only reason I tracked it was because there were important milestones. Eighteen had seemed like the biggest, but twenty-one came with a new stamp of independence. I could walk into any bar I wanted.
“I don’t usually do much.”
“Yeah, I don’t either.”
“When is your birthday?” I asked him.
“Not until August. But I’m thinking maybe we can change that. New rule. We fucking celebrate birthdays.”
I laughed at his vehemence. “Whatever.”
“We’ll go on a date,” he said. “You and me.”
“That’s not how you ask a girl on a date,” I said, primly.
“You been asked out a lot, huh?” He shut the refrigerator door and leaned back against it.
“Once,” I said, lifting my chin. “Kevin asked me to get coffee. He didn’t tell me we were getting coffee.”
“Pimplefuckingface,” Creed muttered. “Fine. Juliette, would you like to go on a date with me? I would like to celebrate your birthday. With you.”
I shot him a quick glance to see if he was serious. He wasn’t smiling, but that didn’t really mean anything.
“You mean it?”
“I do.”
“Okay, but not just Ruby’s or Pete’s. Someplace you have to make reservations.”
“Wow, fancy,” he said, but he was nodding. “I’ll find something. You’ll wear your new dress?”
