Page 51 of That Friendzone Feeling
Sherips open the two packs of sugar, pushes the whipped cream on top of her drink to one side, and tips the sugar in.
“Anyway,” she says. “Hesaid he’d do his best, but it’s a bit of a swamp out there.”
Shesticks her spoon into the gap between the cream and the side of the mug and attempts to stir in the sugar without disturbing the cream.
“Ibet it is,”Itell her. “Butbefore we move on to the business of the day, can we quickly talk about what hap—”
“Mor-ning,” chimes the extremely chipper server who’smaterialized out of thin air right beside us. “Areyou ready to order?”Shepoints to the laminated menus sitting between our knives and forks.
“Iam,”Isay. “Butdo you need a minute,Em?”
“Nope, it’s fine.”Shewaves her hand to hurry me up and concentrates on the menu. “Youorder andI’llchoose quickly.”
“I’llhave theLighthouseKeeper’sOmelette, please.”
“Greatchoice,” the server says.Thoughit’s unimaginable she’d think anything wasn’t. “Wouldyou like that with home fries or biscuits?”
“Homefries, please.”
“Andtoast orEnglishMuffin?”
“Toast, please.”
“Wouldthat be white, wholewheat, sourdough or rye?”
Christ, is this breakfast or a quiz? “Wholewheatwould be great, thanks.”
Thankfullythat seems to be the end of my interrogation, and she turns toEmily. “Didyou decide, or do you have some questions?”
DearGod,Emily.Pleasedon’t have questions.Weneed to talk about last night, decide on our plan for the day, and get to the airport for ten to meetChase.
“Noquestions.”ThanktheLord. “I’llhave the blueberry pancakes, please.”
“Butterand syrup?”
“Yes, please.”Emilyhands her the menu with a smile. “Andcould they be dusted with powdered sugar as well, please?”
“Youwant powdered sugarandsyrup?” the server says with barely disguised surprise.
“Iabsolutely do,”Emilysays. “Thanks.”
Theserver takesEmily’smenu with a tiny judgmental quirk of one eyebrow.
“Yup.”Itell the server, handing her my menu too. “I’mconstantly surprised she still has all her own teeth.”
Theserver chuckles and heads off with our order.
Ilean towardEmily. “Christ,Ithought that would never end.”
Iadjust my knife and fork.Nowthere’s finally space to say the thingIwant to say, nerves are apparently getting the better of me andI’mplaying with my cutlery like an uncomfortable kid.
Emilydraws squiggles in the cream on her drink with her spoon. “So, anyway.Ithought that after we’ve picked upChase, we cou—”
Shestops mid-word at the touch of my hand on her arm.Hereyes meet mine for the first time this morning, and there’s a slight flush in her face.
Lord, this sweater is soft.Istroke my thumb across it. “Em,Ithink we need to talk about last night.”
“Oh, it’s okay.”Shepulls her arm away from my touch and flaps her hand in front of her face. “Totallyfine.Noneed.”
