Page 33 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
I don’t know what’s come over me.
I don’t know if I planned on writing my own notes next to that blue ink. I definitely didn’t plan on swiping a skinny leather-bound volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets into my purse and leaving.Oops. How did that get in there?
I’ll give it back, just as soon as I have a chance to read it.
It’s Saturday morning, and I am a ball of nervous energy. I’ve spent hours reading and rereading the sonnets and all of my landlord’s notes. This man is a literary genius. What he finds and connects with on the page is…
Is everything.
Is enough to keep me up all night dreaming with my eyes wide open.
“You didn’t have to come,” I snap at Adam.
We’re in downtown La Jolla at a little café a safe distance from the ocean because I didn’t want to risk the smell of stinky sea lions ruining my meet-cute with my new landlord this morning.
“Oh, but I wanted to.” He pulls a third chair up to my streetside bistro table.
I sneer, aware that I know nothing about this owner, but already have unhealthy levels of crush happening. I’m not going to contemplate how this is frequent territory for me this year, because this is different than what I felt with Mike. That was physical attraction propelled by charisma. It fizzled instantly when I caught a glimpse of the ego fueling that man.
This is entirely intellectual. This is a sensitive soul who has impeccable taste in fiction. This is a man whose grasp on human nature and written expression is profound. Moving. Proof of a heart and mind that are worth knowing.
The waiter brings out the plate of pastries I ordered. Not that I eat any. I’m too nervous to even sip my tea.
First meetings are pivotal. Ergo, I try to not look too done up. And not knowing exactly who my landlord would be, it was hard to know what to wear. I settled on my blue gingham espadrilles—because I’m not particularly tall, and a little wedge never hurt anyone—a casual white eyelet top paired with a cute pair of vintage-inspired navy shorts. Pretty, feminine, casual. Not the dead giveaway a sundress would have been. Not sleek and tailored, like what I wore to work at the law firm. Playful. I dressed to match the cottage I’ll be moving into.
Adam reaches for a croissant, but I swat his hand away.
“What? You ordered enough to share.” He tries again, and it’s like we’re teens playing slapjack. “We can’t both just stare at them awkwardly,” Adam says before outmaneuvering me and snatching a Danish.
An immaculate Lexus turns into the parking space in front of us. Out steps Mom, of course. “Why, if it isn’t my two babies.”
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Adam is going to pay if he did this. I shoot him a look that says as much, but he lifts both his hands palms up before grabbing a chocolate croissant.
Mom ties an Hermès scarf around her neck before locking her car. “We have our lunch date next week, and I wanted to scout out some options while I spend a morning shopping. Excuse me for having a life outside of yours.” She kisses my cheek and then Adam’s before squeezing us both. “What are you two up to?”
“Bea’s getting the keys to her rental today,” Adam says around a mouthful of flaky pastry.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear.” Mom hands Adam a napkin, but her eyes don’t leave me. “You found something? Does it have a view?”
“No view.” I can’t help but smile. “But my own private courtyard. And you can still hear the ocean.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s lovely. Maybe you’ll even deign to show it to your poor mother in person someday. Now, don’t keep me. I have places to shop and sun hats to buy. Ta-ta, darlings. Adam, I am expecting a reply to my last text.” And she sails away.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“She’s pinned you for regular lunches. That success has her after me for regular dinners. I told her I have work, but you know how she is.” Adam raises a hand and waves. “Mike!” he calls. “Over here.”
I turn to see Mike Benedick heading our way. My stomach knots. First, Adam, then my mother, and now Mike Benedick? In what universe is this fair play?
I contemplate bolting, just to avoid the ensuing unpleasantness, but then I’d risk running into Molly McKinney and getting dragged into hat shopping. Shudder. I’d never make it out alive. I certainly wouldn’t make it out in time to sign the lease and meet my landlord. I’ve already spent way too many brain cells imagining this man. It’s time to jump into the Pacificor shower off all the sand and get on with my life. Mike and his tight bleached-blond stub of a ponytail will just have to move along.
“Hey, Adam.” Mike gives my brother one of those casual handshake/hugs. “Great to see you. Thanks for helping out.”
“Oh, anytime,” Adam says with an easy smile.
Mike turns to me, and for a heartbeat, something like curious disgust plays out across his face. “Hey, Bea.”
Hey, Bea? After calling me out for being a cactus and running me into a pool, all I get is ahey, Bea?
