Page 18 of Built to Last

The rest of the workday seems to fly by. I decide to not change clothes for the date. On principle. I won’t change my funky leggings for any man. #Betruetoyou

Today’s are particularly funky too because they’re just like weird swipes of colors. Like every color. They’re bright and probably not flattering.

Do I care? No I do not, because they are so super comfortable and I like to be able to move freely in the lab. My long tunic shirts sorta dress up my leggings. And a hex on all of you disbelievers. Leggings ARE pants. The end.

I end up staying at the office until it’s time to leave to meet Chet at the restaurant. I didn’t see Finn again today. He stayed in the construction area, then I guess he snuck out when I was in the bathroom.

I wonder if he’s at my house finishing up the catio. My heart swells just thinking about that. I love my job and trying to fix the environment is my passion. But my cats are my heart. Somehow Finn figured that out and now there’s a good chunk of my cardiac organ that belongs just to him.

Once I’ve parked at the roadhouse and get out of my car, I pause at the front door of the restaurant. The desire to go home and see if Finn is there is so strong.

The sad truth is, if he’d wanted me for himself, he would have stopped me from going on this date. He would have said something.

I pull out my phone just to check to see if I have any missed calls or messages. But my screen is blank. So I take a deep breath and head inside the restaurant. It’s super easy to find Chet. Under the lights of the roadhouse his fair complexion almost looks as if he’s bioluminescent. My observation makes me laugh to myself as I make my way over to him.

He stands when I get to the half table/half booth where he’s sitting. But he sits as soon as I reach him, not asking which side I’d prefer to sit on. Not a big deal, but now I have to squeeze my ass into a chair with arms. I fit, it’s just less comfortable than sitting on a booth bench.

“I went ahead and ordered a diet soda for you. That’s what you drink, right?” he asks.

“Actually, no. Carbonation makes me sneeze. But it’s fine, I’ll tell the waitress.”

From this close I can see that one of his front teeth is actually a little darker than the other. Kind of a weird grey. I glance away because I’m not that person. I’m not judgmental and shallow.

The waitress appears at our table. I hold up the glass of soda. “Can I get a sweet tea, instead?”

“Of course. Let me go grab that then I’ll take y’all’s order.”

Chet starts telling me about some paper he was invited to help with and that they already have interest from some of the most prestigious science journals. I’m not going to lie, I stop listening part way through because I swear I see Finn sitting across the restaurant. I’m not a hundred percent sure though because of the way the lighting is in the room. I can’t see the man’s face, but I see his shape and it just feels like Finn.

The waitress brings over my tea, then asks what we want.

“I want a cheeseburger, well done with extra pickles, fries and ranch on the side,” I say.

She smiles as she jots it down, then she looks at Chet. He’s staring at me with wide eyes.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Just expected you to order something a little more figure-friendly,” he says.

The waitress clears her throat, and he orders the chef salad with no croutons, which just feels like sadness to me.

I think about my order. I don’t usually eat the bun on my burgers so I can have fries. I had a salad for lunch. It’s been a good, balanced day. I’m not sure what to do with Chet’s remarks.

Chet starts back in on his research paper and how important his contribution is to the project.

“If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’ve got to go to the restroom,” I say. I stand and leave the table not bothering to see if I offended him.

He’s pompous and a know-it-all. Two qualities that I don’t find attractive at all. How did I not see that about him?

I finish in the bathroom and wash my hands. When I step out, there’s Finn leaning against the hallway wall. He’s got one booted foot propped up on the corrugated tin wall behind him. Why does he have to be so attractive? It’s colossally unfair considering the evening I’m having.

“Velma,” he says.

“What are you doing here, Finn?” I ask.

“Having dinner. Same as you, I suspect.” He pushes off the wall and steps close to me. Now we’re in the opposite position where my back is to the wall and he’s leaning over me.

He tips my chin up. “Having fun on your date?”

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