Page 23 of Save the Date

“If you say so,” he teased before putting his arms out. “Should we hug?”

Instead of answering his question, Emma instinctively stepped into his embrace. Unlike with Rob, there was nothing awkward about the way they folded into each other. Will was on the shorter side, around five-eight or so, which helped their bodies line up. He also smelled clean and freshly shaven, two things Emma loved in a man given her obsession with hygiene and her overly sensitive skin. She overrode her desire to keep nuzzling and pulled away.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she admitted.

“I wasn’t sure this day would ever come. You certainly know how to give a guy the runaround.”

“We matched like two weeks ago!”

“It was at least three, Laura.” Will gestured for Emma to lead the way.

As she headed inside with Will right behind her, she wondered if this was the story she would get to tell her grandchildren. Probably not, her anxiety replied. Anxiety always liked to bet on the worst possible outcomes—and it was destructivelyeasy for Emma to catastrophize given her brain’s faulty wiring. But instead of falling into her old habits, she urged herself to ignore the pessimistic voice in her head and instead focus on how cute Will looked in his jeans. The side view of his butt cheeks helped her stay present.

“Welcome to Color Me Mine,” a bubbly young woman or mature teen (Emma couldn’t tell) called out from the back of the store. Emma was finding it difficult to guess people’s ages now that she was officially over thirty. “Please select what you’d like to paint and then I’ll help get you all set up.”

“Thank you,” Emma and Will sang in unison. It was good to know they were equally polite. Shared values went a long way in forming a healthy relationship.

“So, is this how you separate the wheat from the chaff? By seeing who can paint within the lines?” Will asked as they perused the store’s ceramic offerings.

“This pottery doesn’t have lines. That’s how I can tell if someone does well under pressure.”

“Smart.” He held up a unicorn-shaped plate. “Think I can handle this bad boy?”

“Impossible to say. I barely know you,” Emma teased even though it didn’t feel true. She was having one of those rare experiences where it felt like she’d known Will far longer than she actually had. Which in this case meant more than six minutes.

After some excruciating decision-making and a brief tutorial on how to select and use the paints, Emma and Will were set up at a table for two. Emma had decided to tackle a practical tic-tac-toe set while Will had stuck with the unicorn plate.

“Should I be scared that you’re a therapist?” Will asked as he mixed hot pink and navy blue on his palette.

“Only if you have something to hide.”

“Nothing to worry about there. I’m what you professionals would call ‘incredibly normal.’”

“I find that hard to believe. This place has a selection of overforty colors and you immediately decided to try to create your own.” They both looked at the streaky mush of color that Will was trying to improve by swirling his brush.

“That was just me trying to impress you. You know, show off my creative and untamable spirit.”

“When do you think you’ll actually start painting?” Emma had already finished her firstX. She’d gone with a light blue that reminded her of her favorite water bottle.

“In due time. I don’t want to rush and mess her up.” Will stroked the head of the unicorn plate in a way that would have been incredibly creepy if Emma hadn’t already found him so charming. That was the real law of attraction: if someone already liked you, you could pretty much get away with anything.

By the time Will put the finishing touches on what they now referred to as Laura the Unicorn, Emma had already been done with her project for thirty minutes. But the extra time allowed for more conversation. So far, Emma had learned that Will was a podcast producer for one of the bigger networks. He’d also hosted a few midlevel shows of his own and hoped to one day create an audio empire full of important information and relatable narrators, because good stories changed the world. Emma loved the way he talked about his work. She’d never thought about how podcasts were basically an extension of the oral story­telling tradition before; it was clear Will thought about his impact on the world as much as she considered hers.

“So what do you think?” Will held up his plate. His meticulousness had paid off.

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s yours.” Will handed Laura to Emma, who was more shocked than she should have been considering the unicorn’s strong female energy. And the fact that Will had asked for her favorite colors while picking out the paint.

“Thank you so much. Do you want mine?”

Will considered the sloppily painted mess that was Emma’stic-tac-toe set. She’d decided halfway through that she didn’t like the orange she’d picked for theOs and mistakenly thought she could just paint over it with a different, brighter orange. The result was pretty awful.

“That is so sweet, but I don’t want people to come to my home, see what you made and think I’m a serial killer.”

Emma shoved his shoulder in mock offense. She wanted to keep touching him but was socially aware enough to know now wasn’t the time.

“All done here?” The upbeat employee from earlier hovered over their table. Up close, Emma still had absolutely no idea if she was over eighteen or not. “I’ll take them in the back to get finished up and you can come get them any time after 4:00 p.m. on Monday.”

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