Page 112 of Best Served Cold

“You were listening to me sing. I like that. Even if you were being super creepy about it.”

“It was beautiful,” I say, the truth tumbling out. “My favorite of your songs.”

“Because this one was written for you.” He grins at me, and I feel my heart quaking in my chest, so afraid and full of wanting. “But don’t worry. This one’s not about your perfect nipples. I’m keeping that one just for us.”

I give his chest a gentle shove. “You didn’t write a song about that.”

“I did, and I’ll play them both for you, but there’s something I want to tell you first.”

He takes my hand, and I let him lead me over to the couch, a leather futon. Across from it is an exposed brick wall with an alcove, where there’s a photo of Rob and a beautiful older woman next to the TV.

“Is that your mom?”

“The other Patricia Price,” he says with a half-smile. “Now Patricia Aycock. You can imagine how much she must hate my father to have willingly taken her second husband’s name. Can I get you a drink? I’ve got some soda and iced tea.”

I grasp his hand, feeling awash with nerves. “Actually, I brought us something special to drink. Dottie and I have finalized a couple of the drinks we’ve been working on.”

“I’ll get us a couple of glasses,” he says, squeezing my hand before releasing it.

I take the few seconds he’s gone to search around, soaking in the old bookshelves pushed up against the wall, filled with fat paperbacks. There’s what looks like a setlist lying out on the coffee table, next to a lined yellow pad covered in pencil scratch. There’s a thick rug underfoot, over a hardwood floor, and exposed beams overhead.

It’s warm and cozy.

“Go ahead,” Rob says, emerging from the kitchen with the glasses, which he sets on the coffee table. “Continue yourmission of stalking. My underwear is in the top right drawer of my dresser.”

I roll my eyes and pull the two bottles out of my bag. “I’d prefer them off.”

He smiles but doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t tug me off my feet and bend me over the couch.

My heart starts thumping faster again. We really are going to talk, then, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to. I’m not sure about anything other than that I’m happy to be here with him.

I think about what Hannah said:Let the present become the future.

“This is the Sunshine Spritzer,” I say, pouring some for each of us before sitting next to him, our thighs pressed together.

He whirls the drink around in his glass, smiling at me with a spark of appreciation in his eyes, and then lifts it for a sip. His smile spreads. “Holy shit, this is good. Do you know how good this is? It tastes like you bottled up all your positivity and gave it to me.”

I feel some of the heaviness of the day lifting and smile back at him. “It is, right? They’re putting my drinks on the menu starting next week. I think we really have something here.”

“Are they paying you extra for this?”

I cringe a little, because the thought honestly hadn’t occurred to me. Isn’t it enough to get the recognition from Dylan? The help from Dottie? “I’m sure they’ll do something if it’s successful.”

“You don’t know what you’re worth,” he says, nudging my knee with his.

It feels like he’s gripped the hurting place inside of me.

“I’m worth two fish entrées,” I say, the words seeping out of me the way they always seem to with him.

He frowns. “I’m not following, but I feel the need to point out that the fish on a menu is usually the most expensive.”

“This is bad fish,” I say, my voice quavering. “Rubbery.”

“Not ideal, but I bet we could work with it. Add a little parsley and lemon. Are you coming to dinner tomorrow night? We could give it a go.”

I pick at the collar of my T-shirt, a plain one today, from my old stash. This morning, I hadn’t felt special. “I should tell you what happened today. It’s about Jonah.”

A cloud passes over his face, and he sets his drink down. “That’s funny. I wanted to talk about Jonah too.”

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