Page 88 of The Comeback Summer

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ALL NIGHT, I’VEbeen reminding myself that this is not a date. When Adam grabbed my hand to help me balance, it was not a date. When he put his hand on my back as we walked toward the climbing ropes, it was not a date. And when he gave me a hug, it was not a date.

At best, we’re two new friends hanging out; at worst, we’re two business associates with a semi-shared interest that one of us happens to be faking. But as we walk down the steps to the river near State Street, I start to imagine a world where this could be a date.

For the first time since I started planning my sister’s dates, I understand why she prefers to have an activity. There’s automatically something to talk about, although Adam and I have never had a problem finding things to say to each other. Whether I’m talking to him as myself or as Hannah.

“This okay?” Adam asks, motioning toward City Winery, which has a patio that overlooks the Chicago River.

“Perfect.”

I follow his lead, pausing to admire the view of the city lights reflecting on the water, the moon overhead peeking out between the clouds. A few boats float down the river, and couples stroll down the Riverwalk, hand in hand.

At the table, Adam takes a seat and I panic, not sure if I should sit in the chair next to his or across from him. I wish I’d sat first, so he could have decided where to sit.

“I’m just going to run to the ladies’ room,” I say, hurrying inside the main building.

Behind the safety of the locked door, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, face still flushed from the exertion of the gym, frizzy hair coming out of my ponytail. All the times Iimagined myself on a date with Adam, I was wearing a dress and lipstick and high heels—even though I don’t own a pair.

In some of those imagined dates, I’m confident and athletic and smart and beautiful like my sister—but inside, I’m still me. The thought of Hannah makes me uneasy. Even though she never seemed to have much interest in meeting Adam, I feel like I’m betraying her.

On impulse, and maybe because I’m a little crazy, I open the One+One app. It’s been a few days since HannahF messaged AdamR with more excuses about how busy work was. Tonight’s as good a night as any.

HANNAHF:Just saying hi! Hope your day has at least been an 8/10!

I hit send and instantly curse myself for being so self-destructive. No good can come from this. I stare at the screen, waiting for the dots that will let me know he’s typing a reply, but they don’t come. I put my phone back in my purse, then go to the bathroom and wash my hands.

Still no message from Adam.

Huh. Maybe this really is a date. I can’t think of any other reason he wouldn’t message Hannah back. He’s sitting alone, with nothing else to do but admire the romantic moonlit view, because I left him. Like an idiot.

I head back outside and pause for a moment to watch Adam. He’s perusing the menu, absently stroking his beard. Even in his sweaty T-shirt and shorts, his curls disheveled, he looks damn good. And so self-assured, like he knows exactly who he is and is content being himself.

My heart swells with hope; I want this to be a date. I really hope it is, but as I walk over to him, I decide not to press my luck, and take the seat across from his. Plus, it has the added bonus of being able to unabashedly look straight at him instead of awkward side glances.

“So,” I say, suddenly shy. What do two people on a date even talk about?

“So,” Adam says. “I’ve started a list of ideas.”

“For what?” I ask, smiling.

“Fusion dishes for the restaurant,” he says. My heart drops; okay, so we’re back to professional mode. Then this isn’t a date?

He hands me the menu, and I force a smile back on my face. “Seeing the wasabi tuna tacos here made me think about your latke Benedict idea. Which was brilliant.”

“What do you have so far?” I ask.

Adam’s eyebrows do their little dance, then he looks down and reads from the napkin where he scribbled out his ideas. “Well, for Asian fusion I was thinking about fried rice kishka or a crab rangoon with lox instead of crab.” He looks up to see my reaction, and I give him what I hope is an encouraging smile. “Then I started thinking Italian... maybe a brisket lasagna.”

“Hmm,” I say, trying to wrap my mind around the flavor profiles. Barbecue and marinara sauce might go well together, but the cheese throws me off a bit.

“Scratch that one,” Adam says, looking back down at his list. “And this one...” He scrunches up his face and twists the napkin, looking at it from another angle. “I can’t read my writing.”

“You may have missed your calling as a doctor,” I say, grinning.

“Tell me about it,” he says, the light momentarily leaving his eyes. “I thought about it once.”

“Being a doctor?”

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