Page 131 of The Disasters of Dating
Keaton Lincoln Barrington
Ripping off the paper, I gasp as more tears form in my eyes. Looking up at me is a nighttime constellation on a purple background. I choke out a laugh. Keaton, who’s known me for a month, even knew purple was my favorite color.
Below the constellation it says:
The Brightest Star in the Constellation
Even when we’re far away, remember we’re under the same night sky, looking up at the same moon and stars.
Salt Lake City
40°45′00.00″ North March 10 111°53′00.00″ W
Oh. My. Heck. I don’t even know what to say. The picture is enough to make me speechless because it’s so personal. It’s the night sky from the night I was born. I mean, who does that?
I’m not sure that Grandma Alice even knows the information on this picture. But even if she did, she would never have known how much I would love it. I don’t think anyone else would…except maybe Lincoln.
And that brings my eyes back to the card. Keaton Lincoln Barrington. I knew that was his middle name, but putting it on the card feels intentional—like he’s trying to tell me something.
I’ve wondered more than once if my two Lincolns were the same man. But why would Keaton have fake wrong-numbered me in the first place? As much as I hope it’s true. The pieces don’t all fit together.
I grab my phone and text Lincoln.
Yes. Let’s meet. How about Spoons in Draper?
Lincoln
At noon tomorrow?
I nod, even though he can’t see me.
Putting my phone on the charger, I pick up my picture and run a soft finger over the Pisces constellation. I’m hurt. But I’m having a difficult time being mad because someone who thought to give me this, had to care for me, right? Dang, I hate it when people are more intuitive than I am.
I give my amethyst one last rub and put the picture on the floor, leaning against my desk. With a heavy sigh, I head toward the door. I need to apologize to my mom.
CHAPTER 35
KEATON
Be willing to admit you may have been wrong. After all, you’re only human.
Learn Chinese: ??? — Wo ài ni — I love you
Lucky numbers: 11, 16, 36, 48
I arriveat Spoons thirty minutes before I’m supposed to meet Poppy. I sit at a table in the corner and wait, my hand tapping nervously on the tabletop. Last night was the longest night of my life.
I was hoping Poppy would text Lincoln what she thought of the constellation picture. But she didn’t. She just agreed to meet. Which leaves me completely in the dark as to what I should expect from this meeting. I don’t know whether she’ll throw the picture in my face and tell me she never wants to see me again or if she’ll actually come and sit down to talk to me. I’m gearing up for the worst.
“Uh, sir. This table is reserved for paying customers.” A pimple-faced teenager stands before me.
“Sorry, I’m meeting someone here. But I can wait in my car.”
I stand up slowly and move toward the door. Swinging it open, I shove my hands in my pockets as I step out onto the sidewalk. But I stop in my tracks. Poppy’s standing there, staring at me.
I swallow. “Hey, Alice.” It’s my less-than-stellar attempt to bridge the gap between Keaton and Lincoln.
Her face crumples, and I’m not sure what to do. Does she want me to hold her or is she cryingbecause she hates me?
