Page 6 of The Disasters of Dating
She gives him a sheepish look and pushes the phone at him. He pushes it back.
“I can’t look at that. It’s not admissible.” He moves around the counter and fiddles beneath the counter. Holding up his own phone, he squints down at the screen. Then he looks up at Miss Ashcombe. “Geez, Poppy.”
Her brow crinkles. She moves around the counter and peers over his arm. “What?”
“He didn’t take any gum. He used his lip balm, but that’s it. He never even touched the gum.” His head shakes. “So unless he has telekinetic powers, he couldn’t possibly have shoplifted.”
She leans in closer to the phone. “Are you sure? He looked so suspicious. And then he was fiddling around in his backpack pocket.” If that stone at her throat was flint, she would surely have a flame with how hard she was rubbing it.
She looks over at me, and I think she may be on the verge of tears. Her face is a deep, rosy hue.
I soften slightly.
“Ummm.” She licks her lips, and I can’t help but follow the path of her tongue. “I’m really sorry. I thought for sure—” her voice drops off.
I shrug, ready for this whole ordeal to be over. “It’s no big deal. I’m sure you deal with this type of thing a lot. And you probably get the same reactions that I gave you. It was an honest mistake.” Man, I folded like a cheap tent. It must be those big green eyes of hers. Maybe they are actually kryptonite…Does that mean I’m Superman?
“Can I make it up to you?” She glances at her watch. “It’s almost my dinner break. Can I buy you dinner?” She lifts a shoulder. “I mean, here at the airport?”
I should decline. I just want to get to my hotel. But she looks so defeated. I’ve never seen her look like this—in the whole four times I’ve seen her before. I nod. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”
CHAPTER 3
POPPY
Trust your gut, Pisces—it knows when to walk away… or when you’ve found just what you need. You’re still in alignment, even if the day feels more slapstick than starlit.
Cheese and crackers!Could my day get any more craptastic? It just keeps going from bad to worse. And now I am forced to have dinner with a complete stranger whom I tried to have arrested. Classic!
I should go home and go to bed until this day’s horoscope is over and done with.
“I’ve still got about twenty minutes until my lunch. Do you want to hang out in the terminal?” Yeah, because that is every person’s dream of a good time.
Joe’s nostrils flare. It’s not something security recommends—that people ‘hang out’ in the terminal. But what other options do we have? If he leaves the airport, he won’t get back in. And I can’t go out until my shift is over. I’ve already had ‘words’ with security today. I don’t need any more face time with them today. Or ever.
“Uh, I guess?” The non-thief stammers. He seems like he might reconsider my offer. Heck,I’mreconsidering my offer. I can’t imagine he’s not.
I glance at him from beneath my lashes as I fiddle with my phone. The guy is aesthetically aggressive. Now that I’m looking at him—and not as a shoplifter—I think I recognize him. I think he’s been into theshop a few times. Okay. I know he has. He’s the kind of guy that is hard to miss. And maybe if I’d been watching his hands more than his face, I might have seen that he never even touched the gum. “Stupid,” I mumble to myself. But he just looked so nervous and guilty. Why did he look that way if he hadn’t taken anything? “Maybe we should exchange numbers, and I’ll text you when I’m on break and ready to go. That way, you’re not stuck hanging around in front of my shop.”
He nods and pulls a phone out of his pocket. Taps it a few times and then hands it over to me. “Why don’t you type in your contact info and then text yourself from it. Then you’ll have my number.”
I grit my teeth. That won’t tell me what his name is. Am I supposed to label him as Airport Guy? Or Not-thief? I mean, I’d know who he was, but it feels disrespectful. Especially after what I just put him through. I type in my name and put (airport) next to it. I can’t imagine he has many other Poppys in his contacts. But what do I know? Then I press the texting app, send myself a text, and hand the phone back to him.
He smiles at me. “Thanks, Poppy.”
I bite the side of my cheek to stop from smiling at the sound of my name on his lips. Oh, man. I’m sounding like my cousin, Lucy. Everything is a meet cute or date to her.
He tucks the phone into his pocket, and hefts up his backpack before grabbing his suitcase handle.
“Do you want me to keep those behind the counter so you don’t have to drag them around with you?” My brow creases, and I rub at my amethyst pendant. Like, he’s going to trust me with his belongings after I acted like a crazy person. But I feel like I have to offer. Man, what exactly is penance for an almost arrest?
He stares at me for a second before wheeling the suitcase toward me and dropping his backpack off his shoulder. “Thanks. I’d really appreciate that.”
I smile, and my body calms. Thank goodness for my amethyst. “No problem.” I grab them both and haul them around the checkout desk. “I’ll text you when I’m ready.” I clear my throat. “Uh, what’s your name, by the way? I don’t think you want to be known as Airport Guy in my contacts.”
He chuckles, and I swear my knees go weak. Weak! What the heck? “It’s Keaton.” He pauses and looks like he is going to say something, but then he shuts his mouth. Suspicious? Perhaps.
But suspicious or not, I’m glad to have a name to go with the number. “Great, Keaton. I’ll text you in a bit. Go have fun.”
