Page 27 of Love in the Stacks
Chapter thirteen
Nicole
This is my second time attending Soapbox. The first time, Tasha told me about it, and I caught a ride with her and some of her friends. Considering I’m more than four years older than them and in a completely different stage of life, it was a bit awkward. I had a good time, but the evening didn’t click. I just know Adam will appreciate the variety show of expertise as much as I do, so I’m hoping for a better experience tonight.
I glance over at Adam in the driver’s seat. He’s focused on the road, hands precisely at ten and two on the steering wheel. I snuggle down into the warmth of the heated passenger seat and pull Adam’s sweatshirt tighter around me.
I’m not blind or clueless. I know Adam has a thing for me. But he’s never overtly hit on me or made me uncomfortable in any way. I feel flattered and desirable when I catch his lingering looks. Butit can’t happen. I realized several years ago, with the help of my therapist, that every boyfriend I’ve had—all three of them—was interested in me first.
With my first boyfriend in high school, Ethan, I was crushing on a completely different guy when his best friend let it slip that Ethan liked me. I had hardly noticed Ethan up to that point, but now, suddenly I forgot all about my crush and instantly moved on to him. We dated for three months toward the end of sophomore year, but I often wondered if we even had anything in common. Would I have been interested in Ethan if he wasn’t interested in me first?
Senior year, I dated Brandon from Halloween all the way through graduation. Again, I barely knew he existed until he asked me out. It felt nice being noticed. Being sought out. Personality-wise, I actually found Brandon kind of annoying, but it felt good to have a boyfriend. When we split before Brandon left for his out-of-state college, I wasn’t heartbroken.
And then, of course, Steven. That was a whole trainwreck—so much so that even the thought of a new relationship starts my brain spiraling down the drain of worst-case scenarios. I will never again let anyone make me feel that broken.
My therapist suggested a lack of self-confidence might contribute to my apparent pattern of, essentially, taking what I think I can get in terms of dating. If low self-esteem was my problem in high school, my relationship with Steven definitely didn’t help matters. Since him, I haven’t had strong feelings of attraction to anyone, and if any man has been interested in me, I was oblivious to it. Until Adam. But I’ve recognized the pattern now, and I’m determined notto continue in it. So, if a man, like Adam, is interested in me when I don’t feel the same, that man is not an option.
Adam and I are coworkers. Colleagues. Nothing more. Despite the cute way his lips pinch and his eyes twinkle when he’s sharing a funny story. Despite the amazing way his hoodie smells wrapped around me. Despite his adorable dog. I just don’t see him that way.
We arrive at the amphitheater with just enough time to hit up the food trucks and snag seats before the program starts. There are three trucks, including my favorite—a food truck that focuses solely on arepas. All kinds of fancy, complicated arepas with different fillings and even toppings. My usual is the black bean, sweet plantain, and cheese arepa. So good. Adam’s in line at the grilled cheese truck when I get my food, so I grab us a table.
I watch as he orders and then waits to the side for his food to be ready. He didn’t change after work—neither did I since I didn’t go home first—so he’s wearing khaki colored corduroy slacks and black loafers. Over the red and gray plaid button down shirt he wore to work, he’s added a sporty navy pullover hoodie that fits snugly across his chest. As the window attendant hands Adam his food, he pulls his hands out of the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He turns and scans the crowd, so I wave to get his attention.
Adam carefully sets two paper boats of food on the table. Before he can sit, I grab the sleeve of his sweatshirt and shout, “Tater tots! They had tater tots?”
He settles into the chair next to me with an amused expression. “Nope,” he deadpans.
I release his sleeve only to smack the same spot as he grins at me.
“Sorry. I just really love tater tots. I didn’t know that food truck had them.” I eye the ever-increasing line and check the time on my phone. “Maybe I have time to get some before the first speaker…”
Adam checks his phone as well. “I don’t think so, Nicole. If they start on time, you won’t make it.” He peers at me through the glass of his lenses, his expression unreadable. “Just take these.”
“No, I can’t do that. They’re yours. What else did you get?” I inspect his other plate. “A wrap?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. Chicken Caesar. But seriously, I won’t eat all these. At least split them with me? Eat as many as you want.”
I know it’s a line. If I hadn’t said anything, I’m sure he would have eaten all the tater tots he ordered and paid for. But for tater tots, I’m willing to play dumb a bit. “Okay, thanks,” I say.
I pop one tot into my mouth, and it’s perfect. Crisp on the outside, warm in the middle. Yum. This. This right here is why my weight is always a little higher than I’d prefer—I just enjoy food too much.
The Soapbox host calls the crowd to attention. Our seats are decent—to the left of the small stage and only a few rows back. Soapbox is held on the auxiliary stage, which is a more intimate venue than the amphitheater’s main stage where they hold concerts and local high school graduations. The auxiliary stage is slightly raised—easy to hop onto without stairs, but high enough that I have no trouble seeing the host up there. Seating is mostly small bistro tables like the one Adam and I share, with some bench seating right in frontof the stage.
The host is a Black man with long, curly hair, and who is, without explanation, dressed like a pirate. He explains the sequence of the program: there are ten presenters who will speak for five minutes each. A five-minute break in between each presentation will allow them to switch out the slide decks and the new speaker to get situated.
The first presenter is a high school student who talks about surfing as a metaphor for life. He tells a story about his first wave, and how his success required him to be present in the moment with focus and intent. I actually find myself tearing up a little as he describes his moment of triumph—that’s what he calls it.
Following the surfer, a woman who looks to be in her forties talks about her path from writing fiction as a hobby to self-publishing online. She’s published four romance novels in the last two years with plans for three more in the upcoming year. I send myself a text with her name so I can remember to look her up later. As if I need anything else on my TBR.
By the start of the second break, Adam and I are done eating. It doesn’t escape me that he ate maybe three tater tots, and I polished off the rest. I feel guilty, so I scoop up the empty containers from both of us and take them to the trash. I’m not gone more than a few minutes, but when our table is in sight again, I see a woman with dark brown hair standing there talking to Adam. She looks to be about his age, maybe a few years older. She’s pretty in a girl-next-door way and is dressed in a black pencil skirt with nude tights and a red cowl neck sweater.
I drop into my chair, and Adam shifts his attention to me before glancing back at the woman.
“Nicole, this is Ashley—Dr. Cartwright. She works at Harkness, too. She’s presenting later tonight. We both started working at the college around the same time and were in new employee orientation together.” Adam smiles at Ashley as he introduces her.
“Ashley, this is Nicole–”
“His coworker,” I quickly interrupt. I’m cementing the boundary lines. We are coworkers. Period.
