Page 59 of Love in the Stacks
He gazes into my eyes for a beat, a smile spreading slowly across his face. “Friday?”
I nod. My throat feels thick, and I’m not sure my voice will work if I try to answer in words.
“Good.” He hesitates. “I’m off the next few days, driving down to visit my mom. I’ll be back Thursday night, though. I can meet you here at six and then we’ll walk, if that’s okay?”
Oh. He’s going on another trip? We just got back from the conference. I try to hide my disappointment as I clear my throat and say, “Of course. I’ll see you then, I guess.”
“See you Friday. Good night, Nicole.”
With that, he turns and descends the stairs. Just before he rounds the front of the car on his way to the driver’s seat, he looks up at me. I can’t see the expression on his face in the dusky evening light, but I wave. He lifts his hand back at me before he disappears into the car.
The next morning, Adam texts me a meme that shows two characters fromThe Simpsons, Lisa and Ralph, walking together. At the top it says:
“When you’re socially awkward but you still give it a shot.”
And in the picture, Ralph is asking Lisa,
“...do you like stuff?”
Okay, so this meme doesn’t say everything, but at least it’s flirtier than the disco meme. He’s saying he’s giving this a shot, right? Us a shot? Maybe I’m reading too much into the memes, but my braincraves certainty, and all I’m feeling is unsure. When I add up all the signals, they seem to imply that Friday is a date, but he didn’t use the word date. I sigh to myself as I walk out the door to work. It’s going to be a long week.
Chapter twenty-eight
Adam
Ihad this trip to Naples to see my mom planned before our NLA presentation proposal was accepted. She had a minor outpatient procedure scheduled, and I wanted to be there to drive her back and forth and make sure she was okay. But now, as I’m driving up I-75 back toward St. Anastasia on Thursday afternoon, I worry it was a mistake to leave Nicole hanging like that. We had a moment—a whole series of moments really—in New Orleans. I was so tired on the drive home that I feel like I basically ignored her. She agreed to dinner tomorrow night, but I fear I’ve lost momentum somehow. I can picture her replaying the New Orleans trip over and over in her mind and worrying about our interactions, questioning what it meant to me. My asking for a date should have been a straightforward indication of my romantic interest, but knowing Nicole, she’ll find a way to rationalize it into being less significant than it is.
I get back to town late, so it’s not until Friday morning that I stop by the pet resort to pick up Joan, who’s overjoyed to see me. She wags her tail so hard I wonder if it’s going to fall off.
My thoughts stay on Nicole all day. We texted while I was gone. Just casual things. I sent her memes, of course, but leveled them up. I’m sending her flirty memes now, or at least what I construe to be flirty, given that I am not, by nature, a flirtatious person. The one I sent this morning said:
“How do introverts flirt? Eye contact.”
I included my own message about how I’m excited to “see” her tonight. That’s funny, right? Flirty? I inwardly groan. Imagine getting this far and then letting my awkwardness ruin it all. But I’ve been myself all along with Nicole, and she seems to like it. Like me.
Okay, self-doubt neutralized. For now. My next challenge is wardrobe. I want to look nice, but not like I look at work. Honestly, I care very little about clothing. I wear dress pants and shirts to work, and I wear what makes me feel comfortable when I’m at home. Clothes to wear on a date is an alien concept. I do an embarrassing amount of googling “men’s casual date outfits” as I decide. Plus, as the calendar creeps closer to May, Florida forgets all about spring and jumps right into the arms of summer, meaning it’s too warm for jeans. Cargo shorts feel too schlubby. Finally, I settle on casual navy-blue shorts that hit right above my knees, and a button down short-sleeved shirt—white with a subtle dot and cross pattern. I leave it untucked, with the top two collar buttons undone.
I’m exhausted before I even leave the house. I’m also buzzing a little with nerves but a lot with excitement.
I park in front of Nicole’s apartment at six and walk up the steps to her door. She answers my knock quickly, and I’m too stunned to greet her. Her face looks fresh—less done up than what she typically wears for work. Her lavender hair, which has grown out a bit, is pulled off her forehead in a tiny half ponytail near the back of her head. She wears a white tank top that’s tight against her skin, tucked impossibly neatly into black shorts with a red and white floral print and black lace trim. The shorts make her legs look remarkably long, stretching down to her white Vans.
“Wow,” I finally stammer.
She smirks at me. “That sounds like a good ‘wow.’”
“Uh, yeah.” I swallow thickly. “Definitely a good wow.” Meeting her eyes, I add, “You look beautiful.”
She blushes and smiles. “Thank you.” Then, she takes her time perusing from my white tennis shoes all the way up to my face. When she meets my eyes again, hers are dark. “You look really nice, too.”
If I make it to the end of this night before kissing her, it will be a miracle.
I push away that thought—for now—and take her hand instead. “We’re walking tonight, if that’s okay,” I say. “Staying downtown.”
She nods.
We walk a couple of blocks to an upscale casual restaurant with rooftop seating that overlooks the intercoastal waterway. We’re up high enough that a cool breeze cuts the humidity a little.
“This is gorgeous!” Nicole exclaims, looking down at the streets below from our table. We order and wait for our food, the conversationveering toward stilted. She seems anxious. When the server sets our food in front of us, Nicole’s expression is one of relief.
