Page 57 of Lucy Loves Him Not
“Need some help?” Adam offered, eyeing my work judgmentally.
“I like Moonica just as she is,” I defended my work, continuing my sewing mess. My thread was all knotted, but at least it somewhat held the stuffing inside.
“Moonica, huh?” he asked, hard at work and hunched over. He barely fit at this table designed for five-year-olds. “I like the name.”
Moments later, I’d given up and was checking my emails on my phone next to my sort-of-finished-now-scary stuffed cow, when Adam reached across the table and set the cutest little plush mouse before me.
“Brag much?” I said in awe, grabbing hold of his perfectly crafted toy mouse.
“For Stevie,” he said.That was why he hunted for a squeaker. I melted entirely right there at the sticky, noisy craft table. They would need to clean me up with the rest of the mess.
“You sew?” was all I could muster from my puddle-state.
“I told you a little bit of how I really wanted a close family, kind of like yours, growing up? I tried to get that with my own grandmother. She loved to sew, so I asked her to teach me. I spent a lot of my time as a kid sewing with my grandma, watching her soap operas, and hearing stories about her childhood,” he explained, bashful and vulnerable.
I looked down at the mouse in my hands. “You’re kind of amazing at everything you do, aren’t you?”
“Eh, I do well with instructions,” he said, his blush spreading to his ears.
“Meanwhile,” I rolled Moonica across the table to him, “instructions are not my forte.”
He grinned at the jumble of fabric and thread I’d made. “I think she’s perfect.” He tucked her into his back pocket.
It was late afternoon as we walked back outside toward the parking lot. “You hungry?” he asked. “We could get dinner, you know, for research purposes.”
“Oh, well, research will have to wait. I can’t get dinner tonight,” I said. Because awkwardly, I had plans.
“Not another date with one of my friends, I hope,” he said, his voice trying for playful, but his eyes questioning.
I shook my head, looking down at my feet on the hot pavement as we walked.
“Not a date with anyone I know,” he said, then swallowed. “But a date?”
Why did answering him feel like I was erasing every sweet moment from today? Like I was ruining a perfectly good thing. A perfectandgood thing.
“A date, yes. Another blind date. My mom had her turn and now Olivia’s having her turn,” I said, nervously tucking some of my messy curls behind my ear. “Some guy she knows from work. Her idea, not mine.”
“From the university,” he said, his voice bordering on miserable, like this information was a punch to the gut.
“Yeah,” I choked out apologetically.Wasn’t a date supposed to be fun? This date hadn’t even begun and it was far from fun.
We were at my Bug now. I glanced around the parking lot, looking for his car. Silence and awkward tension pulsed between us.
“Thanks for today,” I mumbled as I opened my door. “I like?—”
He shut my car door suddenly and his arm brushed against my back. I glanced up at him in surprise.
“Lucy,” he said frustratedly.
“What?”
He kept his hand against the car door, his arm next to my head. “Why are you always getting set up with guys who aren’t me?” he demanded, his voice in agony.
My stomach dropped. I wasn’t sure who was more agonized, him or me. “Because we don’t…” My voice broke.Was there even a reason anymore?
He yanked his hand off my car.
“Yeah, yeah, I know the script.” His voice was low. “Have a good date. I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”
