Page 73 of Drawn Together
“No. I don’t have to do anything. But I really want to do this. With you.”
I luck out with no chance to answer, because his phone starts ringing.
“Sorry, Lenny’s calling again. Let me just text her real quick.” He types away before turning his phone off and slipping it into his jacket pocket.
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, I freaked her out. When you texted, I sort of just…ran out without saying anything.”
I smile at the thought of Fletcher running from my apartment to his; I watch it play out like I’m Malcolm the mockingbird, witnessing him sprint around the apartment for his funeral suit, hair dripping, and chin scratched from a hurried shave.
Tonight was useless, wasn’t it? Trying to diminish how much I like this man was useless.
“So…” He pats his hands against his pants. “Back to before. Where would you like to go?”
He asks the question, and yet he seems to be the one with all the answers.
Fletcher never thought of himself as a knight in shining armor kind of guy, never really cared enough to be the type. But, if that’s what Flora needed, he would gladly accept that label and save her anytime.
Twenty-three
Wordoftheday:Kilig
Definition: the rush or the inexplicable joy one feels after experiencing something romantic
Fletcher claims that it’s ‘been a while’ since he’s dated, but it must be like riding a bike, because he doesn’t seem to have forgotten with me. Riding a bike may be a poor comparison, considering he couldn’t do that near as well as he can navigate an evening with me.
The moment we leave the restaurant, I feel like I’ve been given this alternate view of him—what does a man like Fletcher Harding do on his dates?
I will gladly tell you.
Fletcher Harding insists on filling you up with every food imaginable. We leave Westlight to wherever he plans on taking me and stop at four stands along the way. “You must be starving,” he says, as he pulls my hand in his.
He orders a fried pickle on a stick for us to split—unsurprisingly delicious—and a chicken and sausage kebab withgrilled peppers—also delicious. He orders himself a donut made out of shredded carrots and wheat grass, which he insists is delectable, and I say ‘don’t you mean disagreeable?’
Fletcher Harding, to my utter surprise, loves a water taxi for dates. No, adores it. Would build a shrine to night-time ferries and water taxis in his apartment if he had the closet space. I don’t know if he does this with other dates or not—preferably would rather never know—but I can tell you this: watching his big, round hazel eyes light up at a boat is possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen. He sits us at the front of the taxi, a perfect view of the Brooklyn skyline lit in front of us. Wild shades of blue and purple, copper and yellow dance in the distance. There’s music, chatter, and laughing all around, but my attention is wholly focused on Fletcher smirking out at the city before him.
“You love this,” I muse. “Is it the city at night or the boat itself?”
His smirk turns into a shy grin. “Both, I think? I like taking ferries when I can, but at night, there’s something so much better about them.”
“It reminds me of home. The water,” I clarify. “Just being on a boat makes me feel like I’m back in Maine.”
“Did you go out on the water a lot?”
“When I was little, yeah.” I hate that the memories are so covered up with Austin’s existence right beside mine. “I used to go fishing with my family and some friends. I never really liked the fishing aspect—”
“The smell?”
“The hook.”
“Ahh.” He nods.
“But,” I continue, “I always liked the feeling it gave me. The smell of the water and the way the boat bobs up and down. I liked the old music my dad would play on his stereo and the sandwiches my mom would pack in little plastic bags. Sloaneliked the fishing part. When she was five, we got her a Barbie rod and reel and took her out. Everyone on the boat spent the entire day trying their hardest to catch even the smallest fish and yet Sloane and her ten-dollar set up caught five in the first hour.”
He laughs as he looks just past me to the shining lights of buildings in the near distance. I turn over my shoulder as we go near a bridge, couples walking hand in hand as the evening transitions into the dark night.
I look back up to see Fletcher smiling at me. I would like to keep his face just like that. Would like to take a mental screenshot and keep it in my favorites folder for safe keeping.
