Page 42 of Betting on the Best Friend
“You’d have to take a late lunch,” Charlie says. Our breaks don’t align when we work opposite shifts.
“No, I mean I have a lunch date today. An Ava setup.”
“Oh. How’s the potential?” He settles into the chair at the reference desk.
I pull out my phone to double-check the details. “Alton, CFO of a brewery, thirty-one. We’re meeting at a gastropub that carries his company’s beer.”
“You don’t like beer.”
“Gastropubs have good food.”
“Okay, but remember how you used to go to microbreweries Niles wanted to try, and it wasn’t fun for you? Don’t do that.”
“Alton is a date, not a relationship. It’s fine.”
“Promise me you’ll tell him you don’t like beer.” His face is serious.
“I’m a new Ruby. Don’t worry.”
Charlie shakes his head. “You don’t need to be new Ruby. Regular Ruby is always enough.”
“Aww, that’s sweet, Charlie Bucket.” This isn’t a spark. This is a warm ember. “I promise I’ll tell him I don’t like beer.”
“Also, tell him you don’t like his name. Alton sounds like a sofa style in a West Elm catalog.”
“That’s less sweet, Charlie Bucket, and I respect it. Now give me a fit check. It’s hard to dress for work and a date with the same outfit.”
He glances over to give me a quick up and down. “It works.”
“I tried for hot but in a professional way, and professional in a hipster-brewery way.” I chose wide-leg navy pants topped with a loose cream mock turtleneck sweater, tucked in for a blousy look. I added a needlepoint belt with a wild mushroom pattern Ava made me for Christmas for notes of hipster.
My shoes are caramel brown Mary Jane heels because I prefer more height when I meet new people. I’m not under the delusion that heels make me tall. But they make mefeeltall, which means Iacttall, and that’s an advantage.
“Hot but professional hipster,” he repeats, turning to give me a better look. “Nailed it.”
“I’m glad you have sisters,” I say. “They’ve trained you so well.”
He looks amused by this. “For what? Fashion consulting?”
“Yes, and it’s a big deal. It’s the second most valuable thing my roommates do for me.”
“First being . . .”
“Letting me borrow the clothes for the outfits I make them consult on.”
“Wish I could help you with that, but you’d drown in one of my shirts.” A distracted expression crosses his face, and he turns back to his monitor.
“You’re not the Hulk. I’m not going to drown in an adult medium, even a man’s.”
“I wear a large now,” he says, not turning around. “You’d drown.”
I run my eyes over his upper body, unsurprised. It’s no wonder Sydney didn’t give up. She met Charlie the lean athlete with sun-streaked hair, not Charlie the wiry librarian with a pale winter glow. He’d have me looking twice if I didn’t already know him.
It’s going to take practice to adjust to that paradigm shift.
“Anyway,” I say, leaving paradigms for later, “wish me luck. If I don’t come back, it’s a kidnapping, not an elopement.”
“Of course I’ll assume it’s a kidnapping,” he says. “The girls haven’t been doing great with these picks, and now you’ve gotAlton.”
