Page 33 of My Merry Mistake
She holds up a hand. “You do.”
I snap my jaw shut.
“Then there’s your little act.” Poppy picks up a wooden spoon that seems more like a prop than an actual utensil.
“My act?”
“Where you tease her, and it gets under her skin, then you push a bit farther, and she ignores you and acts like you’re super annoying.” Poppy shrugs.
I’m chagrined. “That’s not an act.”
“And if you’re going to ask her out—” Eloise picks up another chip, pops it in her mouth, then finishes her thought as she chews— “you need a plan. An actual date. You can’t say, ‘Hey you, uh, you wanna do something sometime, baby?’” She uses a deep, weird voice when she says this, and I laugh.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Poppy says. Eloise picks up a chip and tosses it at her. It lands in Poppy’s hair.
“El!”
Eloise crunches another chip and grins.
“You two would fit right in with my family,” I say.
“Ooh, I like them already.” Eloise wags her eyebrows.
Poppy walks over to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, then hands it to me. “You have to say, ‘Hey, Raya, I’ve got two tickets to the museum this Thursday night. Do you want to come with me?’”
I make a mental note. “To a museum? You think that’s the kind of place she’ll want to go?”
“I was just using that as an example,” she says. “But you can’t take her to a sports bar.”
“Or axe throwing.”
“Or Top Golf.”
“Got it,” I say, miming writing out a list. “No . . . fun . . . places.”
“How about a nice restaurant?” Poppy says.
I nod. “Like a steakhouse?”
“Or somewhere you’d, you know, dress up. Wear a shirt with a collar. Make an effort.”
I nod. “Okay. I’m not—do you know where I grew up?”
They share a look. “Somewhere out west?” Poppy says.
“A ranch. In Montana. A formal dinner was if we all actually wore pants to the table.”
They stare at me.
“I’m kidding,” I say, then add, “pants were always optional anyway.”
Gray walks into the kitchen. “You know, there is another way.”
He picks up a bottle of fancy cream soda—the same kind Raya and I both drank at the engagement party—and unscrews the top. He takes a long, slow drink, and my eyes dart to Eloise.
“Anytime, Hawke,” she says. “We’re just kind of all waiting for?—”
“Show up for her,” he says. “Like that one—” he points the bottle in Eloise’s direction— “did for me.”
