Page 86 of Interference
“Seriously, be honest, how long have you been sitting on all these lines you have?” she asks, making me smile.
“Longer than I care to admit. Now, let’s get this date started.”
Her eyebrows raise. “And here I thought the date started when you picked me up.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Okay, what do you have in mind?”
“I want to get to know you.”
She looks down at her stomach for a second and smirks. “And here I thought you knew me pretty well.”
“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. So, I take it you want to ask me a bunch of questions and see if we are compatible.”
“Yes, but no. Instead of asking, I want us to quiz each other. See how well we know one another.”
“So, for example, the question is favorite color. I guess yours and you guess mine. Then we see who’s right.”
“Exactly, and for the record, yours is purple.” I wink as her mouth drops open.
“How did you know?”
“Because I pay attention.”
She sits back in her chair and studies me for a moment. “Well yours is blue. Light blue.”
Like your eyes.
“Correct. Next question, what’s our guilty pleasures? For you, I would say…ice cream.”
“Good guess. For you, I’m going to say name brand. Mainly for electronics. You’ve always had the latest models of computers and stuff since I’ve known you.”
Huh. I never really thought of myself as a material kind of guy, but I can see it now that it’s been pointed out to me.
“Acceptable answer.” I nod, giving her the win.
“I have one. What do you think we would sing, individually, if forced to do karaoke? Personally, I think you would sing ‘Sweet Caroline.’”
“‘Wannabe.’ I could totally see you singing some Spice Girls.”
Emery winces. “Song choice would be accurate if I liked karaoke. Which I hate. Never expect me to get on stage in front of a bunch of drunk people and sing.”
“They’d be drunk, so it wouldn’t be nearly as embarrassing.”
“Still embarrassing,” she says as the server brings over our food.
We don’t pick up the conversation again until she walks away.
“Okay, I’m switching it up. Tell me what your ideal Sunday morning would look like.”
Emery hums as she scoops up some mashed potatoes. “I think my ideal Sunday would be a lazy one. Sleep in, make some waffles or pancakes, then just hang out. Watch movies, play board games, ignore the outside world. What about you?”
“The same, actually, but only I would bring you tea in bed,” I tell her.
It’s true, too. I can see it so perfectly. Our child would be a toddler, if not a little older, so they would sleep through the night. We would wake up and have slow, lazy sex. I would have to cover her mouth to keep her quiet. Then once we finished, we would have tea in bed until our child forced us to get up. We would spend the entire day together.
