Both women smile in understanding, but Liv’s expression is skeptical, and I can feel what she’s thinking: More seriously than your relationship?
I shake it off. I knew what I was getting into when I started dating a workaholic with a big old brain.
“Damn, you weren’t kidding, this DJ does love Beyoncé,” Marley says as the music shifts into a remixed version of “Single Ladies.” She nods at the dance floor. “Shall we? This is our jam! Or…used to be.” Marley nudges me with a wink.
I force a smile as I stand and do an abbreviated version of the “Single Ladies” dance.
Liv laughs. “Have fun. Let me know about dinner!”
Right. The dinner invitation. Another thing he didn’t mention.
It’s not a big deal. Is it?
Georgie
THURSDAY, 4:57 A.M.
Here we are again.
I tell myself the only reason I’m going through the familiar routine is for Ramon. Between Andrew’s sickness, my sickness, and then our, um, nighttime activities, poor Ramon’s been deprived of his early morning donuts!
I push through the revolving door of my building, pink donut box in hand, determined to pretend like I’m not still stinging a little from the embarrassing realization of how little I actually know the guy I’m falling for.
“Morning, Ramon,” I sing, my high heels clicking in the quiet reception area.
No sign of Andrew yet.
“Miss me?” I say with a wink, opening the lid and pushing the box toward him.
“I’ve missed this,” he says reverently, pulling out a maple bacon donut. “And it’s lovely to see you as well, Ms. Watkins.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m perfectly happy coming in second place behind the bacon-and-sugar combo. How have you been? How’s Marta?”
“Cranky,” he mutters. “And beautiful,” he amends quickly.
I laugh. “Remember, the pregnant woman is always right.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. How have you been? Mr. Mulroney mentioned you were feeling under the weather last week.”
“Ah…” I give a nervous laugh, suddenly aware how awkward it is to hook up with someone in your apartment building, where the staff knows every habit, every morning you’re not there, and quite often why you’re not there.
He gives me a bland I don’t suspect a thing look, then nudges the box toward me. “I see a cinnamon sugar one with your name on it.”
“Well, okay. Twist my arm.”
I take the still-warm donut out of the box, as well as a napkin from the pile Ramon pulls out from behind the desk.
The first delicious granules of sugar are rolling over my tongue when I feel the air in the lobby change.
When I turn toward him, it’s a strange combination of déjà vu and wonderfully new.
Black workout shirt? Check. Black workout pants? Check. Red sneakers? Check.
Same goes for the briefcase, the duffel and garment bags, the stupid mug full of what I now know is chocolate banana protein shake (barf).
But there’s a key difference today as he walks toward me.
Andrew is smiling.