Chapter 10
~ AVA ~
I’m getting my oil changed.
No, really.Iam.
I don’tneedto get it changed for another two thousand miles, but there was no way I was going to be caught in a lie to a guy who might just be the nicest man on the face of the planet.
So here I am, sitting in a waiting room while my car is getting an oil change even though the men who checked me in this morning pointed out that I simply don’t need it.
Great.Theythink I’m insane.Harristhinks I’m insane.If any more people start thinking I’m insane, I’m liable to lose custody of my son.
I watch the TV as I wait.I generally don’t watch TV much these days.We stopped paying for cable to save money about a year after the divorce because it was just cheaper to simply get a couple streaming subscriptions and call it a day.
Even Nicholas doesn’t miss it.If he’s using any of the “screen time” I allow him, he’s generally playing Minecraft with his friends or programming a new mod for Minecraft or looking at YouTube videos about Minecraft.
You can see the pattern there.
And from the morning talk show I’m watching, I’m thinking neither of us are missing anything.
I pull my phone from my pocket and glance at it.I need to text Harris, and I know it.But what do I say?I’m mortified that I bailed on him suddenly last night, and even further humiliated by the lame excuse I gave.
Puffing out my cheeks, I let out a sigh and start typing.
“I’m so sorry I bolted on you last night.I had such a wonderful time.Any chance I can make it up to you tonight?I’m making pot roast.”
I’m making pot roast?Cringing, I stare at the words for a beat.An offer of pot roast is about as lame as bailing on him with an excuse of changing my oil.
I’m certifiably hopeless.
I sigh as I tap the back arrow furiously to delete the last two sentences.Maybe I should just go for honesty.It’s more my style.
“In truth,” I start to tack on, “I hadn’t shaved my legs.”
I stare at the words.Even if I don’t get another chance at a date with him, at least I’d give him one hell of a good laugh this morning.
I give myself a shake and start to tap the delete button again when my phone chimes, interrupting.
I feel a bolt of awareness, as though all that caffeine I drank this morning suddenly decided to kick in.
For a split second, I dare to hope it’s Harris texting me.
But then I see Charlisa’s name pop up on my display.
I deflate with disappointment.Of courseit isn’t him.Why would he text me?I’ll probably never hear from him again.I wouldn’t blame him in the slightest.
“So what did he bring u 4 dinner?” she writes, adding one of those shrugging emojis.
My forehead creases for a moment as I try to decipher her message.Bring me for dinner?Then I remember what she had predicted would happen last night—a quick drop-off of a stromboli or deli sandwich or some equivalent.
My mood picks up a bit at the prospect of informing her she was wrong.
“Just his super-hot self and his super-hot car,” I tap in, grinning wide enough at the memory that I’m pretty sure the other people in this waiting room notice.
I receive only a question mark in return.
So I add, “He took me out to dinner at O’Toole’s and a Christmas concert at the Naval Academy Chapel.”