“That’s you,” I say to Gigi, then scoop her up and head inside.
“Hi, new friend,” I call out. “Do you play ping-pong?”
Rachel looks up from her tablet on the counter, then brightens. There must be a lull in traffic since her boutique is mostly empty. “Hey, you! Good to see you again, Ellie. And yes, I do,” she says, then eyes me up and down. “Someone’s going on a date tonight.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You have a pre-date glow about you,” she says.
“Maybe I’ll have a post-date one too,” I say in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Get it, girl,” she says.
“I plan to.”
“Good for you. Moving to a new town and dating right away.” She flicks her brown hair off her shoulders, then shudders. “It’s scary out there, but you’re diving in. I admire that. Lord knows, I don’t have the guts to do it.”
A smidge of guilt wiggles around inside me. I’m notquitediving into it. I don’t want people to think I’m good at this dating thing when I’m sort of a sham.
“Well, not exactly,” I say, feeling a little sheepish.
Maybe I should tell her the truth. I don’t want anyone to think I’m some kind of example of go-getter womanhood when I’m just playing a game. One with rules and a clock.
But the bell tinkles above the store and a pack of customers strides in. This is not the time nor place to issue a correction.
Instead, as Rachel heads over to help them, I peruse the necklaces by the counter, then pick a silver chain with a small typewriter charm.
I show it to my pup. “Do you approve?”
She rubs her head against me.
“Excellent,” I say, then when Rachel swings by again, I pay for the necklace and thank her.
“Let me know how the date goes,” she says. “I’m surviving on secondhand date fumes.”
I laugh. “I will. Want to do dinner on Sunday? We can catch up on all the things,” I say.
“Is there ping-pong involved too?”
“That can be arranged.”
“I’m there,” she says, and we agree to meet at Max’s Restaurant on Sunday, then hit The Happiest Hours. I’ll tell her then that I’m not a bold dating icon. I’m just a woman who’s having a little fun.Had.
By then I’ll be a woman who hashada little fun, past tense.
I leave and head home, but I don’t feel entirely satisfied.
I feeloff.
I wasn’t as honest as I want to be with friends.
Inside my house, as I give Gigi a fresh bowl of water in herI Wish I Could Text My Dogbowl, I make a new plan—I’ll text Rachel later and let her know that my date tonight is just a fun thing, nothing to be admired.
That feels less squicky. More honest.
With a sense of relief, I check the time. I need to take off to meet Gabe, so I round the kitchen counter to shut my laptop. The scene where I left off earlier catches my eye, and I read it again.
By the power vested in me as your bestie, I hereby order you to take a new dating challenge, the hero says.