not grouchy.”
“You are, too. It’s like working with that little green guy from
Sesame Street.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Liar.”
I glare at him. “It’s 6:34 in the morning!”
“And come two thirty, you’ll be singing praises that you got the morning shift,” he calmly replies, putting the groundsin coffeemaker number two.
Have I mentioned I don’t like him right now?
“How was your day off?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say. After I had looked through and put away all my old Travis stuff, Jen blew in the door, changed from her professional bun hairstyle to a down-curly-and-romantic look; kept the skirt, silky top, and heels; and flew back out of the house in fifteen minutes, yelling, “I’m late to meet him for dinner!”
Meet
him for dinner? I thought guys were supposed to pick you up.
“Jack,” I say abruptly, “when you take a girl out on a date, do you pick her up or have her meet you?”
He gives me a weird look. “Why?”
“Travis made Jen
meet
him at the restaurant.”
“Did he do that to you, too?”
I shake my head. “Not usually. I always drove myself to his football games, but other than that …”
“Huh. Well, no. Whenever I go out, I always pick the girl up. Except for once, and that was a blind date.”
“That’s nice of you to pick her up.”
“Nice?” Jack gives me another look. “Picking up a girl is more informational than nice, Nutkin.”
I pull a sheet of unbaked cinnamon rolls from the fridge. “What are you talking about?”
“Is she a neat person? Does she still live at home? Have a roommate? Dog?” He shrugs. “You can find all of that out when you pick up a girl.” He rubs the back of his neck ruefully, picking up a bright cherry red mug. “I went out with this girl once. She had to dart out of the house like a hamster so her living room wouldn’t overflow onto the porch.”
I grin, morning fog broken. “Yuck.”
He hands me the mug, filled with the macchiato he’d been making. “And good morning, Maya.”
I cup my hands around the cup, inhaling. “Mmm. Thanks, Jack.”
He grins and starts mixing the frosting while I pop the rolls in the oven.
“You’ve been on a blind date?” I ask, trying to keep the incredulity from my tone. The idea of Jack dating, especially blind dating, is a little weird to me — not because he’s not dating material but because I’ve never actually witnessed it. I mean, he’s attractive in a preppy/outdoorsy sort of way, but I don’t remember him ever talking about dates or anything like that.
He sighs. “I didn’t tell you that story?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, first off, my aunt is one of the sweetest, most innocent ladies on the planet.”
“You had a blind date with your aunt? That is a little disturbing.”
He shushes me. “Listen to my story. So, my aunt tells me there’s this really cute girl at her church and asks if she can set us up on a date. I said, ‘Sure, why not?’ and we decide to meet at the restaurant.”
He suddenly gets this sad beagle look — I know the look because Calvin always looks like that whenever I’m out of ice cream.
“That bad?” I giggle.
He grimaces. “Let’s just say my aunt does not have good taste in girls.”
I gape at him. “That’s mean! What was wrong with her?”
“What
wasn’t?’
“Jack!”
“What? She was three inches taller than me, and unlike Tom Cruise, I’m just not comfortable with that. Especially when I’m six one to begin with. And she talked with her mouth open all through dinner.”
“Poor girl.”
“She didn’t like me either. When Aunt Cathy said I was tall, I think the girl thought she meant I was taller than her.”
“Poor girl,” I say again. “Yet another perk of being short, I guess.”
Jack shakes his head. “Asparagus isn’t pretty when it’s being gnawed on.”
“Gross.” I make a wide circle around Jack while he stirs the frosting.
“Oh good night, Pattertwig, I only dumped it on you
“You are, too. It’s like working with that little green guy from
Sesame Street.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Liar.”
I glare at him. “It’s 6:34 in the morning!”
“And come two thirty, you’ll be singing praises that you got the morning shift,” he calmly replies, putting the groundsin coffeemaker number two.
Have I mentioned I don’t like him right now?
“How was your day off?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say. After I had looked through and put away all my old Travis stuff, Jen blew in the door, changed from her professional bun hairstyle to a down-curly-and-romantic look; kept the skirt, silky top, and heels; and flew back out of the house in fifteen minutes, yelling, “I’m late to meet him for dinner!”
Meet
him for dinner? I thought guys were supposed to pick you up.
“Jack,” I say abruptly, “when you take a girl out on a date, do you pick her up or have her meet you?”
He gives me a weird look. “Why?”
“Travis made Jen
meet
him at the restaurant.”
“Did he do that to you, too?”
I shake my head. “Not usually. I always drove myself to his football games, but other than that …”
“Huh. Well, no. Whenever I go out, I always pick the girl up. Except for once, and that was a blind date.”
“That’s nice of you to pick her up.”
“Nice?” Jack gives me another look. “Picking up a girl is more informational than nice, Nutkin.”
I pull a sheet of unbaked cinnamon rolls from the fridge. “What are you talking about?”
“Is she a neat person? Does she still live at home? Have a roommate? Dog?” He shrugs. “You can find all of that out when you pick up a girl.” He rubs the back of his neck ruefully, picking up a bright cherry red mug. “I went out with this girl once. She had to dart out of the house like a hamster so her living room wouldn’t overflow onto the porch.”
I grin, morning fog broken. “Yuck.”
He hands me the mug, filled with the macchiato he’d been making. “And good morning, Maya.”
I cup my hands around the cup, inhaling. “Mmm. Thanks, Jack.”
He grins and starts mixing the frosting while I pop the rolls in the oven.
“You’ve been on a blind date?” I ask, trying to keep the incredulity from my tone. The idea of Jack dating, especially blind dating, is a little weird to me — not because he’s not dating material but because I’ve never actually witnessed it. I mean, he’s attractive in a preppy/outdoorsy sort of way, but I don’t remember him ever talking about dates or anything like that.
He sighs. “I didn’t tell you that story?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, first off, my aunt is one of the sweetest, most innocent ladies on the planet.”
“You had a blind date with your aunt? That is a little disturbing.”
He shushes me. “Listen to my story. So, my aunt tells me there’s this really cute girl at her church and asks if she can set us up on a date. I said, ‘Sure, why not?’ and we decide to meet at the restaurant.”
He suddenly gets this sad beagle look — I know the look because Calvin always looks like that whenever I’m out of ice cream.
“That bad?” I giggle.
He grimaces. “Let’s just say my aunt does not have good taste in girls.”
I gape at him. “That’s mean! What was wrong with her?”
“What
wasn’t?’
“Jack!”
“What? She was three inches taller than me, and unlike Tom Cruise, I’m just not comfortable with that. Especially when I’m six one to begin with. And she talked with her mouth open all through dinner.”
“Poor girl.”
“She didn’t like me either. When Aunt Cathy said I was tall, I think the girl thought she meant I was taller than her.”
“Poor girl,” I say again. “Yet another perk of being short, I guess.”
Jack shakes his head. “Asparagus isn’t pretty when it’s being gnawed on.”
“Gross.” I make a wide circle around Jack while he stirs the frosting.
“Oh good night, Pattertwig, I only dumped it on you
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