headed for her room. “I’ll leave you to do your icky twitterpation thing in private.”
When I found his number, I hesitated for a moment. I had never gotten comfortable with calling guys, and my stomach always clenched when I had to do it, but then again, I could only blame myself. If I had accepted Ben’s invitation in the first place, I wouldn’t be risking possible rejection.
Then again, why did I have to call at all? I selected the “text message” option and typed, I meant to say instead of a fireside, how about dinner at my place? Before I could talk myself out of it, I pressed send and shoved the phone under the sofa cushion. That way, if Ben didn’t text me back, I could pretend the silence stemmed from its location under the sofa cushions.
I ignored the flaws in my logic and sat down with the Pottery Barn catalog I found underneath the cushion currently smothering my phone. A few minutes later, Sandy walked through the living room, dressed to the nines. She paused when a distant chime sounded from my . . . posterior. I could see her debate whether or not to ask me about it, but she said nothing and turned to do her customary once over in the foyer mirror. I sat for another minute, debating whether or not someone would be so fast to text back a heartless, “No, thanks,” and then my bum chimed again. Unable to withstand the suspense, I jumped up and tore the cushion off. This definitely had Sandy’s attention now.
I took one look at the screen and grabbed my handbag on the way to the door.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
“To the store. Apparently, I’m cooking dinner tomorrow!”
Chapter 13
I FUSSED WITH THE PLACE settings on the table in the dining nook next to the kitchen. Glass tumblers flanked simple white plates, each place setting framed in a neutral-toned woven placemat. The only touches of color were the green cotton napkins that reflected the accents in the living room. Instead of a centerpiece, I set out a collection of seasonings and sauces for Sandy and Ben to choose from.
Sandy walked in and looked over the table. “It’s cute,” she said. “But it’s a bad idea for me to be here for dinner.”
“Why? It’ll be fun.”
“Like Rob Whitaker fun?” she asked. I flinched at the justified accusation in her tone. I had invited Rob to dinner last year for a second and last date after he spent the meal alternately ogling Sandy and calling her to repentance. Sandy didn’t go to church on Sundays, but she lived the same values I did, so his lecture was not only inappropriate as a dinner guest, but it was also completely misplaced.
“Rob is the moron gold standard. Ben’s totally different. You have to eat with us. I don’t want this to look romantic or anything.”
“Yes, it would clearly be wrong to send him any signals that you like him. Since you like him and all,” she said.
“I’m trying to keep it light,” I said. “Look at this table. It says I put some effort into it, it says I can cook and entertain, and it says there are three places settings, not two, so clearly we’re taking it slow.”
“It says that loudly,” she agreed.
I wasn’t going to change my mind. I had to balance seeing Ben three out of the last four days, and I wanted the classic roommate buffer. Besides, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of entertaining any guy alone in my condo. I knew that was the real reason Sandy agreed to stay for dinner. She might find my rules outdated, but she had my back.
I adjusted one of the placemats again. Sandy grinned. “I want it to be perfect,” I said.
“Sounds like you’re keeping it light, all right.”
When I ignored her, she wandered off toward her room while I fluffed a napkin and gave the hot sauce bottle a half turn in the middle of the table. The doorbell rang and sent my nerves twitching. This amounted to one more date than I’d given anyone in almost two years. The two-date rule had been working fine. I had suffered from
When I found his number, I hesitated for a moment. I had never gotten comfortable with calling guys, and my stomach always clenched when I had to do it, but then again, I could only blame myself. If I had accepted Ben’s invitation in the first place, I wouldn’t be risking possible rejection.
Then again, why did I have to call at all? I selected the “text message” option and typed, I meant to say instead of a fireside, how about dinner at my place? Before I could talk myself out of it, I pressed send and shoved the phone under the sofa cushion. That way, if Ben didn’t text me back, I could pretend the silence stemmed from its location under the sofa cushions.
I ignored the flaws in my logic and sat down with the Pottery Barn catalog I found underneath the cushion currently smothering my phone. A few minutes later, Sandy walked through the living room, dressed to the nines. She paused when a distant chime sounded from my . . . posterior. I could see her debate whether or not to ask me about it, but she said nothing and turned to do her customary once over in the foyer mirror. I sat for another minute, debating whether or not someone would be so fast to text back a heartless, “No, thanks,” and then my bum chimed again. Unable to withstand the suspense, I jumped up and tore the cushion off. This definitely had Sandy’s attention now.
I took one look at the screen and grabbed my handbag on the way to the door.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
“To the store. Apparently, I’m cooking dinner tomorrow!”
Chapter 13
I FUSSED WITH THE PLACE settings on the table in the dining nook next to the kitchen. Glass tumblers flanked simple white plates, each place setting framed in a neutral-toned woven placemat. The only touches of color were the green cotton napkins that reflected the accents in the living room. Instead of a centerpiece, I set out a collection of seasonings and sauces for Sandy and Ben to choose from.
Sandy walked in and looked over the table. “It’s cute,” she said. “But it’s a bad idea for me to be here for dinner.”
“Why? It’ll be fun.”
“Like Rob Whitaker fun?” she asked. I flinched at the justified accusation in her tone. I had invited Rob to dinner last year for a second and last date after he spent the meal alternately ogling Sandy and calling her to repentance. Sandy didn’t go to church on Sundays, but she lived the same values I did, so his lecture was not only inappropriate as a dinner guest, but it was also completely misplaced.
“Rob is the moron gold standard. Ben’s totally different. You have to eat with us. I don’t want this to look romantic or anything.”
“Yes, it would clearly be wrong to send him any signals that you like him. Since you like him and all,” she said.
“I’m trying to keep it light,” I said. “Look at this table. It says I put some effort into it, it says I can cook and entertain, and it says there are three places settings, not two, so clearly we’re taking it slow.”
“It says that loudly,” she agreed.
I wasn’t going to change my mind. I had to balance seeing Ben three out of the last four days, and I wanted the classic roommate buffer. Besides, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of entertaining any guy alone in my condo. I knew that was the real reason Sandy agreed to stay for dinner. She might find my rules outdated, but she had my back.
I adjusted one of the placemats again. Sandy grinned. “I want it to be perfect,” I said.
“Sounds like you’re keeping it light, all right.”
When I ignored her, she wandered off toward her room while I fluffed a napkin and gave the hot sauce bottle a half turn in the middle of the table. The doorbell rang and sent my nerves twitching. This amounted to one more date than I’d given anyone in almost two years. The two-date rule had been working fine. I had suffered from
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