The Awkward Path To Getting Lucky. Summer Heacock
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you both!” I reach down into the case and pull up another muffin, carefully placing it in a bag. Handing it across the counter to her, I say, “Really, that sounds awesome. I hope you both have a great time!”
Shannon comes over, puts her hand on my shoulder, and in her most friendly-sounding tone, says, “Hey, Pumpkin, can you go trade places with Butter and finish up those cookies for the next round of rush? And have her bring up another tray of the coconut cuppies?”
I smile benevolently at her. “Absolutely.” I turn to Alice and keep the look alive. “It was so nice to see you again,” I say, moving out of Shannon’s way. “Have a great time on your date!”
I scurry into the back room and relay the cupcake message to Butter, who rushes out with a tray in hand.
Flopping down on the stool at my station, I stare off into the void for a moment. Five days. It’s been less than five days. How in the damn hell did he find someone to go out with in less than five days?
“Are you okay?” Liz asks, cutting another batch of scone dough. “You look a little pale.”
I look up and feel a blank expression plastered on my face. In the background, the sounds of a busy morning rush register in the one part of my brain that’s not sitting here repeating the Five days? mantra.
“I’m fine!” I say, willing it to be true. I grab my mug and quickly dump the now-cold coffee in the sink, reaching over and filling it again with the pot we keep back by our stations. “I just needed another little jolt to keep me conscious.”
She takes this as a suitable response and gets back to her scones, now loading them on a sheet tray for baking.
Shannon sticks her head back through the door. “All right?” she asks me as I chug coffee that’s only half a degree below molten lava in temperature.
Liz looks up at me again, suspicious now.
“Super!” I say, raising my mug. “Just super!”
I take another sip and head back out into the front room. The line isn’t any shorter.
“You can take some time,” Shannon whispers beside me. “Seriously, I’ve got it under control up here.”
I shake my head. “I’m good, really.”
And I have to mean that. This was my idea. I told him to go date other people. I’m not sure what I initially thought that would entail, but I can’t fault him for doing the exact thing I insisted he do.
Admittedly I didn’t assume he’d make progress this soon. He’s a pretty quiet dude, and I don’t think I pictured him out there getting his mack on, bringing home a caravan of eligible concubines.
Then I remember that Alice said she asked him out. Was Alice standing around lusting after my boyfriend all these years?
While that thought should probably make me want to punch Alice in the face, all I can focus on is—Why haven’t I been lusting after him for years?
It took Alice five days to ask him out. It’s taken me nearly two years even to attempt to have sex with him again.
Wait. She said when he told her about us splitting up last week. That means she probably asked him on Thursday or Friday.
Less than forty-eight hours and he found a date.
My cheeks feel numb.
“Good morning,” a voice says in front of me.
I look up. It’s Ben Cleary, holding a to-go cup and wearing a friendly smile.
The last time I saw Ben, he was splattered with coffee, red in the face from laughing to tears, and being a really good sport about an absurdly awkward situation.
His teeth are very white. But not, like, too white. I hate when they’re too white.
I’m not sure why it hits me, really. Maybe it’s just the reaction to hearing about Ryan moving on in the world. Maybe it’s because I’ve known Ben for so many months as a customer. Maybe it’s because I accidentally sexually objectified his admittedly impressive jawline the other day. Maybe it’s because he should have looked a little pitiful all splattered with coffee, but he managed to appear endearing.
Whatever the reason, I find myself struck with the urge to offer Ben Cleary my last dumpling.
I mentally jump away from the thought as if it’s physically burned me. I can’t ask Ben out. I shouldn’t even be thinking about asking someone out.
Just because Ryan is going out with someone, maybe several someones, doesn’t mean I should. The whole point of this is to fight my way back into the relationship I let myself be too busy to tend.
But if that’s the point, maybe Shannon and Butter are right. Maybe I really do need to know for damn diggity sure that my equipment works properly before I go back to Ryan.
How’s it going to look on our anniversary—after I’ve assured him I’ll fix all the ills—if it’s another false start?
I don’t think I could handle that. I honestly think it would break my brain or my soul or what little shred of dignity I’ve got left.
I can’t fail. I refuse to.
“You know,” I say, sounding a thousand times more confident than I feel, “I still feel really bad about the ambush yesterday.” I tilt my head back toward the kitchen of chicken entendre and rubber penises. “I was wondering if I could take you out for a drink to make it up to you?”
The words are out of my mouth before I’ve had time to properly consider them, and I have to pinch my wrist underneath the counter to keep from exploding with hysterical, nervous laughter.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?” He looks down at his shirt and pulls on his tie. “Um, that’s not necessary.”
Ouch. Wow. I’m on a fucking roll. I force a smile anyway. “At the very least, this week’s order is on the house.”
“No, wait! I mean, I’d love to go for a drink with you. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to out of responsibility.”
“What?”
He frowns at me and shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. What?”
I press my forefinger into the squishy spot between my eyebrows and wiggle it around for a second. “Dropping the subtleties, I was trying to casually ask you out for a drink using the pretense of yesterday’s embarrassing coffee and sex toy kerfuffle. But really I’m just asking you out. In case that isn’t translating.”
He stares at me and pulls on his tie again. “I’m...accepting?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Neat. Ernesto’s, tonight, say sevenish?”
“Okay.”
“Awesome.”
I’m only slightly aware of the throng of people standing around the two of us. Butter is statue-still at the register, holding someone’s twenty over the cash tray. Shannon is standing beside me, grinning as she stuffs some cookies into a bag.
The older man she’s prepping that bag for points at Ben and me and announces with a grin, “I’ll take one of what he’s getting.”
Ben turns a bit pink and scoots down toward the register. I arch an eyebrow and smile at the old man. “Sorry, sir. We just sold out.”
I get to Ernesto’s a little early, and I’m sitting at the bar, stomach flopping, ignoring how bizarre this entire situation of mine is by sketching tiny Coopertown Ravens on a bar napkin, when Ben comes walking in. I set my pen down on the bar top and smile. “Glad