opened, but my belief is that a bagel with only one bite taken out of it is basically brand new.”
I nod slowly, my eyes darting toward Drew. He’s sitting at a table in the corner by the bathroom, and he’s facing me. And staring right at me, that infuriating smirk on his face.
“Could you hold on a moment, Barry?” I ask. “I have to run to the restroom.”
I stomp across the coffee shop, floorboards squeaking under my feet, and stand next to Drew’s table. “What are you doing here?” I whisper-shout.
“You’re on a date!” he says, his mouth open in amazement like he’s a small child seeing a unicorn. He points at my shoes. “Those are date shoes. I can tell.”
“These are just small boots and—you know what? Stop making fun of me. It’s not like it’s so shocking that someone would want to go on a date with me.”
His brow furrows. “Why do you think I’m making fun of you?”
I cross my arms. “Ah, the old ‘answer a question with a question.’ Classic Danforth. So infuriating.”
Drew peers around me to look at Barry, who’s facing away from us. “Why is he wet?”
“He’s a runner, okay?” I say. “He’s very healthy. It’s super hot.”
My eyes snag on Drew’s cup, maybe because I’m wishing my date also believed in hot liquids. Drew points at it. “Black coffee. I watched the movie . . . You’ve Got Mail. Gotta say, I agree with Tom Hanks’s assessment of fancy coffee drinks. What did your date order, something complicated?”
“He doesn’t like hot liquids,” I mutter.
Drew raises his eyebrows. “No tea?”
“Presumably not.”
“Hot chocolate? A hot toddy? Mulled wine?”
I stare at him, my face as blank as I can make it.
“What about soup?” Drew asks. “Does this man also not eat soup?”
“You know what?” I ask, incensed. “You shouldn’t even be here. You should be somewhere, like, publicly making out with a Victoria’s Secret model.”
“I did that one time,” Drew says.
“Boo-hoo, Leonardo DiCaprio.” I sneer. “The world isn’t a playground for all of us, okay? Some of us are looking for real love, and who knows, maybe I’ll find it with Barry.”
Both of us turn to look at Barry, who’s clipping his nails at the table.
“Did he bring nail clippers from home?” I whisper with disgust.
“I’m sure he’s great,” Drew says with a smile, crossing his arms in front of him on the table. “But here’s my issue with Sleepless in Seattle—”
“You watched all three of them?” I ask, almost speechless.
“I haven’t started When Harry Met Sally . . . yet,” he says. “But listen. How does Tom Hanks afford to live on that houseboat? That thing is huge. It’s gotta be expensive, and he’s a single dad.”
“He’s an architect,” I say.
“And why are there so many architects in romantic comedies?” Drew asks, clearly working up to something. “Are there even that many architects in the world? It’s a hard job, right? Am I supposed to believe that—”
“That’s not the point, okay?” I say, slamming myself down in the chair across from him. “It doesn’t matter how someone in a romantic comedy affords their absurdly nice house, or whether or not their profession makes sense, or if technically they’re sort of stalking someone they heard on a call-in radio show. What matters is that they have hope. Sure, they find love, but it’s not even about love. It’s the hope that you deserve happiness, and that you won’t be sad forever, and that things will get better. It’s hope that life doesn’t always have to be a miserable slog, that you can find someone to love who understands you and accepts you just as you are.”
I stop and take a breath.
Drew blinks, then leans back in his seat. “I’m sorry. I was being a dick.”
After all that, his frank statement shocks me, and now it’s my turn to apologize. “Wait, I’m sorry, you didn’t ask for that weird rant about—”
He waves a hand at me. “Listen. Have a good time with Barry, okay? I’ll give When Harry Met Sally . . . a shot.”
He grabs his coffee, stands up, and meets my eyes for a second before he says, “You look nice tonight, by the way.”
Then he walks out of the shop, giving Nick a wave but not looking back. I sit there in shocked silence.
“That was a really nice speech, Annie. Impassioned.”
I turn to see Gary leaning back in his seat.
“Thanks,” I say. “I should probably get back to my date.”