“I’m not seeing anything below your chin.”
“Ugh,” I mutter, then walk back to my table. I slide into the seat and force a smile onto my face. “Sorry about that.”
Carter furrows his brow, opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s unsure what to say, then finally settles on, “Is it always like that for you in here?”
“What do you mean?” I ask. I go to take a sip, then realize that in all the hubbub, I didn’t even get another coffee.
He gestures vaguely toward the counter. “You know. Various men fighting for your affections.”
“Oh.” I chuckle. “Barry. He’s, uh . . . he’s not exactly a threat. I mean, he’s sweet, but . . . you know what? He’s not even sweet. I went on one bad date with him.”
“Not just Barry, though.” Carter meets my eyes, then says casually, “Mr. Movie Star’s got a thing for you.”
My heart speeds up of its own accord. Slow your roll, heart. “What?”
He nods toward Drew’s table in the corner. “The man’s hitting on you, Annie.”
I shake my head and sputter, “He’s not . . . he’s . . . he’s making fun of me and being kind of a jerk, but he’s not hitting on me.”
Carter squints. “I think that might be his own weird way of hitting on you?”
I keep shaking my head, as if that will make everything he said go away. Against my better judgment, I turn to look at Drew, who’s sitting at his corner table and reading a newspaper—a newspaper, instead of reading his news on his phone like every other human being in the world. The edges of his lips slightly crook up at the edges, leading me to believe that he’s all too aware I’m watching him.
“No,” I say, turning back around to face Carter. “Not possible.”
“This is not a question I thought I’d have to ask, but since I’ve been totally honest with you so far, I’m gonna go ahead and ask it.” Carter leans forward. “Do you and the star of our movie, Drew Danforth, have something going on?”
I smile. “No. I can emphatically say that we do not. We went to McDonald’s once because Tommy made us, and that’s the extent of it. I am a hundred percent mentally, emotionally, and physically present here on this coffee date with you.”
Carter smiles. “Good. Because I’m having a good time, despite the fact that multiple men have apparently challenged me for your affections.”
“Most of the time it’s not like that for me. Most of the time I’m watching Netflix at home in my pajamas.” I cringe. “I didn’t mean to make myself sound pathetic.”
Carter laughs that deep, throaty laugh again, the one that makes me feel like I’m curled up in front of a fire. “Trust me, nothing you say could make you sound pathetic to me.”
I smile. “I’m having a good time, too, by the way.”
And I mean it when I say it, and I don’t even spend the rest of the night aware of Drew Danforth in the corner behind me, reading the paper with that infuriating smile on those infuriating lips.
* * *
• • •
I’m not a huge texter. Sometimes Uncle Don and I text each other reminders of what to pick up at the grocery store, or Chloe texts me about weird things Nick says, or one of my friends from college reminds me about an inside joke that feels a million years away now. But texting, with its unromantic immediacy, has never been my preferred form of communication.
So that’s why I’m extra surprised when I get a text from an unknown number, and it isn’t a reminder about a sale at Loft or a coupon for a pizza or yet another overdue book notice from the library. It’s also not Carter, although of course he sent me a considerate follow-up text after our date to make sure I got home okay and let me know he had a good time. It’s from a reporter at Hollywood Gossip.
Hi, this is Steve at Hollywood Gossip. Could you comment on your recent sightings with Drew Danforth? Thanks
It’s the emoji that really puts it over the edge. What is it about strange men that they think they need to add emojis to their texts? I don’t know this man; I don’t know how to interpret his emoji usage! I’ve never talked to him, and he’s assuming I’m going to send him personal details because he included a smiley face?
Another text