since I live a few blocks away (and my ankle feels much better after a night of icing it) I walk. The restaurant is one that Don and I have been to a few times for special occasions, like our birthdays and the days on which particularly exciting Star Wars news is announced (we would never go on an actual premiere day, because Don spends those days in the theatre eating an absurd amount of popcorn). It’s nice, with white tablecloths and piped-in, soft instrumental music and a lot of dramatic-looking busts that I assume are Italian, but I wouldn’t know. It all comes together to create an ambiance that is decidedly not McDonald’s.
Carter stands up when I approach our table, and after an awkward shuffle, he pulls me into a hug. I like the way he feels—solid, strong, dependable.
“You’re like an oak tree,” I say into his shoulder.
He pulls back and looks at me. “Thank you?”
“It’s a compliment,” I say as we sit down. “Trust me.”
We’ve seen each other on set today, so he knows my ankle is mostly better, but he asks about it anyway. We order some wine and soon I’m pleasantly buzzed enough to wholeheartedly dig into the bread basket. As I chow down on the delicious rosemary focaccia, Carter tells me about weekends spent on the lake, how his divorce turned him into a better dad, and how he got started in film. Throughout our meal, he asks me all sorts of questions, about my parents and Uncle Don and my favorite movies.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good conversation. I mean, it’s a great one. He’s polite and he’s interested in me and not once has he mentioned dumpster bagels. But it’s hard for me to concentrate when all I’m thinking about is kissing him and how that will make everything fall into place.
“Um . . . Annie?”
I blink a few times. Carter stares at me, concern evident in his furrowed brow. His eyes search my face, and I realize I’ve been staring off into space as I daydreamed about our hypothetical kiss.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine!” I say. “I’m good. Great. Awesome. Perfect.”
“Well.” He laughs. “Who could argue with that?”
I don’t want to waste any more time. Less useless chitchat, more making out; that’s my motto. I survey the restaurant, taking in the Italian busts and the waiters milling about. No, this is not the place for a mind-blowing, destiny-deciding kiss.
I toss my napkin onto the table. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
Carter raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I do have to pay first.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Right.”
I almost bounce in my seat as we wait for our server to return Carter’s credit card. I’m like a child on Christmas morning, except that I’m a grown woman and now my present is a hot dude. When it’s finally time to leave, Carter’s hand on my back lightly guides me around the tables full of couples on dates and families celebrating who knows what. His hand transmits warmth and strength, but it doesn’t produce even the tiniest of tingles. Yet.
I wait until we’re on the sidewalk, the glow from the restaurant windows illuminating Carter’s face. “I had a nice time tonight,” he starts to say, but I don’t let him finish his sentence before I launch myself at him.
I close my eyes and mentally prepare myself for the moment that will decide my future; the moment that, years from now when I’m speaking to Carter’s son and the many children we’ve had since then, I’ll say, “And that’s how I knew your father was the one . . . it was right there, in front of a tiny Italian restaurant while cold rain misted from the sky, that I kissed him and knew we were meant to be.”
But my daydream ends when I realize I’m not kissing Carter’s lips at all; I’m kissing his cheek, because he turned his head at the last minute.
“Annie,” he says, putting his hands on my shoulders and pushing me gently away.
“Whoa,” I say. “Did I—did I misread something? I thought you wanted to kiss me. I thought that’s what was going on.”
“I do want to kiss you.”
“Oh no,” I say, placing a hand over my heart. “Am I . . . Barry?”
Carter laughs. “You’re not Barry.”
I press my hands to my hot cheeks, trying to cool them down. “I’m a total Barry. You don’t even want to be here tonight, do you?”