Page 40 of First-Time Caller
“What? Why?”
“Because now I’m firmly invested in knowing the answer. We can’t move forward until I do.”
She rubs her lips together. Crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. She leans forward and mumbles something into the microphone. I don’t catch any of it, and I know our listeners haven’t either.
“What was that?”
She looks over at me, resigned. “Alan Alda.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “What?”
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
I can’t stop laughing. Both at her answer and at the defiant look on her face. “How old is he? Like eighty?”
“He’s eighty-eight and I’m not crushing on him now, obviously.” She pauses. “Nineteen seventy-four Alan Alda. Hawkeye Pierce was a babe.”
“FromM*A*S*H? The old TV show about the Korean War?”
“Reruns are almost constantly on TV,” she defends herself sullenly.
I laugh some more. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.
Lucie tries to glare at me, but a smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. “Are you done yet?”
“No. I’ll never be done with this.” I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip. Another rogue chuckle rumbles out of me. “So I think it’s fair to say you’re attracted to a sense of humor.” I wait a beat. “And geriatric men in military uniforms.”
WEDNESDAY NIGHT
“What do you want to talk about tonight?”
“Not celebrity crushes, that’s for sure.”
“How about ideal date locations?”
She blinks at me, unamused. “Aiden.” She sighs.
“What?”
“I thought I expressed that I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“And I thought I expressed that I’m here to help you figure it out. How are you going to find your dream date if you have no idea what you want to do with them, hmm?”
Lucie’s eyes narrow. Her legs are tucked beneath her on her chair and she’s got both hands curled around her mug of coffee. My coffee, which she managed to find again despite its new hiding place. Steam drifts in tendrils around her face, her hair draped loosely around her shoulders.
“It doesn’t matter,” she grumbles.
A smile tugs at my mouth. “This again.”
“No. I’m not playing coy,” she says. “It shouldn’t matter what we’re doing, should it? I’m not picky about where we go or what we do, I just want to enjoy the time I’m spending with someone.”
I stare at her. She stares back.
“So . . . the Canton Waterfront Park?”
“I like taking walks.”
“It’s February.”
