Page 91 of Bridesmaid Undercover
“I’m accepting the fact that maybe your wrist wasn’t as gentle as I assumed.” I smile at him and then type away on my phone. “What would you like to drink?”
“Water is fine,” he says.
“And any chips?”
He scratches his cheek. “You know, I’m not opposed to sea salt and vinegar.”
“Really?” I ask, tearing my eyes from my phone to look at him.
“Oh shit, please don’t tell me you’re one of those people who can’t stand sea salt and vinegar.”
“I’m not,” I say as I lean forward, hand on the table. “I’m a lover of the SSV.”
“Are you really?” he asks while I slowly nod, which makes him laugh. “Well, fuck, Plum. Look at us having the same good taste.”
“Some might say great taste,” I reply before finishing up the order. When I’m done, I open up my Spotify app and say, “Okay, next task, mood music.”
“Mood music?” he asks as he crosses his arms. “What kind of mood music are you talking about?”
“Pom-pom making music,” I say and scan through my playlist. “Hmm, what are your thoughts on Missy Elliot?”
“Love her,” he answers. “Perhaps, possibly distracting because I might be tempted to stand on this table and pelvic thrust my way through ‘Get Your Freak On.’”
“Although that’s something I’d love to witness, good point. Far too catchy to be making delicate pom-pom bouquets.” I scan some more. “How do you feel about some show tunes?”
“Uh, the only show tune I probably know is ‘Greased Lightnin’,and I don’t think we want to play that on repeat.”
“That would be a no,” I reply. “Okay…are we in the mood for Christmas music?”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Just checking you haven’t,” I say. “You passed the test. Good job.” I flip through more playlists and then land on one that I’m truly curious about. “What about Whitney Houston?”
“You mean the greatest voice to ever grace the planet?”
“Pardon me?” I ask, blinking a few times. “Did you just make that bold statement?”
“Do you not agree?” he asks, unfolding his arms.
“Uh, I vehemently agree. I just wasn’t expecting you to say such a thing. To make such a claim.”
“Well, believe it, Plum. Whitney was God’s gift to our ears.”
“I guess we found our playlist then,” I say as I connect to the store’s Bluetooth speakers. “Get ready to go on a journey of incomparable timbre and vibrato.”
“Don’t need to prepare me, I know exactly what kind of journey we’re about to embark on.”
The first few notes of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” plays through the speakers, not too loud where we can still hear each other, but the perfect volume to fill the silence.
“And there she is,” Hardy whispers with a sigh.
“One of my favorite songs,” I say. “When I was in second grade, I danced to this in a talent show with a boy named Trent. It was considered a real banger routine.”
“Was it now?” he asks. “Care to show me some moves?”
“I don’t think we’re there yet in our working relationship.”
“Oh, we’re there,” he says leaning forward. He nods at me. “Go ahead, show me one move.”
