“As I said, you’re always talking about her,” Luna signs.
“Good luck with your just a date,” Tempest adds, injecting sarcasm into her fingers.
It’s something sisters are particularly good at.
11
Teagan
This is what going back to friendship looks like after a night of toe-curling, bone-rattling sex.
It looks like text messages to plan our charity auction smile-for-the-camera date.
As I exit the subway by The Dating Pool offices on the way to work later that week, my phone buzzes.
I wish I didn’t feel a little flip in my belly when I see Ransom’s name.
But I do feel it, that same zing and zip that raced through me the other morning at his place. The wish for more. A more that won’t happen, so I slip into my good-time-gal persona, the one I live in nearly every second, and I read his note.
* * *
Ransom: Since a carriage ride is out, I think we should try metal-detecting on the Jersey shore for our big date.
* * *
Teagan: Yes, that’s what I paid top dollar for. Let’s hunt for pennies and tin.
* * *
Ransom: Fine, we’ll eat Mentos and pour Diet Coke in our mouths and be human fountains. And we will do it in Times Square.
* * *
Teagan: Wow. Have you been reading my diary? Just dying to do a mouth fountain. You really know how to show a girl a good time.
* * *
Ransom: Ahem. I believe you had a good time.
* * *
Teagan: Correction. I had three good times.
* * *
Ransom: *thumps chest*
* * *
Teagan: As you should. Back to dates though, we could go rope climbing.
* * *
Ransom: We could do other things with ropes . . .
* * *
Teagan: Gee, it feels like your brain is descending into dirty territory.
* * *
Ransom: Admittedly, it spends a lot of time there. But I’ll behave. I say we go to the planetarium, watch a sunset, drink milkshakes, or go to the Museum of Natural History.
* * *
Teagan: That. All of that. It sounds perfect.
* * *
Ransom: Whoa. You have a big date appetite.
* * *
Teagan: Don’t be making fun of my appetite. You just dangled a ton of good stuff in front of me. I’m going to eat it all.
* * *
Ransom: That’s what she said.
* * *
Teagan: *groans*
* * *
Ransom: You kind of walked into it.
* * *
Teagan: And now I must walk into work. After I pop into a bakery and get treats for the editors. It’s snack time.
* * *
Ransom: Don’t forget, they like popcorn too. Just saying.
* * *
I laugh at the way he busts me once more for my attempted Sunday morning exodus.
* * *
Teagan: They love it.
When I head into The Dating Pool offices, I swing my gaze to Bryn’s once-upon-a-time office. She left The Dating Pool more than a year ago, but I still miss her sometimes. Working with your best friend can be terrible or wonderful. With Bryn, it was a blast, and I long for the hallway run-ins and impromptu ladies’ room conferences we used to have.
Fortunately, I love the editors and writers who are still here, so when it’s time for the weekly meeting, I bring in the supplies.
“Snack time at the zoo,” I declare as I set a plate of cookies on the conference table, right next to a red bowl of popcorn with Please, sir, I want some more printed on the inside bottom of the bowl—a gift for me from Bryn when she left.
A little piece of her at the editorial meetings.
“Thank God. I’m ravenous,” says Matthew, the site’s main editor, as he grabs a cookie and feasts on it. Matthew took over the content when Bryn left.
The others devour the treats as we discuss articles, posts, and columns for the site.
Rosario wiggles her hand. “I have a hella hot idea. There’s an article, or a series, really, that I’ve been dying to do.”
“Tell us what’s on your mind,” Matthew says, tapping on his iPad, taking notes.
“We should do a piece on married couples. Dates to keep the spark alive. That’s one of our most searched for terms—fun dates for married couples.”
My social media ears prick. “I love that. It’s very shareable and very photographable too. Which is important.”
“But we would need a married writer to do it,” Matthew points out, screwing up his lips like he’s deep in thought. “We’d need to farm it out, since none of us are hitched yet.”
A buzzer beeps in my head. I know who would be perfect. “What about Summer and Oliver Harris? She’s a friend of mine, and she and her husband are always trying to go on fun dates. She submitted a letter a couple of years ago for a contest on letters to your ex, so I don’t know if that’s an issue or a conflict of interest.”
“I remember that letter. It was fantastic.” Matthew taps away on his laptop, humming, then exhaling. “We never ran her piece, since there were some issues with her engagement at the time, but now that she’s actually married to him after all—yay, happy endings—it wouldn’t be a problem. Would she do it? She was a captivating writer.”
