Page 40 of I Hope This Finds You Well

His stare lingers. I let it.

“Fine.” He sighs. “I’ll give you an answer, but only if we never speak of it again.”

“Deal,” I agree, not even bothering to hide my delight.

He pulls a pen from his shirt pocket and grabs a napkin from the dispenser on the table. “I will write my opening choice below. But then you must destroy it.”

“I never noticed you carry a pen.”

“A gift from my grandma that’s surprisingly useful.”

I wait patiently as he scribbles something onto the napkin and then pushes it toward me like we’re making an illegitimate deal. I flip the napkin, look at him, look back down, and shake my head in wordless disappointment.

He splays his hands defensively. “What? Robin Winters is a legitimate choice.”

I stare evenly. “There are so many better options. He’s so unnoticeable. How can he be your choice?”

“Come on. He’s perfect. He’s already sent three reply-alls to the office-wide emails that are just ‘Thanks.’ You don’t need to acknowledge every email. He stares me down when I walk by. And worst of all, he sits on the can and reads a newspaper for a whole hour with his pants down, and the stall door is open a bit like it’s his personal bathroom. He just sits there, and we all have to see it.”

My jaw goes slack. “Brilliant.”

Cliff winces. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”

“I loved everything about what just happened.” I reach across the table, then suddenly catch myself—was I going to touch his hand? That would be very weird. I turn the motion into grabbing the napkin to look at the name again. “I think that we can be friends after all.”

“This is a terrible way to start a friendship,” Cliff moans.

“Order sixty-four,” the cashier calls.

He instantly brightens. “Okay, no more murder talk in front of the innocent milkshakes.”

He shifts out of the booth, leaving me to wonder how the hell my plan to convince Cliff I’m normal led us there. But he was smiling, and I can feel the corners of my own lips pushing up too.

He returns holding two glasses of Tiger-Tastic ice-cream shakes. Large scoops of creamy orange ice cream peek from the tops of the cool metal cups, with whipped cream surrounding all the orange in fluffy bursts.

He waits and watches as I take my first sip. And shit, I have to look at the ceiling, because this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

“What the hell is this? It’s amazing.”

He claps his hand against the table. “It’s good, right?”

“It’s the sweet nectar that has just renewed my every hope and dream. I feel like I just got my billion-dollar colleague-offing payout.”

He gives me the most mischievous grin, and oh, I like this side of him. “See, you just had to trust me.”

And my core freezes—not just from the shake. Trust needs to be two ways for it to work. I take another sip, and when I look up, Cliff’s staring at me with a curl in his lips. “What?”

“I realized what it is about you. I almost never know what you’re going to say—a surprisingly rare trait.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.” I lower my chin.

“It is.” His stare deepens and his elbows slip a millimeter closer to me on the table. “Makes life so much more interesting. I’d love for you to accompany me to the DMV or something normally unbearable just to Jolene it up.”

This makes me laugh for real. “Cliff, I’m the least exciting person I know, but thanks, mate.” I bite my straw.

He taps his fingers on the table. “I can’t see how that’s true.”

“See it,” I huff.