Page 36 of The Write Place

“So what if I was?”

His smile spreads slowly until it is wide and easy and genuine across his face. The sight of his dimples makes my stomach start doing flips. I force myself to breathe normally and not look away.

“Let me take you out this weekend,” he commands softly.

I’m sitting there, looking at him, but it’s more like I’m looking at this boundary in front of me that I’ve worked so hard to build over the almost three years since Ellie died. The line between personal and professional became thick and unbreakable after the accident because I needed a way to compartmentalize my life in order to push through each day. Now, though, I can see Daniel clearly on the other side of that line, and he is not only a part of this place for a while, but he has never made me feel silly or guilty for prioritizing it. He has me wondering if maybe, with him, I can safely blur the line a little.

He’s still smiling as he waits for me to respond, though his face has softened a little. He’s not impatient or irritated. He doesn’t even seem all that worried that I’ve been regarding him, almost lost in my thoughts. I clear my throat, bringing myself back.

“Jenny and I are going to a pumpkin patch tomorrow. Ben is coming, too, since she appears to be stringing him along again.” I scrunch up my nose a little.

He smirks at that. “What do you mean?”

“They have been kind of circling around each other for a while now, off and on. They haven’t ever dated, but Ben has tried and Jenny…” I trail off, not wanting to share too much of Jenny’s business.

“Jenny doesn’t seem the type to settle down.” He tries to fill in my blank.

I tip my head back and forth in a maybe-maybe-not motion. When he frowns in disbelief, I lean back and cross my arms. “She would have, probably. She was with a guy all the way through high school and college and into our first couple of years here, but it didn’t work out. When Ben asked her out, it was too soon, and then Ellie died and…” I trail off, suddenly realizing I’ve gotten way more personal than I meant to. I press my lips together.

He must sense that I overshared, because he changes the direction of the conversation. “You’re all going to this pumpkin patch together this weekend?”

“Yeah. We go every fall. Do you want to come?” My tone is more hopeful than I mean it to be, and I realize just how much I would love to share this wholesome and very Midwest tradition with him.

“Do I need to wear flannel?” he asks, joking but also frowning slightly.

I laugh a little nervously, eyeing his outfit. “No, but I’d suggest shoes that cost less than $200.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know if I can do that, but lucky for you, I can afford new shoes if mine are ruined.”

I shake my head, incredulous. “Unreal. So, that’s a yes?”

His smile is wide and genuine again, and his eyes sparkle. “That’s definitely a yes.”

The next morning, I wake up early. The fall sunlight is bright through the cracks in the curtains. I feel cheerful, and I let myself admit that I’m excited to spend the day with Daniel outside of school.

I dress in a white t-shirt and jeans, pulling on black lace-up boots that come a few inches above my ankle. I cuff my jeans and let them roll over the tops of the boots. I pull on a brown-and-black checked flannel shirt, just to mess with Daniel, and add a slouchy black hat, letting my red hair fall out beneath it.

Just as I’ve finished my coffee and bagel, my doorbell buzzes. Jenny would let herself in, and she’s picking up Ben on her way, so it must be Daniel. My heart flutters a little in anticipation as I pull open the door.

He’s standing on my porch in a bright blue Chicago Cubs hoodie and dark-wash jeans that are clearly still ridiculously expensive. His hoodie looks brand new. To his credit, he is wearing blue-and-white sneakers, though those look like they’ve never been worn as well.

“You would be a Cubs fan,” I say with mock disdain. I’m not a huge baseball fan, but if I had to pick a team, it wouldn’t be the Cubs.

He looks confused for a second, then down at his hoodie, where I’ve directed my attention. He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m not a huge football fan, honestly.” He says it without an ounce of comedy, which makes me cackle.

“Baseball,” I say, and he doesn’t move. “The Cubs are a baseball team. The Bears are the football team,” I clarify.

He shrugs again. “Well, that’s entirely too confusing.” He’s still not joking.

My eyes fall to his shoes again, then back to his hoodie. “Please tell me you didn’t go out yesterday to buy this hoodie because it matches your shoes.”

At this, he does seem a little self-conscious, and I laugh again. “Daniel Frilly Evans,” I mutter, shaking my head.

He purses his lips and raises an eyebrow. “Mackenzie Spirit-Shoes Milcrest,” he murmurs in retaliation, coming inside. He stands by the doorway, hands in the pocket of his hoodie, as I move to the kitchen. I grab a second mug from my cabinet and pour another cup of coffee.

“Can you drink black coffee, or do you need a pound of sugar and three different kinds of cream?” I call from the kitchen. He finally crosses the living room and perches himself on the barstool at the kitchen counter. I see how stiff his shoulders are and raise an eyebrow. “I don’t bite, you know.”

He shakes his head as if to clear it and relaxes a little. “I take it with a little milk if you have any.”