“Sure. This is wild. I don’t think we’ve ever met…” Devin’s voice trails off as he studies my face. Shaking his head, he looks away. “It’s a lot to process, but maybe there’s something to it. How about we put our heads together over drinks and see if we can solve this mystery? Say, Friday?”
My mind goes blank. “Ahhhh—”
“Friday. She’ll be there,” Brie chimes in.
I swallow thickly. “It’s a date. I mean—not a date,” I hastily add when Devin blinks. “It’ll be more like… an interview. A get-to-know-you sort of thing.” Heat pools in my cheeks and I want to dive under the bar to hide. Why am I so awkward?
Devin scratches his nose. “So, we’ll sit down. Have a couple drinks. Talk. Exchange life stories. See what we have in common or who we both might know besides Marcus who can explain this situation. That kind of thing.”
“Right.”
“Okay.” His tongue sneaks out to wet his lower lip and sparks dance in my belly. Snagging a pen from behind the bar, Devin jots his phone number on a napkin and hands it to me. Clicking the pen closed, he peers at me from underneath a lock of dark hair that’s fallen across his forehead. “See you then.”
Behind me, someone groans, and I spot Perry staring at the floor shaking his head. My gut tightens. I’ve been through so much in the last year, but to have my dream man be… well, real? And to have a chance to figure out why he’s been in my head since the accident? To turn that opportunity down would be like saying no to a giant handout from the universe. If I have any hope of living my best life again, I need to figure out what happened in the imaginary one—Perry’s disapproval be damned.
Brie snatches the napkin from Devin and tucks it into my bag, along with my sketchbook. “Well, we should get going. Early day tomorrow. Right, Cass?”
“Right. It was good seeing—er, meeting you.”
Chuckling, Devin draws his thumb across his lower lip. “Same. See you Friday, Cass.”
The sound of my name on his lips nearly buckles my knees again, and I only manage to make it to the door with Brie steering me by the shoulders like she’s pushing a boulder up a hill.
I’m having drinks with Devin. Except this time, it’s real.
How I’ve made it to Friday without dissolving into a puddle of nerves is a mystery to me.
I tap my toe under my desk and force myself not to look at the time on my computer. Still, the tiny numbers in the corner are visible whether I like it or not, so I can’t help but absorb them in my peripheral vision.
It’s after three o’clock. Only four more hours until drinks with Devin.
At least, I assume we’re still having drinks tonight. I texted him on Tuesday with a time and place for us to meet on Friday. Within ten minutes, he’d texted me back. Junction, 7pm. Got it. Looking forward to getting to know you, mystery girl.
And then… nothing.
No follow-ups. No how’s your week going? Or, what are you up to today? Radio silence.
I can’t exactly blame him; I haven’t texted him either. But only because I’m not sure I can trust myself to engage in normal, casual chitchat. Even though we only met a few days ago, part of my brain still thinks we’re in a relationship, which is just plain weird. The reality is that we’ve never dated. He might look like Dream Devin, but who’s to say Real Devin isn’t completely different?
The only way to know for sure is to get to know him. Tonight’s my chance to understand who he is and why my brain has manufactured memories of us together—a chance I never thought I’d get. I can’t screw it up.
My phone’s dark screen taunts me from beside my keyboard. Flipping it facedown, I force my attention back to the multiple Westlaw tabs full of research and the memorandum I’ve been drafting that are crowding my double monitors. The words seem to blur together, and I drag my knuckles up the bridge of my nose to my forehead in an effort to dispel the dull headache that’s taken up permanent residence behind my eyes.
I was lucky enough to earn an assignment this summer in the litigation practice group—my top choice—but I forgot how exhausting it is to sit for ten to twelve hours a day, analyzing dense legal documents. Shaking my head, I take a long gulp of water from my Hydro Flask and refocus on the screen.
Someone coughs—a dainty sound that somehow manages to slice through my noise-canceling earbuds. Closing my eyes briefly in a bid for patience, I pluck out an earbud and rotate in my seat, even though I already know the source.