Josh plates the last of the desserts, hands tired but steady. Placing them on the pass, he glances up at the nearly empty dining room. But what catches his attention is on the other side of the front window. That plaid peacoat. That face peering nervously inside. He forces his gaze back down to the counter, knowing he’ll be useless for the next few minutes, spiraling. Perhaps in his concerted effort not to contemplate the possibility of Ari showing up at these pop-up dinners, he’d manifested her arrival.
He has a million other things to think about: breaking down their two-person line, closing procedures, scrubbing down every surface until it’s gleaming. There are twenty-three items on his highlighted task list and they’re all wiped away by that nagging combination of fantasy and memory that supplies Ari imagery at inopportune moments.
In Josh’s fifteen-ish years of seeing women naked, he’s forgotten the specifics of most of them. They all blur together into a hazy amalgamation, the way you can’t quite remember the details of a dream once you awaken.
But his mind won’t let go of its tiny observations about Ari. The pointed shape of her chin. The little wispy baby hairs at the back of her neck. Her back muscles in that black dress and also out of it. Really, don’t most women have those things?
It must be the recency effect. Once he completely moves on, Ari’s features will be added to the compilation. He has to believe that.
Eventually, the front door swings open, jingling the bell. Ari is holding a bouquet of wilted flowers and a giant bag of candy that must have been on sale for Halloween. She raises her arms to hug Briar, causing her stomach to peek out. He thinks of tracing his finger down that exact swath of skin.
Josh quietly shuts the door of the lowboy. He ducks into the back hallway, retrieving his phone before escaping out the back exit.
* * *
RADHYA PRODUCES A bottle of Casamigos Blanco from under the counter as Ari approaches, holding the flowers and candy in front of her like a physical buffer.
“Twattie,” Radhya says with a note of sentimentality in her voice, reaching for the flowers. Ari keeps her coat on, unsure if she’s welcome, but Radhya slides her a juice glass half-full of tequila in exchange for the Sour Patch Kids and flashes a slightly uneasy grin.
“Get over here, Briar,” Radhya calls across the dining room, pouring out another glass. “We had a line out the door. You earned a shift drink.”
Josh is nowhere to be seen. The whole thing feels so okay on the surface that Ari starts to believe that maybe it actually will be.
Briar walks past the counter, into the kitchen, returning with a plate of iced cookie pieces: broken black-and-off-white frosted circles. “I hoard the imperfect ones,” she says, pushing the plate toward Ari. “They’re chai-flavored. Josh’s idea. I like them better than the original kind.”
“Thanks.” Ari looks down at the icing, applied in pin-straight lines, while Briar fills Ari in on her new minor-celebrity boyfriend.
“So many reality stars try to move right into the influencer thing, but Ryan is so passionate about physical fitness? He’s creating this whole community. I’ve met so many great girls in Ryan’s jogging group. We all joined to watch his ass while he runs but I’ve made lifelong friends?” Briar retrieves some lime wedges from the beverage station. “Can I ask you, was Gabe upset when I hard-launched Ryan on my grid?”
Ari forces herself to bite into the cookie, which is a perfect balance of spicy and sweet. “I haven’t talked to him in a while, but I’m sure he’s slightly jealous of Ryan…and probably you.”
“Do you think Gabe and I could still be friends without it being weird? He encouraged me to take these storytelling classes and I think I’m really developing my craft—”
The bells above the door jingle. A tall woman with dark blond hair and a perfectly symmetrical face steps inside with all the confidence Ari hadn’t felt as she paced outside like a creep.
A second later, Josh enters, letting the door shut.
Ari swallows the rest of the cookie. It suddenly tastes like sawdust.
“I just wanted to stop by and say hi,” the woman says, greeting everyone with quick half-hugs, like they’re old friends. Ari quickly scans for an escape route （behind the counter? Under a table?） but it’s too late. “Hi!” the woman says cheerfully over the yacht rock blaring from the boom box. “I’m Harper.”
“Ari,” she chokes out, extending her right hand.
Harper’s palm is warm, like she’s just been holding hands with someone.