The more I get to know Will, the more I realize his charming playfulness is not always real. Sometimes I think it’s a mask. It’s a smile drawn on a sticky note and pasted on his face. If I were to pull it off, I would find a frown beneath.
“Come on—don’t give me that look, please.” He glances over his shoulder toward the fellow diner goers watching us with hawklike intensity. He flashes someone a beaming smile. Waves at another.
“Am I giving you a look?”
“A heavy one,” he says before turning his eyes back to me. “Let’s move on and figure out what tattoo you should get.”
I don’t want to make him feel uneasy, so I push down my growing, desperate need to know this man in front of me. It’s for the best anyway. Empathy is the first step toward feelings. And Will Griffin is not someone I can have feelings for.
“Hmm. Well at the risk of you thinking I’m trying to be your copycat, it would be fun to get some flowers. Maybe a little bouquet on my wrist.” But then a new idea hits me, and excitement surges right to my belly. “Or even here.” I pull my shoulder forward and tap the back center of it. Will’s eyes track my finger and a smile like lava melts across his mouth. For a minute he’s lost to whatever mental image he’s conjuring up. And then his blue-gray irises connect with mine—the black centers dilated. “You should definitely get that. It would be very sexy.”
My stomach clenches and I blink at him. “You think I would be…sexy with a tattoo?”
He laughs one short laugh, and for a second I’m scared he’s laughing at me. Maybe he never said sexy. Maybe my brain added that word all on its own out of hope. If that’s true, I’m going to need to join the witness relocation program.
“No, Annie. Don’t get it twisted. I already think you’re sexy without a tattoo. So I know for sure you would be with one.”
My lips part on a sharp happy inhale. Did he really mean that? I’ve never once in my entire life been referred to as sexy. Always nice or the girl with a good heart. Never sexy. Never anything that made me feel quite so womanly as the word he just used to describe me. But then with a flash of disappointment, I remember how this whole conversation started.
Again, this was a demonstration. Practice. He’s showing me how well the lines work and how he effortlessly flirts because of them. Was the story about the tree real? Or is it just all a part of the mechanics.
Ugh. My heart is racing and my skin feels clammy. Like I’m going to cry. Oh God, am I going to cry?
I give a stilted laugh while dropping my gaze and blinking a hundred times at my plate as I shift it around to wipe a nonexistent drop of water from the table. “Nice. Good line.”
“Wait, what?” he says sounding confused.
I clear my throat and flash him an imitation of his own fake smile a minute ago. “I see what you did there. With the demonstration about the line and then the subsequent flirting. It worked flawlessly,” I say, overly cheery. “I’ll definitely have to remember it. Well done.”
“Annie…”
“You know what? I need to get back to the flower shop. I just remembered someone is coming by to pick up a big order. Huge order.” I shoot up from the bench. “Tell Jeanine to put my half on my tab.”
“Wait—Annie!”
“Sorry! I really just have to go. Thanks for the lesson!”
I’m in such a rush to leave the diner that on my way to the door, I run straight into Phil’s chest. “Hi, darlin’， how are you this morning?” he says with a big smile.
Sweet Phil. He helped me learn to ride my bike, and gave me my first summer job, restocking shelves in his store. Phil wears dad sneakers and khaki shorts every day of his life—even in the winter—and I think if I were to go open his closet, I’d find fifteen identical pairs lined up on hangers, pressed neatly and ready for action. I truly adore Phil, and I don’t want him to know I’m upset. Mainly because there’s no reason for it. Will was only doing exactly what I wanted him to do—teach me how to successfully flirt and converse on a date.
But for some reason, hearing the words I’ve so desperately craved coming out of his mouth and knowing they weren’t true, that they were just to prove a point—well, it hurts.
“I’m great!” I say to Phil, most likely doing a poor job of concealing my emotions based on the way his brows are crunching together and he’s looking over my shoulder to where Will is talking to Jeanine at the booth. I want to wave my arms around to distract him. I go for the next best thing. “How’s your sale on bolts and screws going today?”