Emmaline
Once a week, I have lunch with the most handsome man in town.
I’m sure that seems like an exaggeration, since I’m an awkward, weirdo, nerdy girl who makes everyone uncomfortable. But it’s the honest truth.
I’m not even talking about eating lunch at home with my cat, who is admittedly a very handsome boy. I eat most of my meals at home alone, with Miles Standoffish, said cat, or with Miles and my sister, Lily. Generally speaking, I don’t like eating in public; I never seem to get the eating to talking ratio right. I never know when it’s the right time to talk and when it’s the right time to listen. And that’s true even when there isn’t food involved.
Besides, other people’s mouths are gross and I don’t like hearing people chew. Which, I know, seems more about other people eating, but it still makes me uncomfortable. Because what if other people feel that way about me and my mouth? And don’t even get me started with the noises in restaurants.
My point is, generally speaking, it’s better for me to just eat at home with Miles.
But once a week, I make an exception and eat lunch with my best friend, Zane, who just happens to also be the most handsome man in town.
Today, we’re at the diner, which is where we normally eat. I’m watching him from across the table while he tells me a story about the most recent tattoo he gave to one of the old ladies in the town’s “blue-haired group.” They’re a collection of relatively hip old grannies who meddle in plenty of the lives in this town. When I say “relatively hip” I really mean, way cooler than I am, but also much older.
Thankfully, they mostly leave me alone. They probably think I’m a lost cause. Or they simply don’t know what to do with me. Either way, I’m always grateful when people don’t notice me.
Zane’s blue eyes flare as he gets to the climax of the story. “A scorpion. Can you believe that?”
I laugh until I snort trying to imagine Mrs. Hollis with a scorpion marring her weathered skin.
“It’s pretty badass looking, too.”
“If you did it, that’s not surprising. All your ink is amazing.”
His lips quirk up in a lopsided grin. The brow with the tiny ring in it slides up. “Thanks, Starfish. You’re good for my ego.”
With him looking at me like that, it makes me completely understand why women always go bonkers over him. He’s a perfect specimen of male attractiveness.
I don’t say that just because he’s my best friend. It’s an objective fact.
He has sculpted muscles without looking like he took drugs to get them. He has an easy, genuine grin that hints at dimples. Dimples you can’t exactly see because he always has a perfect amount of scruff to hide them. The same dark shade as the hair on his head. The hair he keeps just this side of long, a bit too long to be considered tidy, but not long enough that he rocks a man bun. Combined with how bright and vivid his blue eyes are, he’s shockingly handsome.
But I’ve known from the moment Zane and I first became friends that I was destined to be that and nothing more. So, while I can objectively see that he is hot, as my twin sister, Lily, would say, I don’t look at him that way.
The truth is, I don’t look at any man that way. It’s just not something I’m comfortable thinking about. But especially not Zane. I couldn’t. Else I’d be setting myself up for a heartbreak that makes no sense.
Just then, Ruthie stops by the table with our slices of pie. Zane and I have a late lunch here every Wednesday because, one, it is one of the days I go into the actual office instead of working from home. And two, Wednesdays Ruthie makes homemade chocolate custard pie, and it is my very favorite thing to put in my mouth.
“Here you go, you two,” Ruthie says, setting the plates down.
After she walks away, Zane takes a sip of his coffee and I take a bite of my pie. I close my eyes as the smooth chocolate custard slides across my tongue. I moan. There is nothing in the world as good as Ruthie’s chocolate custard pie. I’ll go to my grave believing that.
“I don’t think anyone in the world enjoys any food more than you enjoy that pie,” Zane says. He takes a bite and nods. “It is damn tasty though.”
“No, that is a completely inaccurate description of this decadent dessert. It is utterly perfect. The crust is buttery and flakey. The custard is rich and chocolatey without being too sweet, and the texture is smooth and velvety without being slimy at all. Nothing tastes this good.”
His tongue slips out and rolls against his bottom lip. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree about that, Starfish.”
“What else is better?”
“Nothing you’re ready to hear about.”
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