Page 72 of Meet Cute Reboot
“Like you haven’t slept in three days,” Sarah says.
“That bad, huh?”
“Maybe it’s the lighting.”
I grab my phone and laptop and walk over to the window. An extra seat is already waiting for me there, so I plop down, balance my laptop on my knees, and tap the mousepad to wake it up. I copy the URL for my last livestream with Luke and paste it into the Instagram comment picker that I already have bookmarked. Then, I open Instagram on my phone and start a livestream.
Sarah wasn’t lying. I am not looking my best. I smooth a section of frizzy hair and angle my face toward the light to camouflage the bags under my eyes.
“Hey, fam. Time for another Live. How’s everyone doing?”
I fake being excited and energetic as I respond to comments. Five minutes later, I get to the point. “I promised a fourth date with Luke, and I said you could pick.” I turn my phone around so the audience can see my laptop screen. “I’ve already entered the URL. Here we go.” I click enter and the comments roll by, eventually coming to rest on a selection.
“Tidewater Island Beach Ecology Tour,” I read. I flip the phone around. “That’s a relief. If we got scuba diving lessons, I would have backed out.”
I tell everyone to keep an eye out for further announcements, tell them to check out my app, say a few niceties to balance my sales pitch, and then I sign off.
“Thank goodness you’re the spokeswoman, not me,” Bethany says.
“It’s my company. I do the dirty work.”
Sarah raises a hand. “So do I.”
“Yes, because you are going with me.” I add a smile to soften my demand.
“I am?”
“I need a videographer for this one.”
“Wow, my resume keeps growing.”
Bethany and I wrap up at seven in the evening. I retreat to my apartment, fill up the bathtub with hot water and bubbles and soak for half an hour. Then I grab a snack and settle onto my couch with phone in hand.
Tidewater Island Beach Ecology Tours, I text Luke.
A few minutes later I receive:???
That’s our next date.
Oh. Yeah. OK.
I tell him I’ll schedule the tour and let him know when and where to meet.
OK let me know, he answers in a very restrained way that leaves me looking puzzled at my phone.
Later when I’m in bed, I replay the moment on the pier overlooking Charleston Harbor. This time, instead of walking away, I kiss him and my heart sings in time with the crashing waves.
The crowd at the Seagrove Beach entrance plaza is light at this hour—nine o’clock in the morning on a Friday with children already back in school. Mostly older folks make use of the colorful facilities which include restrooms, changing rooms, and a concession stand, all on a raised deck. Our tour guide instructed us to meet at the concession stand’s umbrella-covered tables, which is where Sarah and I are parked waiting for the rest of the tour group to arrive, including Luke.
The tour group consists of two retired couples and a small class from College of Charleston’s marine biology program. The older couples sit at a table next to us, both women wearing fanny packs along with their flowered cotton blouses. They’re more than acquaintances judging by their conversation about some fellow back home in Ohio who’s building a mansion with his retirement funds.
I cease my eavesdropping as Luke approaches. My brain ceases all activity when I see him in his wide-striped swim trunks in three shades of blue, hemmed just above the knee to show off the beginnings of his well-defined quads and the fullness of his chiseled calves. Even his feet look sexy in a pair of cheap foam flip-flops. His white tank top displays his capped shoulders and veiny arms, while the sun highlights the curves and angles of his muscles and adds a yellow glow to his tanned skin. I’m stunned. Why am I swooning? It feels so juvenile, yet here I am. He can’t see me like this. I look down.
“Am I late?” he asks before sitting across from me.
Brain. Not. Functioning.
He was always well-built, but my, he’s been hitting the gym since we dated. I fumble for simple words and phrases.