Page 86 of Meet Cute Reboot

“After the week I’ve had, I deserve a little wine.” She slaps the corkscrew into my hand, and I go to work.

With full glasses, we head to the small dining table beside the staircase and sit. Cassie pulls her laptop in front of her and starts clicking on the keys.

“I’ve received nine emails from your neighbors,” she says. “I haven’t had a chance to read any of them.”

Cassie’s in boss mode. Her jaw is set, her eyes are awash in the blue glow of her screen, and her tear troughs are pronounced.

“How much did you sleep last night?” I ask.

She shrugs, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Four or five?”

“Hours?”

“Minutes.”

My jaw drops. “You stayed up all night working?”

“I took a nap this afternoon.”

“Are you sure you have the energy to do this tonight?”

She looks at me. Her laptop keys go silent. “Why wouldn’t I?”

I scoot her wine glass closer to her.

She contemplates the wine for a moment, breathes in deeply, and then picks up the glass and takes a gulp. And then another.

“Whoah.” I hold my hands up like stop signs. “You better ease into it.”

“I’m fine,” she says and refocuses on her computer.

I tug on her screen until the laptop makes an obtuse angle. “Cassie. I think you might be working too hard.”

She glances at me, shrugs only her right shoulder this time.

“Why don’t you relax for a minute,” I say. “We can look at those emails in a bit.”

“You’re here to help me research.”

I don’t let her comment discourage me. I’m still determined to turn this into a date.

“And, actually...” I grab her laptop and push it gently, slowly to the side, so I don’t trigger any withdrawal symptoms. “I already did some research. Let me show you.”

I pull my phone from my back pocket and click on the Pages app. The spiel I wrote is in a document named “ForCassie.” I open it and hand my phone over to her.

“What’s this?” she asks cautiously.

“Read it.”

I watch her eyes move left to right as she ingests my words. A smile breaks her tired features. As she scrolls, it grows wider.

“This is amazing,” she says when she’s done. “Where did you find all this information?”

I tell her about my trip to the Charleston Historical Foundation, my run-in with the slightly grumpy volunteer, my hours of studying and compiling the source materials.

Cassie drops back in her chair, her muscles going limp. The first time I’ve seen her relaxed tonight. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” I say. “But that’s not all.”