Page 88 of Meet Cute Reboot

I transfer our wine glasses to the coffee table, grab a couple of plates and some napkins. Before settling back onto the couch, I eye Cassie’s Bluetooth speaker and successfully connect to it. I click on my Taylor Swift playlist on Spotify, and then I sit down and wait.

A few minutes later Cassie settles onto the couch next to me, combing her wet hair. Clumps frame her face and rest on her shoulders. She’s wearing gray joggers and a matching zip-up sweatshirt, but the zipper is undone revealing a tight yellow top that exposes a line of skin at her waist. I let my eyes linger there for a moment.

Cassie dives into the pizza like she hasn’t eaten all day, which I’m guessing she hasn’t. Back when we were dating, she often forgot to eat when she was working intensely on a project.

“This is amazing,” she says after her third slice.

“Papa Mac knows pizza.”

Cassie nods.

“You feel better?” I ask.

“So much,” Cassie says before taking a generous bite.

I honestly couldn’t smell her before, but now I can, a soft powder scent mixed with a hint of the ocean. I smile. She hasn’t stopped using Old Spice deodorant. Fiji with Palm Trees.

“What are you smirking about?” Cassie says.

“Nothing. I’m just eating.”

“If you want me to trust you, you have to stop lying to me.”

My face descends and my body temperature drops a few degrees.

Cassie swipes my arm and laughs. “Gotcha.” She points at me.

Temperature returns to 98.6 Fahrenheit, maybe a little higher.

“Good one,” I say and then stuff my face to give my heart rate a chance to stabilize.

After Cassie finishes her fourth slice, she empties her wine glass before standing up to grab the open bottle from the kitchen island. She brings it back to the couch and offers to refill my glass.

“No,” I say, “I’ve had enough.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.” And then she fills her slender glass to the rim. A splash of wine escapes her glass and falls onto her joggers.

After a generous sip, she reclines as she savors the taste. We sit silently while Taylor sings over the Bluetooth speaker.

“You don’t even like Taylor Swift,” Cassie says.

“I like what you like.”

She raises an eyebrow at me. “You hate her voice.”

“Hate is a strong word. I just think she sounds like a ten-year-old.”

“You have strange musical tastes.”

“Aerosmith is classic.”

Cassie makes a yuck face, then she leans her head back and closes her eyes, holding her wine glass close to her heart. We sit in silence again.

The song segues intoInnocent, a slower beat.

“Do you want to dance?” I ask.

Cassie lifts her head and squints at me. “Dance? With you?”