Page 79 of Error Handling

I shrug. “So he says.”

“The choice is simple then. Christopher is here, and he plans to stay here.”

“I hadn’t thought of it as being a ‘choice.’”

“Well, it is. You’ve got two guys pining over you and at some point, you are going to have to choose.”

“I don’t think Chris is pining.”

“Well, Christopher is.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Christopher likes you, Sarah.”

“Are you supposed to be telling me this?”

“Probably not.”

I lean back in my chair and stare at the drop ceiling. Cassie grabs her coffee mug, adds creamer to the coffee, and mixes it with a stir stick.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings,” I say.

“Just be honest with them both and I’m sure it will work out fine.”

“Sure, it’s that easy.”

“Consider yourself lucky. You have two great guys to choose from. And if you choose incorrectly, you could ruin your life and wind up an old maid. No pressure.”

I look at my friend, who is smiling. “I’ll wind up a librarian in Bedford Falls with a bun and glasses who is afraid of men.”

“It could happen,” Cassie says, “but until then, enjoy your date today.”

“It’s not a date, it’s a photoshoot.”

“Okay.”

I give my boss the squint-eye and then I put the lid on my salad and toss it into the fridge. I follow Cassie back into the main office.

My breath catches.

Christopher is standing next to the main doors with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

How much did he hear? Was he listening?

I recommence breathing and walk over to him. “Hey. How long have you been here?”

“Less than a minute,” he says.

He’s wearing a light brown suede jacket and black distressed jeans. His attire looks relaxed at first glance, but on closer inspection, the Converse All Stars are impeccable, not a speck of dirt, and his jeans have a faint crease on the front of each leg. Every article of clothing fits his small, muscular frame perfectly with just enough room. His modest beard is also carefully clipped, and his hair is mussed, each strand “haphazardly” placed to cap off his ensemble.

“Were we talking loud back there?” I ask.

“Nope.”

Is he telling the truth? I study his face. He wears his usual amicable, cute-as-a-button expression. I don’t detect any deceit.

“Okay, because we were talking about Cassie’s plans to murder her competition,” I say.