Accidentally Amy(23)

“Is it ricotta cheese-filled?” she asked.
“I think so,” Blake said, looking at her. “Why? Is that bad?”
She nodded and said, “Ricotta is lumpy and disgusting, like curdled milk mixed with cottage cheese. But if you like spoiled food, who am I to judge? Enjoy.”
“Oh, I will,” he replied, thinking of her pop tart – and empty fridge - and wondering if she was a picky eater. But as he looked at her – as she looked up at him, wearing a shitty little grin – it held for just a moment too long. Something passed between them, a memory or an awareness, before she cleared her throat and turned her attention to the menu.
Said, “Do they have good spaghetti?”
Blake just looked at her profile, his brain slow to move on and comprehend her words. When she didn’t turn to him, he said, “No one knows the answer to that question because who would be stupid enough to order spaghetti from a food truck?”
“I would,” she said, still looking at the menu. “I love spaghetti and spaghetti is on the menu, so judge me not.”
“But you can’t walk and eat spaghetti at the same time, dipshit.”
That made her look, and then her grin was back. “Now I have to - challenge accepted - which will be a colossal mistake for which I’ll blame you all day. Every time someone looks at the blobs of marinara on my shirt, I shall curse your name.”
“I thought that was a dress,” he said, and the look she gave him - forehead crinkle - made it clear that she was just as shocked by his asinine awareness of her attire as he was. What the fuck was that?
“Yeah, um,” she said, raising a hand to push her hair behind her ear, “It’s a skirt and top.”
“Ah,” he said, gave a nod, and stepped up to the order window, needing an escape from that moment of idiocy. He lowered his voice and ordered. “Could I please get the spaghetti?”
He heard her quietly laugh and then she stepped beside him and said to the second cashier, “I would like the spaghetti, and can I also get a slice of cheese pizza and a piece of garlic bread, please?”
He opened his mouth to comment when Izzy whipped her head toward him, pointed a finger and said, “Don’t say a word - I’m hungry, okay?”
He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t not smile. He looked at the freckles on her nose and said, “What would I even say, Iz?”


    Izzy
“So let me get this straight,” Blake said, his face relaxed behind dark sunglasses as he walked beside her. He was looking straight ahead, his hands in the pockets of his perfectly-pressed suit pants. “The house that you accidentally “forked,” which I can’t even believe is a thing, was being watched by the FBI.”
“Yep.” Izzy took a sip of her soda as they walked back to work. “Forked the wrong house, which turned out to be the residence of some questionable members of a satanic cult. So not only did we get picked up by the feds, but we were questioned at the station and also got MIPs because we had a bottle of vodka in the trunk.”
“Wow.” He looked at her then, and even though his eyes were covered, she knew they were squinting because his dimples were out. “Your high school experience was very different from mine.”
“When there’s nothing to do, you make things happen, Phillips.” Izzy saw the Ellis building at the end of the block, and she was bummed it was time to go back. Even though Blake was her polar opposite and the kind of guy (hot, successful) who usually made her nervous, she felt totally comfortable around him.
She had fun with him because she was able to relax and be her uncool self.
“I forgot to ask,” he said, glancing over at her as they walked around a woman and her dog, a French bulldog who was sitting on the sidewalk with zero intention of moving, “Did you get your car back?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Izzy said, rolling her eyes and looking over at him. “In order to get it out of jail, I have to take the title to the impound lot and pay a few hundred bucks.”
“Oof,” he said, and she could feel his gaze on her, even though his eyes were covered by Ray-Bans.
“Oof, indeed,” she replied. “Because after that, I get to have it towed to a mechanic, who will probably tell me it’s going to cost a fortune to fix.”
“No idea what’s wrong with it?” he asked.
“Nope,” she said, looking down at the scarred sidewalk as she tried not to think about how little money she actually had in her bank account at the moment. “But I didn’t hate taking the bus today, so perhaps this is a chance to reexamine my vehicular needs.”
“Yeah, but how far is the bus stop from your apartment?”
“Only a few blocks.”
“Do you really want to have to hoof it a few blocks in the snow?” His voice was full of adulty concern as he added, “In the dark? In the rain?”
That reminded Izzy of the dark and rainy night where she’d kissed Blake, and her stomach did a little flip of its own accord. She cleared her throat and said, “No, but I’m also not going to throw a lot of coin into a car that’s fifteen years old.”
He looked at her - she could see his eyes through the sunglasses now because the sun was hitting the lenses just right - and it felt like he was having some sort of internal conversation with himself as he just watched her. He didn’t say anything, and when they stopped at the corner to wait on the light, he said, “What are the rules about car repairs?”
“What?” Izzy tossed her cup into the trash can next to the crossing light and put her hands in her pockets. “What do you mean?”