The One Night(17)

“Like, in a serious relationship?”

“Yes,” I answer. “But they went their separate ways, and it was a mutual parting. I ran into him, and we began talking, and, well . . . we’re hitting it off. And he’s so handsome, Mom, and I don’t think I’ve ever had this kind of connection with a man before.”

“So, you’re wondering if you’re breaking girl code by hanging out with him?”

“Basically. Am I a horrible friend?”

Mom sighs. “Honestly, my motto is act now, beg for forgiveness later. If they broke up amicably, then there shouldn’t be any reason for your friend to be mad about it. I believe there are only a few people in this lifetime that you can have a special connection with—don’t waste it because you’re nervous about what your friend might think. See where it goes, then broach the subject later with her if . . . let’s say this connection goes any further than tonight.”

I nibble on my finger and look out toward the bar, where I spot Cooper scanning through his phone.

“You think it’s okay?”

“Yes, sweetie. I say go for it, and then deal with the ramifications later.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing she’s right. Dealia really didn’t love Cooper in the end. She told me that. So she can’t possibly be mad if I tell her, right?

“I really think I like him. It’s been so easy talking to him.”

“Then go for it. You work so hard. Don’t let this moment pass you up.”

“Okay.” I let out a deep breath. “I’m going to go for it.”

Mom squeals. “Promise you will tell me more later.”

“I’m not promising a thing.” I smile into the phone. “Love you, Mom. Thank you.”

“Love you.”

I hang up the phone and then take a long, deep breath before exhaling through my mouth.

Okay . . . I’m going for it. Whatever happens tonight happens, and I’m going to live in the moment rather than worry about it.

Now I can only hope he wants dessert after dessert.





Chapter Seven


COOPER


“Sorry about that, really important phone call,” Nora says as she grabs her wallet off the table and secures it around her wrist.

“Yeah, I can imagine the importance of a fake phone call at nine thirty at night. Wouldn’t want that to go unanswered.”

Her cheeks flush, and she glances down at our table. “You know how fake phone calls are—you miss one, you play fake phone tag for three days straight.”

I let out a chuckle. “Hate that fake phone tag.” When she doesn’t look at me, I reach out and tilt her head toward me, nudging her chin with my finger. “Hey, everything okay? Should I be worried that you’re taking fake phone calls?”

“No. Just freaked myself out for a second is all, but I’m all good now.”

“Freaked yourself out?” I ask, feeling concerned. Did I say something that could have caused her to leave? I know this situation might be a little weird. But we’re just having fun. Nothing to freak out over, right?

“I would rather not talk about it, if that’s okay with you. Just want to have fun, because that’s the goal of the night—fun, right?”

I study her for a few seconds and then nod. “That’s right, fun.”

“Because you are unaware of the magnitude of fun you’re able to achieve, due to the whole Debbie Downer thing.” The feistiness that temporarily disappeared while she was taking her fake phone call has now reappeared. The mischievous glint in her eyes settles the momentary nerves that erupted in my body when she took off toward the bathroom—when I thought the night might end. “Are you ready for dessert?”

“Do you still want to get dessert?” I ask, just wanting to make sure she’s still in the right frame of mind.

Her eyes connect with mine. “There is no way we are ending this night without dessert.” She reaches for my hand and links her fingers with mine. I stare down at the connection for a few beats, lost in the possibilities it holds, before I look back up at her. “Come on, Coop.”

And just like that, I’m whisked out of my chair and through the authentic Irish bar. When we hit the sidewalk, I half expect her to let go of my hand, but when she doesn’t, when she squeezes in closer to me under the romantically lit sidewalk, a sense of . . . contentment passes through me.

This feels simple, but not in a bad way. In a very good way.

A simple pleasure.

It’s something that should be so easily accessible to a human—holding another person’s hand while walking—but so many people don’t get to experience it. I can’t remember the last time I have, and once again, Nora is offering me comfort.

Comfort I didn’t know I was looking for.

Frankly, it’s slightly terrifying, but also . . . addicting.

“I wasn’t expecting to be traipsing around Seattle tonight, or else I would have worn a jacket,” she says, once again shivering next to me as we power walk down the block.

“I’m a man and don’t plan accordingly—that’s why I don’t have a jacket.”

She chuckles. “At least you’re honest.”

“I also didn’t think I’d be moving about the town either. Before my parents made their wingman plans, I half expected to be spending the night at their house tonight.”