Always Never Yours(58)

“Knock it off, Owen.” I smack him on the shoulder, and we take our seats on opposite sides of the booth.

Anthony smiles at me. “It’s okay.” Glancing over his shoulder in Eric’s direction, he drops his voice. “He’s been giving me weird looks today, actually.” I stay silent but raise my eyebrows knowingly. Catching the look and rolling his eyes, Anthony says, “I have to get your drinks.”

I turn to Owen, who’s been watching our conversation with writerly interest. “Okay, date ideas,” I say, opening the Notes app on my phone. “Let’s go.”

“Do we have to?” he groans.

“Please, Owen? I need your help.” I smile at him coquettishly.

“My help? Girlfriend who lives in Italy, remember?” His brow rises with wry incredulity. “I don’t exactly have dating experience. And definitely none in Stillmont.”

Okay, he has a point. Anthony drops off two Sprites, then leaves before we have the chance to order. “But you know Will,” I say to Owen, taking a sip of flat soda. Fuck this place. Really.

“Yet somehow I’ve never taken Will out on a date,” he replies, sounding amused.

“Come on. If Cosima suddenly came to town, where would be the first place you’d take her? Besides your bedroom, of course.” I try for my usual provocative nonchalance. But to my genuine surprise, the joke tastes bitter on my tongue. The idea of some beautiful, foreign girl in Owen’s bedroom isn’t exactly hilarious.

Owen, however, doesn’t seem fazed. His eyes have gone distant while he considers. “I’d take her to Birnam Wood Books,” he announces after a second.

I flush despite myself. “I love that place!”

Owen’s eyes find mine, and I can tell he’s pleased. “But it’s not Will’s thing.”

“Oh.” I push aside my disappointment. I thought he liked it. “What about the old movie theater downtown?”

“The Constantine?” he says immediately.

“Do you think he’d like that?”

He pauses and finally shakes his head. “I tried to convince him to go once to a Jean-Luc Godard screening, but he wasn’t into it.”

“Well, what does he like?” I ask, exasperated. “Paintball? Thai food? Strip clubs? Please let it not be strip clubs.”

“Concerts?” Owen sounds like he’s guessing. “He’s mentioned the all-ages club on Route 46. You know, the one where college students pretend they’re DJs on the weekend.”

I wince. “I hate that place. Why is this so hard?” I open the Internet on my phone and search “best date spots in Stillmont.” Before the page loads, Anthony swings by and drops a tray of pizza on our table. Or—pizzas. There’s a whole pie’s worth of slices on the platter, but each appears to have come from the remnants of a different table’s meal.

“What the hell is this?” I ask, pushing apart two of the obviously disparate slices with a tentative finger.

“It looks like free pizza.” Anthony shoots me a reproving look. Owen swallows a smile.

“From other people’s tables?”

Owen reaches for a slice. “It looks delicious.” He piles enthusiasm on the word. I watch in horror as he takes a bite of what I vaguely recognize was once a Benvolio’s Banquet.

Anthony glances at me as if to say told you so before he walks away, presumably to check on his other tables. Since I’m definitely going nowhere near the undoubtedly plague-ridden pizza, I pick up my phone to find that the search results have loaded. I tap the top one, which looks promising. It’s a list of “Ten Places to Date in Stillmont” from the Josephine County Courier.

“Owen, come over here.” I slide to make room on my side of the booth.

He doesn’t move. “But I’m eating,” he protests through a mouthful.

“Well, bring your reject pizza with you.” I pat the seat next to me. With an exasperated grunt I know he doesn’t mean, Owen carries his plate and pizza with him, and sits down next to me. His elbow brushes mine, and just like that I’m very aware of how short this bench is. It’s probably meant to hold nine-year-olds.

I scroll down the list, feeling him looking over my shoulder. Birnam Wood Books, the Constantine, and the club on Route 46 go by. With Stillmont’s size, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised there’s not a ton of places for this sort of thing.

Owen stops me in the middle of one final halfhearted scroll, his hand grazing mine. “I’ve been there,” he says, setting his pizza down and pointing to an entry called Bishop’s Peak.

“Where’s there?” I study the photo. It’s of a campground on a mountain overlooking a forest. The view is ridiculous, honestly. Judging by how much higher it is than the dense greenery below it, it must take hours to hike there.

“It’s the end of this trail,” he says, his shoulder pressing against mine. “It’s beautiful and quiet. It would be the perfect place to take someone if you want to be alone with them.”

I tilt my head to look at him. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” I raise an eyebrow.

He laughs, and I realize I feel him shaking all down the length of my side. “No, I was just there to write. I definitely did not get lucky up there.”