Once and for All(55)

I gaped at him. “Y-yes,” he stammered. I could literally feel heat coming off his face. “That would, um, be great.”

“Excuse me,” a man carrying a baguette said, coming up to us. “Where is the bulk nut section?”

“Over by the flowers,” William told him, clearly grateful for once for this distraction. “Straight ahead, then left.”

“You had him over for dinner?” I demanded, as the man walked away, taking a wrong turn immediately. “When was this?”

“Hush,” he said, fiddling with the lemons in his basket.

“Here you go,” the meat guy said, dropping two plastic bags on the counter. “The prosciutto you like, with a sample of the Black Forest. You want me to walk over to cheeses with you so you can sample that Meridien?”

“Sure,” I said, smiling at him.

“No,” William told him, at the same time. “I, um . . . we have to go. I’m cooking and the chicken is . . . Next time.”

“Sure thing.” The guy smiled at me and then, wider, at William. “I’ll look forward to it.”

William grabbed the meat, tossing it in his basket, then hustled away, vanishing around a display of flavored popcorn. I turned back to the guy, sticking out my hand. “I’m Louna. And you are?”

“Matt,” he replied. We shook. “You’re William’s . . .”

“Goddaughter,” I said, which was the easy explanation.

“He’s a great guy,” he told me, looking at the popcorn. “And, um . . . still single? Yes?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Good to know,” he said, then knocked the counter between us, smiled, and walked away.

I found William dabbing his brow by the macaroons. “You didn’t tell me you’d had anyone over for a date.”

“It was one time,” he said. I waited. “Look, he’s nice. I’m just . . . not ready for anything.”

“William. You haven’t dated since I was in middle school.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“With prosciutto and melon, apparently,” I said. He blushed again. “Look, if I can get back out there dating, so can you.”

He looked at me. “You’re dating again?”

“Kind of. Ambrose and I made a bet. I’m actually meeting the Lumberjack at a party tonight.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

I nodded. “It’s nothing serious. That’s the whole point. I just have to date, but Ambrose has to commit for seven weeks. Whoever caves first has to get set up by the other with their person of choice.”

“Ambrose gets to set you up?” he asked.

“If he wins,” I said. “Which he won’t.”

“You should hope not. Because he’d pick himself for sure.”

Now my eyes widened. “What? No. That’s not how it works.”

“You said he could pick anyone, correct?” He crossed the aisle, scanning the boxes. “So he says it’s him, and then you have no choice but to go out with him. Pretty genius. I take it that part was his idea?”

Come to think of it, it had been. But that meant nothing, either. “Ambrose does not want to go out with me, William. We barely even like each other.”

“So you say,” he said, picking up a box and putting it in the basket. “I hear a lot of laughing when you two are in the office. And you looked pretty cozy at that photoshoot.”

“Sir, can you help me with the curry sauces?” a woman in a sundress called out from one aisle down. “I need one that’s mild but fragrant.”

“I have to get out of here,” William hissed to me, starting toward the register. Still, he couldn’t help himself, saying to the woman as he passed her, “Tamil’s, in mild. Don’t use too much.”

“Thank you!”

At the registers, I was determined to bring up the Ambrose thing again, demanding why on earth he thought that, of all things, would be the outcome of our bet. Because we looked good pretending to slice a cake? But just as I started to say this, his phone rang: it was my mother, calling about some issue with the photographer of the Elinor Lin Wedding that weekend, serious enough that they kept talking the entire ride back home. As we pulled up in the driveway, I could see Jilly in her backyard, alone for once, waiting for me. No time to ask more questions, which was maybe a good thing after all. But as I said good-bye to him, then crossed the grass to Jilly’s, I couldn’t help but consider the fact that William’s intuition was usually dead on. Then again, everyone can be wrong sometimes.




“There he is,” Jilly said, her voice low. “Act cool.”

This had to be the worst thing to say to a nervous person. I thought about telling her so, but I was too on edge watching Leo make his way across the crowded living room. Instead I asked, “Whose party is this, anyway?”

“Jack from Turbo Taco,” she said, sipping her beer. “His parents have that truck with the racing flames on it? They sell the hottest hot sauce in town. People have been hospitalized.”

“Wow,” I said, as Leo stopped to talk to two girls who had their backs to us. He had on yet another plaid shirt, short sleeved this time, and no apron. Not that he would wear an apron to a party. Okay, I was nervous and crazy. I took another gulp of my beer, which was warm even though I’d only just gotten it. “God, I feel so out of place. Why did I agree to do this again?”