Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty-One

RAE

The drive to Alberto’s, a cute Italian place close to the movies, is surprisingly not anxiety-inducing.

Logan is a great conversationalist, asking thought-provoking yet lighthearted questions and listening intently to the answers. He cares about the details.

I definitely see why he rose so quickly in his career. He’s a people-person. I can imagine him putting clients at ease and effortlessly gaining the trust of QV’s executives.

He’s made a few nepotism jokes before, and I think he truly believes that his father is the reason he’s employed, but I beg to differ. Logan’s incredible.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” he asks when we’re idling at a stoplight.

Normally, I hate that question with the burning passion of a thousand suns. People assume that because I’m quiet, I’m plotting world domination or doing calculus problems in my head.

They always ask with a sly smile, like they’re about to solve a mystery, proud to be the genius clever enough to figure out what Rae Olson, the shy girl, is thinking about.

When Logan asks, though, I know he’s making conversation. He isn’t asking so he can cross “decipher shy girl’s encrypted thoughts” off his checklist. He’s curious about what’s going on in my mind because he wants to be part of it.

“I’m thinking about how you’re easy to talk to,” I tell him.

Logan’s face lights up. See? He genuinely cares. “So are you,” he says, smiling.

I scoff.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I…” Describing social anxiety is more difficult than whatever math problem those Rae-decrypters (new word) think I’m solving. Unless you have it, I don’t think it’s entirely possible to comprehend how it feels.

“I’ve never been great at finding the right words,” I say. That’s not all of it, not even close, but everyone’s been tongue-tied once or twice in their lives.

Even the most socially adept person (Logan, ~cough cough~) knows that feeling.

“I don’t get that impression.”

“That’s because you’re easy to talk to,” I point out.

“With other people too, though,” he continues. “When Dylan was asking you those rude questions, you had all the right answers.”

“I was practically stuttering them out,” I protest.

He shrugs. “Who wouldn’t be nervous?”

“I’m like that always, though. It’s hard to explain.” I mirror his shrug.

“I want to understand someday. Doesn’t have to be soon, but I want to understand everything about you, Rae.”

I blush as a wave of tingles shoots through my veins. “You’re perfect,” I giggle.

“As are you,” he replies. “Ready?”

I didn’t even notice we were parked at the restaurant already. I count down the seconds pretty much every time I’m in a car, but now, I’m almost sad that this one is ending.

I love talking to Logan when it’s just the two of us.

I suppose normal people have that experience at restaurants, but I always feel patrons’ and servers’ eyes on me while I eat and converse, even though in reality, I’m sure no one cares about my meal or my conversation.

“Ready,” I tell him anyway.

Logan gets the spaghetti he mentioned. I go with eggplant rollatini, and I say both words correctly to the server, which is a big deal for me. Quite possibly a new record, as a matter of fact.

Ordering food is up there with making phone calls on the list of situations that trigger tremendous amounts of anxiety.

Tonight, it probably helped that I practiced the order over and over in my head after she handed us the menus, but still, I did it. I’m doing it.

We chat about work and college and vacations we’ve been on and vacations we want to go on.

I’m conversing like a normal person, and I’m enjoying every second of it, the speaking part and the listening part. Usually, I only want to take part in the latter.

The topic strays to family, and feelings explode in my chest. There are very few people I can speak to so openly, and I’ve never confided in any of them so quickly.

I won’t lie; I’m scared and anxious, but I’m also happy. Happy and excited because I could do this for the rest of my life.

I could look into those green-blue eyes and watch Logan tilt his head back whenever he lets out his roaring laugh every day and not tire of it.

“Any dessert tonight?” The server’s voice pulls me out of my sappy thoughts.

Logan flashes a smile at me. “What do you think, Rae?”

I panic. Does he want dessert? Do ~I~ want dessert? ~Should~ I want dessert? I try to remember what I did when I went out to eat with Jake, but nothing comes to mind.

“Uh,” I start.

“Can we have a minute to think about it?” Logan asks.

“Of course. I’ll stop back in a few.”

I want to melt into the floor. I was so proud of myself. I was doing so well, but I didn’t think to prepare a response to the dessert question, and I morphed back into uncomfortable, indecisive Rae.

“I think I’m going to get gelato,” Logan says softly. “What about you?”

I know what he’s doing. He’s making an executive decision because he knows I can’t handle one. I’m filled with self-hatred, wishing I were capable of making basic decisions.

I was handling our date uncharacteristically well—I was being a version of myself I actually like—and a simple question threw it all into disarray.

“Yeah, sounds good,” I mumble.

The server returns and turns to me. “Made up your mind?” she asks, smiling.

I nod. “Um, I’ll have gelato, please.”

“Great. What flavor?”

Oh, no. I didn’t even think of flavors. “Um…”

“I was going to get raspberry,” Logan says softly, “but vanilla and chocolate also sounded really good.”

Once again, I know exactly what he’s up to. He’s saving me the trouble of searching through the menu while the server looks on expectantly.

“I’ll have vanilla,” I mumble. “Please. Thanks.”

The server replies to me, but I don’t hear a word. My hearing abilities are shot. I’m too busy trying to keep my breathing steady.

Air hitches in my throat when Logan stands and walks over to the busser at the front of the restaurant. My heart pounds, and the black dots that flit before my eyes during panic attacks make an appearance.

I grip the chair, willing myself to stay grounded. ~Deep breath in, deep breath out~. The spots recede from my vision, but my eyes fill with tears as I watch Logan pay. Is he leaving?

~Oh, God~. I humiliated him, and he’s leaving. I never would have thought Logan capable of abandoning his date, but I ~am~ a walking, talking bundle of embarrassment, after all.

He’s got enough going on without being subjected to my antics.

I’m going to have to call Zoe to get me, or I’ll have to take an Uber and try not to cry in the backseat. No way will I succeed at that.

Logan walks back over to our table. At least he’s gracious enough to tell me he’s cutting our date short. “Rae?” He touches my hand.

I raise my eyes, begging the tears to stay put.

“I got our dessert to go.” He grins, holding up two Styrofoam cups filled with pink and white gelato.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I follow him into his car like a lost puppy, wiping away tears when he isn’t looking.

“So,” Logan says as he starts up the car, “I’m twenty-eight, and I’ve never had eggplant before. I feel like that’s something I should have tried already.”

I giggle because, as upset as I am, that’s pretty funny. ~I feel like that’s something I should have tried already.~

A perfect response formulates in my head, but I can’t spit it out, because the lump in my throat is blocking its path.

My retort about him being a chef who’s never had one of the most versatile vegetables—fight me if you disagree—is at the back of the line, queued up behind whimpers.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

His question triggers the sobs. A couple escape before I clap my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I ruined—”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

A scoff would be a solid response, but I’m too sad to do anything but wipe my tears and sniffle. All I’m capable of is repeating, “I’m sorry,” in a pathetic whisper.

“Rae, please don’t apologize. This was an amazing date.”

~Was~. My eyes overflow.

“I don’t want it to end, but if you’d rather get home, I to—”

“No,” I interrupt. “Sorry, I just…” I take a deep, ragged breath. “Can we pretend that didn’t happen?”

I want so badly to feel like I did just ten minutes ago, to feel like I belonged with Logan Quincy, the most perfect man to grace this planet.

“Of course.” He winks. “As you command, my lady.”

And then Logan rolls down the window and empties the gelato into the parking lot.