Kids Menu
Kate finds any reason she can to stay gone from our house over the next few days. I’m not surprised. With the vow renewal coming in just a few short days, she’s occupied with helping Natalie get things ready – at least, that’s the excuse it seems we’re using to explain why we’ve barely spoken since the night I left for Carrick’s. The kids are pawned off on the grandparents and I’m blissfully alone at the house for a few days.
I want to go back and spend the night with Carrick again, but I find myself unable to ask him if I can. I’m not sure what I’m afraid of, but there’s some strange apprehension holding me back, some voice in my head whispering to take things slow.
I don’t even know what that means. I don’t know what any of this means. All I know is that every morning – or, in some cases, afternoon – when Carrick walks in the studio, this… thing flutters up in my stomach. In all the years I’ve known Carrick, I’ve never thought of him as more than a friend, so I don’t really know where this is coming from, but it’s hard to deny what it is.
Wednesday, just three days shy of the vow renewal, it seems like everyone at the office has decided to kick things into overdrive. It’s like the world might end on Saturday and they want to get everything possible done before then. What does it matter, though, if the world is going to end, anyway? I don’t get it, but I’m swept up in their current, tracking songs and sending emails and staring at so many package labels that my vision starts to blur.
And it’s not even noon.
At some point, I wave my metaphorical white flag and head back to my desk to hide. Yes, hide. I’m actually considering crawling under the desk rather than sitting at it, because, well, I’d be more hidden that way.
But then there’s Carrick. I hear him before I see him – the distinct shuffling sound of his old Vans on the concrete floors and his carefree whistle. My head’s cradled in my hands on my desk, but I can still tell when he gets close, close enough that I can smell the faintest hint of smoke and hear him breathing.
He rests his hand on my shoulder. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” I mumble into my arms. “Just overworked.”
He kneads my shoulder gently, and I raise my head to look at him. As soon as our eyes meet, that fluttering feeling takes hold in my stomach again. He smiles down at me. “Well, let’s get out of here. I mean, I just woke up, but it’s lunch time, right?”
The tension and frustration I’ve felt all day is beginning to fade, just in the few moments since Carrick arrived. I can’t refuse him, not when he’s smiling at me like that. I haven’t actually been productive for over an hour, so I don’t even feel any guilt about taking a lunch break – especially a lunch break that involves Carrick.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
He grabs a post-it note from my desk, scribbles the words “Out To Lunch” on it and slaps it on the front of my computer screen. With another crooked smile, he holds his hand out to me. I feel my face heating up, but I place my hand in his anyway, and pull myself up to stand in front of him. Once again, I’m reminded of our height difference as I find myself eye to nose with him. I tilt my head back to look him in the eyes, acutely aware of the fact that we’re just standing in the middle of the office, holding hands. I guess that realization just hit him, too, because we both yank our hands back at the same time.
Yeah, today definitely has the potential to be really awkward.
I don’t feel like staying too close to the office for lunch. I can’t explain it; I know the building itself isn’t the source of my recent angst, but it’s a tangible thing I can direct my anger toward. I suppose I could direct my anger at Kate or Taylor, but that never seems to work out well for me. So, I’ll stick with pretending our office is the bane of my existence, and I’ll make Carrick hike a few blocks for lunch.
He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He trails along, just a few steps behind me, staring around at the streets and buildings like he’s never seen a city before. I guess he is still getting accustomed to Tulsa, though; most of his visits in the past had him holed up at the family compound, not really seeing anything of Tulsa other than the airport. I can’t help smiling a little as I watch his eyes light up at each new sight. So much for Tulsa being just another boring midwestern town.
It doesn’t really take us that long to reach my destination – Dilly Deli. It’s one of the whole band’s favorite places to eat. We’ve been known to descend on them en masse during long studio days and call in to-go orders so ridiculously long and complicated that I’m surprised they haven’t refuse to serve us yet.
Once he realizes it’s where we’re going, Carrick skips ahead of me and opens the door. I will myself not to blush or grin stupidly as I walk into the restaurant, because really, the last thing I need is for all of Dilly Deli’s patrons to see me acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.
No one really seems to notice, though. A waitress escorts us to a table by the window and we settle into the mismatched chairs on either side, facing each other. It definitely looks like we’re on a date, but if that has occurred to Carrick, he’s thought better of mentioning it. A waiter drops by to give us menus and take our drink order – Dr. Pepper and Fiji water – and Carrick immediately dives into the menu like it’s his new favorite novel.
He’s like that about food, though. He and his brother Rowan are amazing chefs, and I’m always trying to find more excuses to visit them in LA just so I can eat their weird, but delicious vegetarian masterpieces. I don’t even need to open my menu; I’ve got my own special BLT order that I rarely deviate from when I’m here. But Carrick hasn’t eaten here before, so he has to study the menu intently and find something that perfectly suits his gourmet palate.
When the waiter returns, Carrick flashes him a huge smile, the kind that always put me at ease and now makes those butterflies take flight in my stomach again. From the look on his face, I think it’s having the same effect on our waiter. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?”
“Well,” Carrick says, drawing out the word for a good five seconds. “What would happen if I tried to order from the kids menu?”
“I would make fun of you,” the waiter replies. “But, feel free.”
With a soft chuckle, Carrick says, “In that case, I’ll have the kids’ grilled cheese with tomato basil soup.”
So much for that gourmet palate. In between giggles, I manage to rattle off my usual order. Once the waiter has collected our menus and gotten out of earshot, I give Carrick a look. “I think he was flirting with you.”
“Are you jealous?”
I nearly spit my sip of Dr. Pepper back into the glass. Carrick doesn’t falter a bit, though, just stares right at me with his eyes sparkling and his lips turned up in the tiniest of smirks. I shake my head a little, but even I’m not sure if I’m denying his question or just remarking on how ridiculous it is.
“He’s not really my type,” Carrick says, the faintest of blushes crossing his cheeks.
I know I may regret leading us down this path, but I can’t stop myself. “What is your type, then?”
He shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. A little manlier than him. Longer hair. Goofy grin optional.”
My cheeks are aching from the grin that never seems to go away when I’m around Carrick, so I don’t even need to second guess whether or not he’s describing me. I can’t think of any sort of appropriate reply, so I settle for taking another sip of my soda and trying really, really hard to stop grinning.
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me?”
Carrick chuckles. “Your type.”
So much for getting rid of that grin. Or not blushing. I raise my hand and point out the window at the mostly empty street. “Oh, look. A distraction!”
Luckily, I don’t need a distraction. The waiter chooses that moment to walk up with our food, and soon we’re both too consumed with eating and grinning to talk. Or maybe that’s just me. I’m really trying not to look at Carrick, because I don’t want to see the look on his face, and I really don’t want him to see the look on mine.
I’m halfway through my sandwich when it hits me. This is a date.
I’m on a date. With a guy.
Slowly, as stealthily as I can, I glance up at Carrick. He’s dipping his grilled cheese in his soup, his head down just enough so that his bangs are covering his eyes. I clear my throat. “Hey, Carrick?”
“Yeah?” He replies, flipping his hair back in that casual way he has that would probably make our waiter swoon if he saw it.
Truth be told, I’m swooning a little, too. I have to glance down and play with a chip just to keep my cool. “It’s just… this is weird, isn’t it? Me and you. Us.”
A little bit of the sparkle fades from Carrick’s eyes, but his smile remains the same – or, at least, a close approximation of the same. He breathes out heavily, like he’s trying not to sigh, but the effect is the same. “You know, it doesn’t have to be weird. It doesn’t have to be… anything you don’t want it to be.”
“I know,” I reply, even though I don’t even know what it is that I want.
His voice soft and his face serious, he says, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Zac.”
“It’s just that I’m…” Married. Still trying to ignore all evidence that I’m not entirely straight. In love with my brother.
Carrick just nods, as though I had actually said all those things aloud. He knows. He always knows. And that’s why I trust him when he says it doesn’t have to be weird. Whatever this is between us, it’ll be okay.
We finish our lunch in comfortable silence, and I’m grateful for that. It feels like we’ve turned some sort of corner, though I don’t know where we’re headed now. The butterflies in my stomach have calmed a bit. They still flutter a little every time Carrick meets my eyes, but I can live with that, I think. At some point, the waiter wanders over with two separate checks. I had anticipated paying for both of our lunches – or maybe Carrick would offer – and now I’m a bit lost. I guess this cuts out a potentially awkward moment, though.
“I’m surprised he didn’t slip you his number,” I say after the waiter has returned our change and walked away.
Carrick shakes his head. “I’m glad he didn’t. Wouldn’t wanna have to break his heart.”
He flashes me a grin and slips his sunglasses back on even though we’re still inside. Now I really can’t read his eyes, and it bothers me a little but not enough to complain. Instead, I just stand up and follow him out of the restaurant, struggling to keep up with his long strides and really, really trying to ignore the waiter staring at his ass.
We walk side by side down the sidewalks that lead back to the office. I wonder what people walking by think of us. Do they see two friends or a couple? At this point, it’s clear that we’re blurring the lines between those two categories, anyway. Maybe we always have and I just didn’t see it.
The office is quiet when we walk back in. It’s still lunch time, technically, so I can only assume everyone else had the same idea and have gone somewhere to eat. Carrick glances around the empty room, then back at me. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to him. I don’t even mind that I kind of end up in his armpit – fuck this height difference, seriously – because he kisses my forehead, and yep, the butterflies are back.
I think it was definitely a date.