Page 17 of Unlikely
Aubrey nervously skates her teeth across her bottom lip. “And do you?”
I quickly type out a response and rest the phone back on the table. “I told her I don’t really want to miss dessert.”
Aubrey’s infectious smile returns. “So what you’re saying is I need to delay dessert to spend more time with you.”
I shrug. “That sounds about right.”
“I like how close you are with her,” she says. “Did you ever contemplate siblings? Finding another donor or asking her father?”
The question is unexpected, life punching me in the stomach when I least expect it. I attempt to swallow past the unwanted boulder of emotion that sits in my throat, but the residual pain makes it too hard to ignore.
“Did I say something wrong?” Aubrey says quickly, clearly picking up on my discomfort.
“No.” I shake my head, schooling my features. “You’re fine. What about you? Were you and your ex talking about kids before the divorce?”
If Aubrey notices that I never truly answer her question, she doesn’t say anything, instead launching into an explanation of why kids aren’t for her and how she’s glad the timing was never right. For that segue alone, I find myself liking her a little bit more.
After a decadent dinner filled with all the things I’m too lazy and too ill equipped to cook for myself, the time to have dessert has finally arrived.
“Dessert is my weakness,” I tell Aubrey. “Don’t judge me if I order more than one.”
She raises her hands. “No judgment here. I love a woman who loves her food.”
True to my word, I order three different desserts, and justify it by making Aubrey share them with me.
By the time we’ve cleared our plates, we’ve been sitting, eating, drinking, and talking for almost two and a half hours. That’s a success by anybody’s standards, and yet, I can’t pinpoint exactly what’s missing.
“Did you drive here?” Aubrey asks just as the waiter drops off some after dinner mints along with the check.
“No,” I reply, reaching for the leather folder that holds our bill. “If I’ve never been somewhere and I don’t know what the parking situation is, my anxiety about being late has me always opting for an Uber.”
Aubrey plucks the folder out of my fingers. “I don’t want to fight with you about who’s paying. I asked, so it’s my treat. Next time, you pick the place and you can pay.”
There was no missing that Aubrey is already making plans for our second date. Do I hate it? No. Do I love it? Also no. But I’m in my I’m-going-to-try-anything-once era, and I vow to myself to see where this thing with Aubrey leads.
I have nothing to lose and everything to gain; at the very least, we could be friends.
“Fine,” I concede. “Next time’s definitely on me.”
She finalizes the bill and then we make our way outside the restaurant onto the illuminated streets of Beverly Hills.
Her hand rests on the small of my back, and I immediately recognize what’s missing.
“In case I haven’t already said it,” she starts. “You look beautiful tonight.”
She turns us till we’re face-to-face, holding my hips, and I return the sentiment. “As do you.”
My words are weak, my voice unconvincing, but my mind is too hung up on the fact that her hands are on me and I feel nothing. There is no spark, no heat, no desire.
That desperate need I’ve been chasing… missing.
Not wanting to reject her, I choose to take matters into my own hands and end the night with as little damage as possible. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I hold her gaze, then lean in and kiss her on the cheek.
Thankful.
Polite.
Platonic.