I look down at the table. I’m mortified that I can’t be who I need to be in this moment. The girl he deserves.
“I’m really scared,” I confess.
“Oh, Molls,” he murmurs. He stands up, walks around to my side of the table, and puts his hands on my shoulders.
His touch is such a relief. I lean back against him and close my eyes.
“Hey,” he says, stroking my hair. “Don’t be scared. This is good. This is happy.”
I reach for his hand and put it against my cheek. Its coolness is a balm against my flushed skin.
“I’m okay,” I say. “Thank you.” I take a very long sip of my ice water.
“I think this calls for something a little stronger,” Seth says.
He beckons our server and whispers into her ear. As they confer, the food comes, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
I still feel overwhelmed. But I can do this.
With him, I can do this.
Seth returns to his seat, and I begin carving into my crab Benedict.
“How is it?” he asks.
“Good. Crabby. How’s yours?”
He got—wait for it—Mickey Mouse pancakes.
“Good. Mousey. Want a bite?”
I shake my head. “I don’t eat rodents.”
“Some might say crabs are the rodents of the sea.”
“Ugh. Let me enjoy my crustaceans in peace, please.”
Our server comes back with a tray of bright pink cocktails garnished with huge, red, rock-candy suckers and neon bendy straws.
“Are those…”
“Shirley Temples!” Seth announces. “Just like our first date here.”
“Can I have vodka in mine?” I ask our server.
“Way ahead of you,” Seth says.
We clink our glasses.
“I guess it’s not surprising that I’m freaking out,” I say. “Do you remember how anxious I was on our first date?”
“Yes. Even though we were friends and we’d already made out.”
I shrug. “Making out is fun. It’s the dates that are stressful.”
He grins. “Would you like to leave and make out?”
“No, I’ll eat my crab like a big girl.”
“Good. Because these Mickey pancakes are ridiculously delicious.”
I feel better now that my panic is out in the open. More normal. Normal enough to air the question that has been plaguing me since last night.
“So, not to be too forward,” I say, “but how do we … how would it work, if we were to try to be together?”
He meets my eyes. “I don’t know, honestly. I’ve never dated anyone long-distance. I think we just … try.”
“Would we be, um … exclusive?” I manage to squeak out, even though I’m worried even asking this will make me seem needy.
He just smiles.
“I’d like to,” he says. “But I’ll take you any way you’ll have me.”
Good. I can’t imagine the agony of having to share him.
“I guess we could visit each other, now that flying is viable,” I venture.
“We could go on trips,” he says.
