Page 77 of The Fall Classic

I have a date.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Logan

I’m at the booth for all of twenty seconds when Georgie appears from the back in a white sundress with her hair up and a searching expression on her face. Instead of going right to our booth, her eyes are at the back of the dining room, though, and when she sees that it’s empty, she exhales. Her eyes find mine a moment later, and she’s all smiles and dimples.

That smile is going to be a problem for me.

I stand up from the booth ready to hug her when I notice something.

“You’re wearing sandals,” I say, stopping her in her tracks before I can even get a hug.

Stupid Logan!

“I am. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m being dumb. I just haven’t seen you in anything other than Converse.”

She laughs, and I put an arm around her, wishing I had the nerve to kiss her cheek. “My dress Chucks were in the wash,” she teases.

I chuckle, and she gives me a dreamy blink and grin, and man, I will not survive this night if telling her my news makes her lose that smile.

I swallow. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way.”

I get the door for her, spotting Alma behind the counter with a young woman with long bangs and short, dark wavy hair with blonde streaks in it. The two are looking at me.

“Should I be concerned about Alma and her friend?”

Georgie looks behind us as she walks through the door, and she sniffs a laugh. “Alma, definitely. I don’t know about the new girl, Olivia. She was really nice in the interview.”

“You interviewed her?”

“No, I met her earlier,” she says. “I didn’t realize they already hired her, but Alma knows how to get what she wants.”

We step out into the early evening, the humidity pricking my forehead and the back of my neck. “So where to?” she asks.

“How do you feel about The Black Oyster?”

Georgie slows before we’ve reached my truck and gives me an apologetic look. “I’ve always wanted to try it, but you have to have reservations.”

“I got them a week ago,” I say, our hands brushing as we walk. I don’t grab for hers, though, and I kick myself.

“You made reservations a week ago?” she asks. “How did you know?”

“I made reservations at every place in town the moment I asked you out, just in case.”

She’s ducking her face when we reach my truck, but I can see the blush she’s trying to hide. “Well, The Black Oyster sounds great.” I open the door for her and take her hand to help her up. Her hand is surprisingly cool in mine, and for a second, it steals my breath, and I have a hard time letting go.

Too hard a time.

It’s not that I’ll miss the feeling of her hand in mine, either. Not only, at least.

There’s something else there.

Something that feels like brainspotting, like my vision locking right at seven o’clock⁠—