Holland and I sit side by side in a small booth near the back of Oliver’s, a seating arrangement that sounds more romantic than it actually is. Every time I want to ask him something, I have to turn my head at an awkward angle, and his limbs are so long that we keep bumping elbows as we eat. It doesn’t seem to bother Reese and Kevin, probably because they’ve been together long enough now that his arm has become a permanent fixture across her shoulders.
Meanwhile I can’t stop worrying about how I smell, or whether I have food in my teeth. Reese nudges my foot under the table. When I meet her eye, she takes a visible inhale, drops her shoulders on the exhale—telling me to relax.
In turn, I tell myself, if Holland puts his arm around my shoulders, it means he likes being this close. Because Reese was right. Tonight is all about gathering evidence.
Here are the observations I’ve made so far: Holland is extremely polite. He always thanks the server and holds doors open for people and has excellent table manners. He laughs easily and listens well, and I keep looking for flaws—surely he has flaws besides being clumsy—but I can’t find any.
Our waitress, a girl only a few years older than us, comes by to ask if there’s anything else we need. Holland asks for a refill on his Coke, and as soon as she walks away with his glass I say, “You sure that’s a good idea, Spiller?”
He tilts his head and groans. “Never gonna live that down, am I?”
“Nope.” I bite the straw of my own pop and grin at him.
He slides his arm around me. My cheeks warm, and I keep chewing on my straw as I meet Reese’s gaze across the table again. Her eyebrow raises, which makes me thinks she’s reading as much into his body language as I am.
His refill arrives, and Holland’s deep blue eyes hold mine as he reaches for his glass with both hands. He moves as slowly as physically possible, making a show of how careful he’s being not to spill. By the time the glass reaches his lips, I’m losing the battle of hiding my grin. Holland gets this pleased look on his face, like making me smile is some kind of prize.
When it’s time to head to the theater, Holland pays our half of the bill before I even have a chance to react, then we file outside after Reese and Kevin. We trail a couple yards behind them, salt crunching under our boots and twinkling lights hanging off trees that line the road. Holland’s stride is almost comically long compared to mine. It looks like he’s walking in slow motion, but at his normal pace I’d probably have to run to keep up.
“Uh-oh,” Holland says. He clenches his teeth and makes a face at me, and for a second I think I’ve read the signs all wrong. He’s going to make some excuse and bail before the movie.
“What?”
“Don’t look now, but...there’s a dog up ahead—”
I honestly don’t even hear the rest of what he says. My senses all tune in to the dog, who is sitting like a very good boy, watching people pass by on the sidewalk while his owner scrolls through her phone. My fingers curl around the ends of my scarf and I veer over to them, slowing as I approach.
When the woman holding the leash notices me lurking, I blurt out, “Can I pet your dog?”
She smiles. “Sure.”
I crouch down and offer the dog my hand to sniff. “What’s its name?”
“Harvey.”
“Of course it is,” I say as I scratch Harvey behind the ears. “Hi, you’re a good boy.”
Suddenly Holland is crouching beside me, looking equally thrilled to make Harvey’s acquaintance. “Is he a goldendoodle?”
She nods, and a beat later Holland stands up again. I give Harvey one last pet and reluctantly follow. “Thanks.”
Reese and Kevin are waiting for us in front of the next shop. “Can’t take you two anywhere,” Reese says when we catch up.
Holland laughs and turns to me as we start walking again. “I’m guessing you make a lot of dog-related detours?”
The way he says it isn’t judgmental. More like he totally gets it, has a hard time passing a dog without stopping as well.
“Well, I generally like meeting dogs more than people, so.”
“This is why I’ve got to introduce you to Lucy. You’ll definitely like her more than you like me.”
“I mean...probably yes.”
His smile draws parentheses on his cheeks again. He nods like he knew that would be my response. “Yeah, but see, we’re kind of a package deal. So if you fall for her...”
“I’ll be stuck with you?”
“Exactly.”
My mouth scrunches to the side, and I tilt my head, gaze at him like I’m considering. “That might not be so bad.”
“Warming up to me already.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “What about you—do you have any pets?”
“Sadly no. My parents never let me get a dog. I did have a guinea pig for a while, but it died last year. I thought about getting another, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to bring it to college, and I don’t trust my parents to take care of it while I’m away, so.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah. But I volunteer at an animal shelter over the summer, so I get some quality animal time in that way.”
“Nice. You’ll make a great vet one day, Aubrey TBD Cash.”
“Thanks. I’m sure you will, too.” We’ve reached the theater now, and get in line for the ticket window. “Do you know where you want to go to school?”
“It’s looking like North Carolina State.”
“Oh, nice.”
“What about you?”
“I just got accepted to Michigan State. That’s my top choice right now.”
“That’s awesome, congrats. Well, who knows—maybe we’ll end up in the same program for grad school. Or work together one day.”
My mind flashes to David from work and my smile gets stiffer. “Yeah. Maybe.”
It’s our turn at the window. Holland reaches into his pocket automatically.
“I can get this,” I offer, but just like at the diner, he waves me off.
“You get the next one.”
The next one. The way he says it isn’t even a question. He wants to go out again. Which simultaneously sends a warm thrill down my spine and has me fighting the urge to pump the brakes. But this is going so well—and Reese was right, I am having fun. So as long as I stick to the casual dating deal, I’ll be in control of how much I let Holland in. We can keep having fun and I won’t be blindsided or hurt if Holland turns out to be, say, a liar or someone who thinks it’s okay to ghost me.
Kevin pulls Reese a little closer, so that her neck rests in the crook of his elbow. He plants a kiss on top of her head, and she tilts her face up toward his, turning in his arms so she can slide her hands around his waist. They look like the kind of couple that’s grown so secure in their relationship that they actually believe they’re going to make it. That they’re invincible. It sets off a destructive streak in me. I want to point out that they’re going away to different colleges, slide up beside Reese and whisper it’s never going to last in her ear.
Seriously, why am I like this?
I mean, I know why. Living with two people who seem to hate each other is bound to give you a complex eventually. I just wish my brain didn’t work this way. I’m on a date with a perfectly decent guy, who also happens to be super hot, and all I can think about is how almost half of all marriages end in divorce.
Kevin moves to the concession stand, orders Reese a Diet Coke like it’s all part of the routine at this point. And I don’t know why it irks me. People are allowed to have a go-to drink. It’s really sweet that he knows what she likes, gets it for her without even asking. But again, this voice in my head asks what the point is of getting to know someone that well. There’s nothing stopping them from getting bored with you. From changing in ways you could never have seen coming.
“You want anything?” Holland asks.
“I’m good. Thanks, though.”
He nods, and we wait near the front of the line for Reese and Kevin to get their drinks. People keep weaving around us, balancing their popcorn and frozen Cokes, until finally Holland grabs my hand and gently pulls me over to the wall, out of the way.
And then he doesn’t let go.
If Holland holds my hand for another thirty seconds, it means he likes being seen in public with me.
It goes longer than thirty seconds. We stay that way as Reese and Kevin rejoin us, up until we reach the guy taking tickets.
“Oh, hey, man.”
I look up and see Kevin hand his tickets to Webster, who is wearing the same black polo shirt as the rest of the employees. God—since when does Webster work here? And why does he have to be working right now?
Webster tears their tickets and Kevin walks through with Reese. Holland fist-bumps Webster when he steps forward—apparently he’s not the least bit surprised to see him here—but I notice something tight in his expression. In both their expressions, actually. Webster’s jaw knots, and his gaze flickers between us as Holland drops my hand to pull the tickets out of his pocket.
When Holland passes the tickets over, Webster reads each one carefully, as though it’s not completely obvious we’re seeing the same thing as Reese and Kevin. He tears them and hands back the stubs.
“Theater seven, cuz.”
“Cool. We still watching the game next weekend?”
“For sure.”
Holland nods and passes through. I follow him, but Webster taps my arm on my way by. When I turn around, he’s wearing a bland smile that’s possibly supposed to be professional but is more likely meant to antagonize me. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s barely resisting the urge to crack a joke. He finds it so damn funny that I’m out with his cousin. I glare back, daring him to say shit about it.
He gestures conspiratorially for me to come closer. I hesitate. He cocks his head and beckons again, as though he has a secret to tell me.
This feels like a trap. Down the hall, Reese is throwing popcorn kernels that Kevin tries to catch in his mouth. Holland is joking around with them, laughing with Kevin like they’re old friends, not two guys who tried to kill each other on the basketball court last week.
“What do you want?”
Before Webster can answer, another guy wearing the theater’s uniform polo swoops in and says, “Hey, Web. Bossman says you can take your break in fifteen.”
“Cool, thanks, Henry.” As soon as the other guy’s gone, Webster leans close enough for me to smell his shirt, which somehow doesn’t carry the butter-popcorn scent I assumed it would—instead he smells citrusy and earthy, almost like tea. His eyes flash over my shoulder to Holland, and back again. He keeps his voice low, confidential. “The father did it.”
“What...” I blink at him. “Wait. Did you just give away the ending to the movie I’m about to see?”
“Enjoy the show.”
He sits there with a shit-eating grin and, oh my god, I want to smack it off his stupid face. “You’re an asshole.”
He shrugs loosely, completely unbothered by this. “Yeah, that seems to be the consensus.”
I spin on my heel and hightail it to Holland. My hand slips into his again, fingers lacing together, and this time it feels like a perfect fit. Because I deserve to have someone like Holland interested in me. Someone who doesn’t play mind games.
He squeezes my hand, a quick pulse accompanied by a soft smile, and I realize I have all the evidence I need to keep seeing Holland. I like him, and he likes me, and that’s enough for now. So as we head toward our theater, I don’t spare Webster another glance.