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WASHINGTON, D.C.— IT'S A DATE.
It's a date. It's a date. It's a date. Lyla replayed the words over and over again until Wednesday had come around. There was no way this was actually a date— was it? The last time Lyla went on a date it had been with Tommy, and it was the night Stevie was conceived. Eight years ago.
Lyla stood in the mirror, a pout on her lips as she scanned over her outfit. She was in a pair of black jeans and a black tank top. If it was a date, was she too casual? She debated changing into something nicer, but stopped herself. It couldn't be a date...could it? Lyla hadn't been asked out since college, since Tommy and his band snuck into the university's radio station where she worked the night shift, and instead of calling the cops, she let the cute lead singer buy her a cup of coffee.
Coffee dates were a tradition for Lyla and Tommy, throughout college up until Stevie was born. They would go out each Friday, she would order a black coffee, him a mocha. They would split a cookie and talk about their week. Lyla would talk about the newest book she had read, and he would talk about the new song he had just written.
Lyla couldn't stomach a cup of coffee after Tommy left. She pained through the caffeine withdrawal migraines and tried to compensate with tea, but it didn't work. The smell of coffee had made her sick, and the taste just didn't taste the same anymore.
She took another look in the mirror and let out a deep breath. She bit her lip as she looked at her reflection, nearly stopping herself as she caught herself pulling her shirt down to expose more of her chest. Did she want Aaron to notice? She couldn't tell.
Crushes were for teenagers, or dumb college kids, is what Lyla told herself. She was an adult— that's what she kept telling herself. Adults don't get crushes.
But, if they didn't, what the hell was she feeling? Lyla hadn't bothered to look in another man's direction in years, not one who filled her stomach with butterflies or took up this much space in her mind, at least.
She checked the clock— 11:57. She was supposed to meet him at 12:00. She cursed under her breath, took one last look at herself and grabbed her stuff. Getting into her car, she turned up the radio in hopes it would drown out her whirlwind thoughts, but it did the opposite.
She decided to determine if it was a date during her car ride. She went over the evidence in her head, first, the signs that pointed to it not being a date.
1. He said, "it's a date."
A common expression.
2. He could not be single.
Sure, Lyla had glanced at where a wedding ring would've been if he were married. He could simply not wear one. He could have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a partner.
3. He didn't know if he knew she wasn't married.
Lyla had thought he saw her glance down at her ring finger. She could've just imagined it— a fantasy hoping the stranger you thought was cute also thought you were cute. She could've been looking for signs that weren't there, just signs she wished were there.
She then weighed the reasons it could be a date.
1. He said, "It's a date."
He could have been speaking literally.
2. Lyla really, really wanted it to be a date.
For the last eight months, Lyla had been pestered to move on, or get back out there by her family, despite claiming she was happy and that Stevie was all she needed. It was true— to an extent, at least. Stevie was all she needed, however, it wouldn't be the worst thing if she could share that with somebody else.
She almost laughed at herself as she parked in front of the coffee shop. All of these thoughts that had consumed her probably hadn't crossed Aaron's mind once. Probably.
She thought it was silly. Leave it up to Lyla to fantasize about the first man who had been nice to her since Tommy left. Leave it to Lyla to think about how his eyes crinkles a bit when he smiled, or the sound of his laugh— even though their interaction had been all of ten minutes, maximum.
He was just being nice, she told herself over and over again. He probably feels bad for me. He probably thinks I'm some freak who talks too much, or something. He probably feels bad for me. This is not a date. He was just being nice.
She took a deep breath as she exited her car and headed into the coffee shop. She replayed those words over and over again in her head. He probably feels bad for me. This is not a date. He was just being nice.
"Lyla!"
A voice broke her from her thoughts, and she looked around until she saw the face that matched it. Aaron.
He sat at a table in the corner, dressed more casually than their first interaction in a black t shirt and some slacks. He motioned for her to come over, a small smile on his face.
It wasn't like Aaron to ask women to grab a cup of coffee with him. He told himself, he was just doing it to be nice. Not because for the first time in a long time, he felt a weird sensation in his stomach. Not because he couldn't get Lyla's laugh out of his head. Not because late at night, he wished somebody was in the empty space next to him. Not because of any of that. He was just being nice.
"Hey." She breathed as she took the seat across from him, the same worried smile plastered across her lips from the other day, "Sorry I'm late."
He glanced up at the clock with a confused expression on his face, "It's 12:01. I wouldn't say that's late."
"Is it?" Her face flushed, "The car ride over felt like forever. I think it's because I'm starving."
"Fair enough." He laughed lightly and looked up at her, "Lyla?"
"Hm?"
"Do you want to split a cookie?"
/ hey! hope you're enjoying this :-) check out my new spencer reid fic called cyrano if you have a second! love, t. :-)
