“That’s the one,” he said, and I heard his smile. My own smile grew bigger, and I heard a snort from Denny.
I glanced up, and he mouthed, “Tanner?”
When I nodded, he rolled his eyes and headed for the break room.
“How’s the city?” I asked Tanner the same thing every day, teasing him that he got to see and cover way more of Salt Lake than I did.
“Still there,” he said. “I’m done with it for the day.”
“You made your deadline already?”
“I just hit send,” he said, sounding tired. “What about you?”
“I’m covering that punk band tonight,” I reminded him. “I’m only halfway through my day.”
“That’s right,” he said. “What are they called? Something really inspiring.”
“Circling the Drain.”
“Fail.”
I laughed. “Maybe their music is better than their name.”
“I hope so for your sake. You want to take a dinner break?”
“I’d love to.” It was becoming a habit—dinner with Tanner. A really good habit.
“How does Chez Tanner sound?”
“Way better than my microwave dinner in the freezer.” Dinner at Tanner’s would trump almost anything, truthfully. His kitchen skills rocked. His mom had taught him well. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
After we hung up, I dug through my purse for my compact to make sure my eyeliner hadn’t migrated then touched up with a little bit of lip gloss. I had less time than ever to be high maintenance, but in a job where I had to be taken seriously as a professional, I’d learned appearances counted. Showing up places looking like a fresh-faced kid did not work in my favor. When I made the acquaintance of the Cover Girl section at the grocery store, Ginger cheered.
Denny walked out and caught me primping. He rolled his eyes before tossing his crumpled soda can into a wastebasket near the front door. “Dinner with your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Right,” he said, settling in front of his monitor. “You talk multiple times a day, go out several times a week, you spend every Sunday with his family, and can’t face him without your lip gloss intact. What was I thinking?”
“We don’t go out,” I said. “We hang out. And we’ve only been doing that for a few weeks.”
“My bad again. You’re right. Big difference. Why would I think he’s your boyfriend? Especially when you’re dating other guys every single week too.”
Yeah, there was that. I wadded up a piece of paper and bounced it off of his head. I winced. “Sorry. I was trying to swish it in your trash can to intimidate you.”
He grinned and went back to zipping through the murky digital underpinnings of the magazine’s programming code.
I turned back to my fluff piece on Chef Tom, but it was too late. I had lost the tiny shred of interest I’d barely had in it before. First of all, Chef Tom was a dumb name. It didn’t sound right. Chefs have names like Wolfgang Puck. How was I supposed to take “Tom” seriously? And I definitely couldn’t concentrate with Denny’s teasing ringing in my ears. My conscience throbbed.
Even though Tanner and I still had a full week to go before we had our first agreed-upon DTR, I knew I was in trouble. The emotional wiggle room I thought my Indie Girl dates would buy me had evaporated after a week with him. Without even trying, he’d shut down all my defenses. The humor I’d often seen lurking in his expression over the previous two months proved irresistible up close and personal, and we spent a lot of time laughing and debating and drifting into comfortable silences that neither of us hurried to break. There was no defense against that except distance, and I wasn’t willing to give up time with him. Not when there was so much to learn about the way his fascinating brain worked. Not when he made me feel like the cleverest girl that had ever been born. Not when Rosemary was already madly in love with him, and my mom had automatically set a place for him and Courtney at the dinner table every Thursday for three weeks in a row.
Not when every date with him ended in a kiss that curled my toes.
It made the Lookup dates so much worse. I’d gone back to looking for dates with no real romantic future, thinking it would keep things less complicated for everyone. It did in one sense: it made it clear to me that I wanted Tanner and no one else. Talk about the law of unintended consequences.
It also made me dread every new date. Not only did I spend most of the inevitably uncomfortable dates wishing I were with Tanner, but I also spent them feeling guilty because he didn’t know about the whole “Single in the City” column. I wanted to tell him, and I knew it needed to be soon, but I hadn’t found the right way to bring it up with him. What was I supposed to say? “So I’m really into you, but I have to date other guys every week for my job. Hope you don’t mind.”
I didn’t know if it would be worse for him to not mind at all or to mind so much that it forced me to choose. I wasn’t sure that I could walk away from the column without losing my job altogether, and I couldn’t walk away from Real Salt Lake because I didn’t have a Plan B.
My phone chimed with a text from Tanner. I’m home. Come see me, woman.
I sighed and leaned back to study the ceiling for a happy moment.
Denny groaned, and I groped on my desk for a projectile. I snatched up the clay paperweight Rosemary had made me in Brownies and chucked it at him. He didn’t even duck, and it bounced off the wall a foot to the left of his head.
“You could at least pretend like you’re scared,” I said.
“It’s only scary when you’re aiming at something near me,” he said. “You never hit what you’re actually aiming at.”
I laughed. “I need a break,” I said. “Maybe dinner will improve my coordination. Watch out when I get back. Tanner’s food is magical.”
“Enough!” Denny said, bouncing out of his chair. “I cannot take the goopiness anymore.”
I scanned my desk for more missiles and snagged a full water bottle from it. I winged it at Denny, intending to hit him square in the chest. Instead, it hit him lower. Significantly lower. Denny dropped to his knees with a hiss.
“I’m sorry, Denny! I’m so, so sorry!” I winced as his eyes crossed. “What can I do? Can I do anything for you? I’m so sorry!”
He waved toward the door, and a strangled version of his normal voice said, “Go. Go now.”
I snatched my purse and laptop bag off my desk and babbled as I hurried to obey him. “Denny, I feel so bad! I’m so sorry.”
He pushed himself back up and limped toward the break room, maybe for ice.
“Go eat!” he called.
Once I reached The Zuke, I dropped my stuff in the front seat, the only open space in the car. I’d procrastinated cleaning it all week, but I really needed to get rid of the borrowed rock-climbing gear that ate up all the room in the rear seat. The grimy harness and other assorted equipment Mace had lent me for my last Indie Girl date hadn’t made it back into the house after I’d limped home from an exhausting date on Saturday with “Fly Outdoor Guy.” He was not, in fact, “fly.” A talkative braggy pants, yes. But not fly. The conversation had exhausted me more than the forty-five-foot wall we’d tackled.
I revved the engine, anxious to see Tanner again. Fifteen minutes and a few borderline yellow lights later, I knocked on Tanner’s door. What was this crazy pull he had on me that made me rush across town for a chance to grab dinner with him when I had a million other things to do? And why didn’t I care more about his ability to distract me? In the middle of these muddled thoughts, the door swung open, and Tanner stood there, looking rumpled and delicious in chinos and a deep purple button-down shirt.
“How was the mayor’s office?” I asked as he pulled me into his arms.
He dropped a kiss on my head before answering. “Not as huggable as you,” he said.
His roommate Tyler groaned and raised the volume on the Jazz game. The eruptions from the television crowd provided pleasant whit
e noise while I watched from my perch at their breakfast counter as Tanner cooked up chicken fettuccine alfredo, my favorite. “Are you going to tell me your secret ingredient this time?” I asked.
“I told you, I pass my hand over it.”
I rolled my eyes, and he grinned, turning back to the pan where the cream slowly heated for the sauce. “What did you work on this afternoon?” he asked.
I sighed and told him about the puff piece on Chef Tom. By the time I finished my litany of complaints on all the boring “snapshots” I’d had to sketch out for the local profiles, the fettuccine noodles were boiling.
“Anyway, it’s not fair,” I concluded.
Tanner nodded and pinched a noodle from the boiling mass, taking a small bite to test its consistency. I waited for him to offer his input when he finished chewing, but instead, he took another bite of noodle.
“Well?” I asked.
He responded with a crook of his eyebrows that said, “What?”
“It’s totally not fair, right?” I prodded.
He finished chewing and swallowed then took a long swig of his ice water.
“Tanner!”
“It’s totally fair,” he said. “That’s how this business works. This is the dues-paying I told you about way back when.”
I grimaced and traced an amorphous doodle on the countertop. Tanner never pulled punches. I really liked that about him, even when I didn’t like what he had to say. I tapped my invisible drawing a few times then smiled.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m pretty lucky I got a full-time gig at all. Remind me of that next time I complain.”
“Okay, but I’m also going to remind you that you told me to remind you.”
“Sorry. Do I complain a lot?”
He smiled and gave a small shake of his head. “No. You don’t.” He grabbed a plate from a nearby cupboard and plopped fettuccine on it then ladled sauce on top before sliding the whole shebang in front of me.
“It smells insanely good,” I said.
“It’s my mom’s special recipe. She’ll teach it to you if you want.”
I took a big bite and chewed, basking in the rush of happy endorphins that only heavenly pasta can unleash.
“I want,” I said.
It would be my second cooking lesson from her. Tanner and I had spent one Saturday evening in the Graham’s kitchen while his mom taught me how to roast a duck. His parents’ house was becoming a second home.
“Did Courtney call you about Saturday?” he asked after downing a few bites of his own.
A small pit formed in my stomach. “No. What’s up?”
“She and Josh want us to go up to Park City with them.”
The pit yawned wider. “What time?” I asked, hoping against hope the answer would be that it was a dinner thing.
“I think they want to grab lunch and walk through the shops.”
It was their third date. Josh’s sense of humor put Courtney at ease, and I didn’t know if they were the love match of the century, but Josh’s low-key approach was the perfect fit for Courtney and her reentry into the single life. They liked each other’s company, and they both seemed content to leave it at that for the moment.
It was a stark contrast to the headlong rush I found myself in with Tanner. Denny hadn’t overstated the amount of time I was spending talking to Tanner . . . or hanging out with Tanner . . . or thinking about Tanner.
“Pepper? Saturday?”
I stared down at my fettuccine, not wanting to give my answer and mess up dinner.
He sighed. “You have a date.”
“Yes,” I said, hating that my voice already sounded defensive, but I sensed an argument developing. “But maybe I can fit in Park City. I’ll check my phone.”
Annoyance crossed Tanner’s face. “I don’t really want to be squeezed in around another date.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’d much rather go out with you.”
“Then cancel the other date.”
A reasonable request—if my job weren’t on the line. “I can’t. It’s complicated,” I said. “But I want to do the Park City thing. Let me check my phone. It may work.”
He grumbled a less-than-encouraging, “Fine.”
I dug through my handbag until I realized I’d left my cell on the car charger.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “You finish your dinner.”
I handed him my keys and dug back into my chicken alfredo. A yell from Tyler startled me, but he seemed happy about something in the game, so I ignored him and went back to my food. It was half gone when Tanner walked in a few minutes later and dropped my keys next to me. He took his seat again and pulled out his phone, holding it next to mine. He messed with his for half a minute before handing mine to me.
“Can you call my phone?” he asked.
“Uh, why?”
“I needed to reprogram mine. I had your name spelled wrong. Can you just call it?”
“You’re acting weird,” I said, but I pressed his speed-dial number. He was six, up from number nine two weeks before. Part of me wanted to put him in the one spot, but that felt so . . . serious.
After a short pause, his phone rang and a song I didn’t recognize played instead of his usual ring tone. “What song is that?” I asked. “It sounds like the Beastie Boys.”
“It is,” he said. “It’s called ‘She’s Crafty.’” He turned his phone around, and the caller ID, lit up brighter than Edwards Stadium on the Fourth of July, screamed “Indie Girl.”
I dropped my phone. He let “She’s Crafty” play a few seconds longer before he hit Ignore. “Anything you want to tell me?” he asked.
“I’m Indie Girl,” I mumbled.
The sound on the TV suddenly died. Tyler’s head popped up over the sofa. “You’re Indie Girl? No way!” he said and laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d heard in days. “I can’t believe I know Indie Girl!” He whipped out his cell phone. “I have to tell my sister. She’ll flip.”
I hopped up and ran over to snatch his phone away, dancing out of reach when he lunged to get it back. “You can’t tell anyone, Tyler. It’s a secret identity for a reason!”
He eyed his phone, which I dangled out of reach then groaned. “Dude, I totally feel for Jimmy Olson now. It’s lame knowing someone’s alter ego if you can’t tell anyone.”
I handed his phone back. “I don’t even get superpowers,” I said. “It makes for a boring story. Seriously, don’t tell. Promise me.”
He sighed. “I promise.” He shoved his phone back in his pocket and unmuted the TV.
I reclaimed my stool next to Tanner and picked at a noodle on my plate.
“Um, so . . . surprise,” I said, unsure of what he thought. He didn’t look angry. More like frustrated. “I meant to bake you a cake when I announced it, and maybe have Rosemary pop out of it with a sign saying, ‘Don’t dump Pepper!’ or something.”
“I read that column every week. Why is it suddenly so obvious to me now?” he said.
I couldn’t read anything from his tone. Stupid reporter impassivity.
“Because you saw the climbing gear in my backseat?” I joked. I knew that’s how he’d made the connection. He didn’t laugh. I sighed and tried again. “I started writing those columns because I was the only sucker Ellie could convince to do it, but I forced her to make me full time when the column took off. I have to do it, or I lose the chance to do other stuff. You know, like exciting fluff bits about chefs named Tom.”
He didn’t say anything. He took another bite of his food. He wasn’t freaking out, but he wasn’t looking at me either.
“Tanner? Your thoughts?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say here, Pepper. In hindsight, you warned me. Good job.” He pushed his plate away and turned to face me completely. “For every single argument I want to make, I can hear the counterargument in my head, and it seems pointless to bring it up.” I noticed the volume drop even more on the game and suspected if I could see thro
ugh the sofa, I would catch Tyler straining to eavesdrop.
“I understand. I think. But my dad says the first place you have to start is by talking. So maybe I’ll be surprised by what you say, or maybe I’ll react exactly like you expect, but I’d really appreciate knowing what you’re thinking. Only maybe on a walk.” I jerked my head toward the sofa.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
We dropped our dishes in the sink and then headed outside to the manicured path that wound through his apartment complex. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets, and I wondered if it was because he didn’t want to hold mine.
We passed two more buildings before he spoke. “I don’t have any claim on you. I get it. I don’t have the right to tell you that you can’t date anyone else. But I’m not okay with it. So I don’t know what to say, and I’ve already thought myself into sixteen different circles over this in ten minutes flat. That’s where I’m at.”
It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
“Would it help if I said I don’t like any of these guys?” I asked.
“I would have guessed that from the column,” he said. He picked up one of the smooth landscaping pebbles lining the path and chucked it through the rails of the nearby fence. “I still can’t believe I didn’t put this all together faster. I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. You’re the smartest guy I know.”
“It’s not like there were a ton of choices,” he continued, unappeased. “I assumed it was Ellie, but those columns are way more your voice.” He dropped onto a bench that lined the path. I sat next to him, silent, trying to let him work it through and not rush in, trying to be the good listener my dad had taught me to be. I heard crickets and concentrated on the smell of the freshly cut grass that lingered in the mild June air. I tried not to fidget, but it was hard not to when all I wanted to do was yell, “I hate the stupid column! I’ll give it up!”
But I needed it, and there wasn’t any getting around that yet. How would I feel if Tanner asked me to drop it? It would be a huge step in our relationship if I did that for him. But it might be a step backward because, once again, I would be torpedoing my own career for the sake of a relationship. I wasn’t willing to lose myself in Tanner like I had in Landon. If I lost myself, I had finally figured out, then I had none of me to offer anyway.
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