Huh. Adam actually texts like a responsible adult. I have to admit, that makes me like him a little more. I've become so used to Grant's lack of capitalization and punctuation that Adam's text is like reading from an instruction manual.
Before I can reply, my phone buzzes again.
"I made falafel so there is a vegetarian option." - Sent at 6:22 p.m.
"With tzatziki sauce?" - sent at 6:23 p.m.
"Homemade tzatziki sauce." - Sent at 6:24 p.m.
"I'll be there in ten minutes." - Sent at 6:24 p.m.
I throw back the blankets and roll out of bed. Turns out there are some things that will get me out of bed. Those things are usually deep-fried.
***
"It's amazing how much I love tzatziki sauce considering the fact that I hate cucumbers," I say as I drag a piece of pita bread along my plate to soak up the last bits of sauce.
"You hate cucumbers? Didn't I see you eat a pickle while you were snowed in with us?" Adam asks as he spoons a little more salad onto his plate. Carter is quiet and focused on his falafel wrap.
"Yeah, pickles are delicious," I say like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Because it is the most obvious thing in the world.
"How can you hate cucumbers and love pickles? They're the same food."
"I know plenty of people that hate raisins and love grapes," I counter.
Adam slouches in his barstool, and I smile. I think I won this round.
"So, when are we going to start my cooking lessons?" I ask Adam who is now mindlessly poking at his salad with a fork. Man, did I just break his spirit?
"Want to aim for this weekend? The bakery's closed on Sunday."
"Sunday sounds perfect."
"Unless I see you before then," he says, jerking his head over at Carter, who seems to be oblivious to us.
I raise a questioning eyebrow at Adam and he only shrugs.
"I wish I had thought to invite Rach," I say, hoping to bring Carter out of his shell. "I saw the word 'falafel' and forgot about everything else."
"Remind me never to put my life in your hands," Adam mumbles. I whip my head to glare at him. He grins back. Bastard.
"She's busy," Carter says. "Some freelance gig just came up."
At six o'clock on a Wednesday? I don't voice that concern aloud but that is beyond suspicious, even for someone like Rachel who is completely loyal to Carter. Of course, Rachel is dedicated to finding a job, and I know her bank account is getting thin. She's a little desperate right now; beggars can't be choosers. Right?
I turn back to Adam who only shrugs again. I know he thinks that Rachel is up to something. I also know that he knows better than to suggest such an idea to me. I also know that it's killing him to not say anything, but I imagine that he's taking a small amount of comfort in the doubt on my face.
I shake my head at Adam. Rachel would never do anything to jeopardize her relationship with Carter. Never.
Chapter Fourteen
My sewing playlist is interrupted by the ding of a text message. Because I'm a complete slave to my phone, I let off the foot pedal of my sewing machine and stop my project to check the text.
It's from Adam.
"We're taking Carter and Rachel out tonight for Valentine's Day. Prepare for her to barge in to your apartment."
"We?" I shoot back just as I hear the lock turn on my front door.
"Please tell me you're not knee-deep in organza."
"Hey, you remembered organza." I smile as Rachel plops down on the couch. "Also, maybe knock before inviting yourself in. Don't make me put your emergency key in time-out again."
"Sorry," she mumbles. "I wanted to invite you out tonight. Carter and I are going to go to Tidball's. You should come out and have a drink with us."
"What makes you think I don't already have plans?"
"Because you're sitting at your sewing machine in your pajamas at seven o'clock on Valentine's Day."
I do my best not to pout. "I could change."
"And what? Leave a sewing project behind?"
It hurts how well she knows me.
"To be fair, this is an ongoing project. I can easily take a break."
"Then take a break and go out drinking with us."
Oops. I did not mean to walk so easily into that trap. Because, honestly, I could finish the skirt on this dress tonight, and maybe even start working on the neckline. Of course, I'm still not completely happy with the bodice of the gown. Connie's design calls for minimal detail on the top of the dress to balance out the different fabrics and textures of the skirt, but I feel like it needs something. Only I don't know what.
"But going to a bar? On Valentine's Day?" I ask. "Why aren't you and Carter doing something a little more special?"
Rachel shrugs. "We agreed last year to keep holidays simple. This is simple."
"Indeed," I mumble. Did Adam pester Carter into taking Rachel literally anywhere else than a bar for this stupid greeting card holiday? If so, he was obviously as unsuccessful as I'm shaping up to be.
"What's Grant doing tonight? You could always invite him out with us," Rachel says as she absentmindedly flips through a basket of sewing patterns.
Wow. Rachel is desperate for company if she's suggesting that Grant come along.
"I don't know. I haven't talked to him." And that's the truth. I haven't seen Grant lately. I think we've texted twice the past two weeks. My free time has been used to work on this wedding dress and, strangely enough, spent with Adam.
"You and I both know that you get your best design inspiration when you go out and have a drink or two," Rachel reminds me as she looks over my notes and own sketches of Connie's gown. "You and Carter are the same in that respect."
That's the thing about fashion designers and writers. To be inspired, we must first kill our livers.
"Fine. I'll go celebrate Valentine's Day with you and fiancé. Nothing weird about that."
***
"You didn't say that Adam was going to be here," I say as Rach and I walk inside the bar. She scoffs at me, unaware that I'm weirdly happy to see Adam.
"That's because I wanted you to actually go out with us. Telling you that Adam will be here wouldn't have done me any good."
"Evie," Adam says curtly as Rachel and I join him and Carter at the corner table they've secured.
"Adam," I respond, my voice hard. When Carter and Rachel kiss each other hello, Adam sneaks a wink at me. I roll my eyes.
"Okay. I got Evie away from her sewing machine. I think that deserves a drink," Rachel announces to the table.
"For that feat, you deserve an entire keg. Do you guys want anything?" Carter asks Adam and me.
"Want to split a pitcher?" Adam asks.
"Sure. Pemberley Ale okay?"
"Sounds great."
Carter looks from me to Adam several times before asking, "What the hell is this? Civility?"
"We're your guests. We're trying to be on our best behavior," I rattle off.
"Don't worry. I'll kick her ass at pool later. Then we'll rip out each other's throats."
"Good," Rachel says. "You two getting along throws the universe off balance."
Says the woman who spent the better part of six months trying to get us together.
"And, hey!" I shout belatedly at Adam. "I would destroy you at pool."
"Yeah, oh-kay," he says with a laugh as he and Carter go to the bar to procure alcohol for the table.
"What a dick," I mumble and, when I confirm that Rachel isn't looking in my direction, I smile, mostly because I know I will kick his Peruvian ass at pool later.
"See, this is fun," Rachel says as we watch the band set up their instruments. "You should come out with us more often."
I only nod in response, unable to be heard over the sound check the bass player has just begun.
"The older I get, the more I hate live music in bars," Adam shouts over the speakers as he and Carter return with nourishment.
"You're 28," Carter tells him.
"And the music is too loud."
We all laugh as the beer and Carter's bourbon and coke are passed around the table. We sit in a comfortable silence as the band continues to warm up. I notice that Carter and Rachel are being especially handsy with one another, and I kick Adam under the table to alert him to the adorableness that will, after three more drinks, turn into a full-on disgusting PDA session. He gives me the tiniest of thumbs up.
"What's the thumbs up for?" Carter asks Adam.
God. We are just the worst at being stealthy.
"I was asking Evie if she wanted to go upstairs and be in awe of my billiard skills, "Adam says, and I'm too impressed at his quick thinking to even pretend to be offended.
"Good call. The table won't be free once the place starts filling up," Carter says.
"Shall we?"
"We shall." I grab my cup and the pitcher of beer. I turn back to Rachel and Carter before heading up the stairs. "Don't be surprised when Adam comes back crying."
I follow Adam up the dimly lit staircase, cursing whoever thought it was a good idea to give a bar an upstairs.
There's only one guy upstairs, and he's set up at a table that overlooks the stage. He pays us no attention.