"Like working on your showcase piece?" Bunz said, lazily spooning curd into the small holes cut into her freshly baked cupcakes.
Drew sighed. She should have known better; Bunz was the closest person to her outside her family and knew her about as well, often better. She also had the uncanny ability to simply know things.
"Fine," she huffed. "I just didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to think that this means I've agreed to do the showcase. I told you I would think about it."
"But you are working on a piece," Bunz countered.
"Yes," Drew said defensively. "One, because it's a good choreography exercise for myself. Two, because I should be prepared in the event that I do decide to do it."
"You are going to do it," Bunz said. "So, I'm really not sure what more there is to discuss. But it's fine with me. I don't mind if you leave early to work on your showcase piece. Or hang out with Heath some more. Whatever."
"Oh, shut it," Drew said, rolling her eyes as she began to rinse off the dishes. "It's not even like that. He's a friend."
"Who's coming over for an Italian Sunday dinner to meet your whole entire family," Bunz said. "I know what that means."
"Yeah, it means that he got railroaded into it when Nik rolled up and started acting like she was running shit," Drew said. "He's a nice guy. What was he going to do, say no?"
"Uh, yes," Bunz said patiently. "He doesn't know your family or owe them anything. You're both grown, he doesn't need your parents' permission to date you or hang out with you or whatever it is he wants from you. He agreed to come because he wants to. Because he likes you."
"He was just being nice and didn't want to make me look stupid in front of my sister," Drew insisted. "You know how Nik is."
"Well, I certainly don't know him like you know him," Bunz said, starting pipe lemon buttercream onto the cupcakes. "Or, well, at all for that matter. But I don't think it's rocket science, my dear. The man likes you. So let him like you."
"I'm telling you, it's seriously not like that." Drew scrubbed at the mixing bowl Bunz brought over to her. "We are just friends. That's all."
Bunz rolled her big brown eyes and shook her head. "Okay. Whatever. You know, for a twenty-seven-year-old, you are irritatingly naïve."
"Your…face is naïve," Drew shot back lamely.
Bunz laughed. "Whatever. Get out of here. Go work on something awesome and make me proud in May."
Drew grabbed the deposit bag and exited the café. The bank her family used for business purposes was a couple blocks away. She made it there in record time, greeting the bank teller and made the deposit quickly. She tucked the empty, zippered cash bag into her dance bag and caught the bus just as it was pulling up across the street to go to the Y. As she settled into her seat, she felt her cell phone buzz in her pocket and she quickly pulled it out, smiling when she saw who the message was from.
Heath had sent her a text message the night before letting her know what his number was, and since then, they'd been texting each other continuously. His latest message was asking what she was up to for the evening beyond teaching her dance class. She replied that she had nothing going on beyond working on her showcase piece. She had told him previously that she probably wouldn't be at the gym very often anymore, her desire to create and perfect her piece consuming most of her free time these days. As always, he made sure she had a safe ride home secured. By now, she had no doubt that if she didn't, he would either procure a vehicle to take her home or he would spend countless hours riding various buses with her to escort her to her door to ensure that she arrived home safely. It was sort of nice to have someone that genuinely concerned for her well-being.
She wondered who looked out for his well-being. She was pretty sure he was single, although she didn't trust anyone easily. Maybe he was actually a scumbag with a girlfriend but was making her think he was footloose and fancy-free. Immediately, she felt bad at the thought. She knew deep down that Heath was playing straight with her. If for no other reason than he just didn't seem like the kind of guy to do things like see her home, buy her a late dinner, travel across the city just to bring her an item she'd left at his gym, agree to attend a family dinner—only to go home to his actual significant other. It wasn't like he was personally getting anything out of it. She knew that they were friends, but she thought that maybe he thought more of her than that. She had picked up on the way he'd looked at her at the lounge last weekend. Then again, she had been dolled up and scantily clad. She never looked like that on a regular day. In fact, that was the whole point of her appearance that night—to get attention. The owner of Cliff's had been very specific on what his waitresses and bartenders should look like. It wasn't a coincidence.