The fogginess departed as we pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. Ultimately, I decided to bring up my past and resultant decisions when the time felt right. No need to rush.
She was talking about something that had her excited, and I forced my head out of the clouds. I didn’t want to miss it.
“Comic books,” she said. “So, you read them?”
I realized this was the second time she’d asked the question. I’d been too distracted to answer properly the first time.
“Yes. Used to sneak them in and read them at night when I was little. My momma was a librarian. She approved of the classics and not much else.”
“Well, today I received a call from my manager because I’ve been asked to write the script for Smash-Girl, the movie. GAH!”
“That’s great.” And I meant it. “I know Smash-Girl, got into her after I finished all the Smash-Boy I could get my hands on. You know many consider her eye candy and nothing more. But they’re wrong.” I withdrew my keys and grabbed my cell from its holder on the dash.
“Exactly. That’s how I feel. I love that her powers are similar to, but different than Smash-Boy’s. That when she grows angry, she maintains her ability to reason. It’s such a great allegory for how women and men actually are in life.”
“I don’t know about that.” I scratched my neck, having not given much thought to the allegorical implications of Smash-Girl. “But I will say this: as far as superheroes go, she’s way up there.”
“Yes.” Sarah’s grin was huge. I tried to not get lost in her dimples and mostly succeeded. When I lifted my eyes back to hers, I saw she was trying not to get lost in my grin.
I reckoned we were both in danger of becoming lost in each other, and that was fine by me. It was still early, way too soon to be having thoughts of the long-term, but I imagined what it might be like to come home to her every day. Her soft curves, deep dimples, dark eyes; her blunt sensuality and seductive honesty.
It would be like winning the lottery of life.
But I was getting ahead of myself.
Here the date hadn’t even really started and I was thinking on our future. She lived elsewhere and, for all I knew, wasn’t keen on staying after the movie wrapped. The last five years had addled my mind.
Or maybe it’s been preparing you, making you deserving of her . . .
Getting hold of myself, I disentangled our gazes and moved to exit the truck. But she stopped me with a light touch on my leg. “I have to tell you something.”
“Okay,” I nodded once. “Shoot.”
I saw she was nervous, locked in an internal debate. It must’ve been heated because Sarah gathered a deep breath and fisted her hands.
Then, on a sudden rush, she said, “My name isn’t Sarah.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “It isn’t?”
“No. When you asked, that first day, I had my hands in front of my face and my response was garbled. You heard Sarah, but I said . . .” She appeared to be winded. I watched her gather another large inhale and force herself to release it slowly, saying, “Sienna.”
I continued looking at her, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, I asked, “Is that it?”
“Yes. That’s my name. Sienna is my name.”
I grinned at her and her new name, deciding it fit her perfectly. “Nice to meet you again, Sienna.”
Her eyes widened with what seemed to be wonder as they moved between mine, her mouth hitching to the side. Then she frowned again, shaking her head like she was clearing it.
“There’s more.”
“Oh?” I asked, unconcerned.
“Yes. You asked me before if I were an actress and I said, ‘I’m a writer.’ That’s true. I am a writer. But I’m also an actress.” The look she gave me was bracing as she added, “I just wanted to clear that up.”
I nodded again. Again waiting for her to continue. And again asking, “Is that it?”
“Yes. My name is Sienna, and I am a writer and an actress. That is it.”
“Okay.” We watched each other. When it was clear she expected me to say something else, I added, “Sounds good.”
At that, Sienna released a heavy sigh of obvious relief, “Thank you. Thank you. I was so afraid—” She cut herself off, pressing her lips together and shaking her head. “Just, thanks for not being angry.”
“Angry?” I scoffed, frowning at her like she was nuts. “Why would I be angry? You should be irritated with me, calling you the wrong name for over a week.”
Not waiting for her response, I exited the truck and crossed to her side. I opened the door, reaching my hand out to help her down, but she was changing her shoes. My eyes drifted to her legs, happy to have a reason to stare at the shapely calves as she pulled on black high heels.