Four
The Tender Trap
We spend the whole morning going back and forth about the date I supposedly owe him. My argument, of course, is the omelet at my place was the date—because, c’mon, it was. But Jake insists it wasn’t because we didn’t order any food, and he didn’t take me anywhere but home.
His voice gets further away from the kitchen doorway. “I’m taking out my phone to figure this out…all right, got it: Date,” he reads aloud as his voice returns to the kitchen’s open doorway. “A social or romantic appointment or engagement. Last night wasn’t either of those.”
“It was social! We talked,” I insist, placing the cup of coffee I made him on the sliver of tile Naima had the nerve to call counter space when she helped me set up the kitchen.
“Yeah, for like five minutes and then you jump
