“Are you out of breath?” she says. “Tab? Do you need some kind of paper bag to breathe into? Are you having a situation?” She tries following my gaze, and we both realize in the same instant that it has settled on Devon.
He makes eye contact with me. He is all haunted blue eyes and skinny arms under his long-sleeve tee. He smiles and waves, and first I think: cute. Immediately followed by: Is this a sign that I have to make something happen with him, like LBC told me to?
My phone buzzes to tell me I have one hour left to complete my Assignment. I am now sweating approximately as much as your average marathoner. I guess I wanted a brand-new type of life, and this is certainly that. I have never felt this many things at once.
“TABBY,” Elise says, loudly enough that multiple people turn around and give us shut up, I’m working glares.
“I’m okay!” I say, but I’m obviously not, so Elise shifts in her seat and moves her face closer to mine, like she will find something in my pupils that will tell her what’s up.
Devon cocks his head and waves again. He wears his grandfather’s old wedding ring on one hand and a leather cuff like Elise’s on the opposite wrist. I can’t deal with all of this right now. I have to find Paul.
“You’re shaking,” Elise says. Her hand reaches for mine, the smooth expanse of her fingers covers my trembling ones, and I twitch under the pressure.
“Do you know Devon, Jemma’s brother?” I whisper. My knees are knocking against each other. It’s a hollow feeling, a strange reflex that gives me goose bumps.
“Sure? The one who liked you?”
“Yeah. I mean, no. He didn’t, I don’t think. Doesn’t. Anyway, that’s him.” I leave it at that, and Elise nods, like she now totally gets it.
“That is some intense eye contact happening,” she says. I have not taken my eyes off Devon, and he has not taken his off me. His smile’s gone crooked and a little goofy, like we’re playing a game, but I am not playing. I’m trying to decide something big.
“He should not be here,” I say. I mean it. I don’t want to do this with Devon watching. But I’m trying to ride out the icy road, let the car go where it wants to go.
“He’s supercute,” Elise says, nudging me with her elbow and a smile.
“Should I talk to him?” I say. It’s not the question I want to be asking, and Elise is giggling and nodding like this is all some ecstatic crush situation, and not a deliberate and exacting attempt to do what I’ve been told.
“Definitely,” she says. “But I’d wipe your forehead first. You’re a little . . . damp.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t talk right now, though,” I say. “I have to do some stuff.” I’m basically talking to myself, and I don’t want Elise to ask questions, but there’s so much happening in my head that I have to let little bits of it escape through my mouth. “Give me a second to think,” I say, and I lean forward so much that I’m practically flashing Elise. My uncontrollable and super-objectionable breasts are at it again.
“Well, if he didn’t like you before, he definitely does now,” she says with a nod to my cleavage and then to Devon, whose long, skinny-jeaned legs are pacing toward us. Elise plays footsie with me under the table and can’t stop the sneaky way her lips curl or the excited blush on her cheeks. “And seriously so much cuter than Joe, b-t-dubs.”
“Am I still allowed here?” Devon says. I am dry mouthed from the traffic jam of things happening right now.
“I don’t— I have to— I’m busy.”
“You don’t look super busy,” he says, and there’s his smile again, lighting up this corner of Tea Cozy and some tiny part of my heart. The non-Joe part, which isn’t the important part. I shake my head to ignore it. If I do something with Devon, it’s only to get Joe. He looks appealing because kissing him would make me even better at Life by Committee, would make Zed respect me more.
“Can I take a picture of your shoes?” I say. It is not a normal question.
I also am legitimately running out of time, so it is an ill-timed question.
“Tab, are you okay?” Elise says, as much under her breath as possible. She and Devon are giving me the same look of abject confusion and awkwardness.
“My shoes? Sure?” Devon says, but I’m not really listening to either of them. Paul has just stepped outside, out the back door, and that can only mean one thing.
“Maybe later?” I say, and too late realize that sounds insane since I’m the one who just super randomly asked to photograph his footwear. “Good to see you, though.” I shrug. Forget to smile. Forget to sound cute. Forget how cute he is. Forget everything but the number of seconds Paul has been outside. If I don’t go now, I’ll miss my chance.
“Ah,” Devon says. Takes another step back. “I’ll come back tomorrow, maybe? For a coffee?” A glance in his direction tells me he’s trying to get that little smirk back in place, but he’s fighting hard against the discomfort I’m obviously causing.