Sweet Thing by Renee Carlino Page A

“Just praying,” he whispered and then walked out. I flew out of bed and threw on some sweats. It bummed me out that I didn’t get more time to ogle Will standing in my doorway shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and that silver-studded belt. I thought maybe I could get another look, but when I reached the kitchen, he had thrown on a T-shirt.
    “Nice sweats. How ‘bout some French toast?”
    “Sounds yummy.”
    While Will made breakfast, I perused my father’s record collection, looking for something fun to play. I settled on The Divine Miss M . I slid the record out of the sleeve, placed it in the record player, and set the needle on the first track, “Do You Want to Dance.” Once the song started, Will shot me a huge grin. I danced back toward the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee, whirling around behind him as he stood at the stove cooking. When he turned to me, I pointed at him and sang the chorus, asking him to dance in my best Bette Midler impression.
    He grabbed my hand and twirled me around, then dipped me and made a tiger growling sound in my neck, mock-biting it. Will could dance and if I remember correctly, someone told me once to stay away from a man who could dance. In that moment, I couldn’t understand why anyone would say that. I giggled, pushed Will back toward the stove, and took a seat at the bar. He handed me a plate of French toast with maple syrup, blueberries, and bananas. At first bite, I literally almost cried. I looked at him deadpan. “This is best fucking French toast I have ever had,” I said as a tear of joy formed in my eye.
    He smiled appreciatively and then chuckled at my dramatics. “It’s my momma’s recipe. The key is real French bread and a couple of secrets I can’t share or I’d have to kill you.”

We finished our breakfast; I cleaned up and thanked Will, then went back to my room to get ready for the day. As I headed toward the front door to leave, he shouted from his bedroom, “Bye, Roomy! Hey, we’re playing at The Raucous Room in Brooklyn tonight if you and Jenny want to come by…”
    “Maybe.” I walked out the door shouting, “Later, Wilbur!”
    Jenny worked the morning shift with me at Kell’s. We were slammed so we didn’t talk much. When the phone rang, Jenny grabbed it. “It’s a beautiful morning at Kell’s!” She looked over at me. “Sure, hold on a sec.” She rolled her eyes and handed me the phone.
    “Hello?”
    “Hello, Mia. It’s Robert.”
    “Oh hey, Robert. Don’t you have my house number?”
    “I seemed to have misplaced that. I hope it’s okay that I called you here?”
    Why did this guy keep losing my number? He took two little number tabs and he had already called me once. Not a very VP banker thing to do .
    “Yeah it’s fine. How are you?”
    “I’m great. So, since Jacob is with his mom this weekend, I thought we could get dinner tomorrow? I could pick you up at seven?” I said yes, even though I couldn’t tell if he was asking me or telling me.
    When I hung up, I looked over at Jenny who was eyeing me derisively.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. It’s just, he waited until Friday to call you for a date on Saturday? I mean, the guy is good-looking and he has a good career but, I don’t know. I think…” As she fumbled over her words, I stood there looking dejected. “I’m sorry, Mia. I don’t want to ruin it for you.”
    “No, I appreciate your honesty, but I’m just having dinner with him, that’s all.” I moved to change the subject. “Hey, do you want to go see The Ivans at The Depot tonight?”
    “I can’t, Tyler is taking me out for a special dinner.” She shrugged her shoulders, like she had no idea what that meant.
    “No worries.”
    After work I decided to go see The Ivans on my own. I sat at the bar and made small talk with the female bartender while I sipped on my vodka-soda-cran. A crowd of scantily clad twenty-one-year-olds started forming in front of the stage just as the band