Free Lily Love by Maggi Myers

kidding?
    No one.
    I dial the number at the bottom of the card and wait anxiously while it rings. I run through a hundred different things I could say and am about to hang up when someone picks up.
    “James,” says the voice on the other end.
    “Uh. . . um. . .”
    “Hello?” he says.
    “Sorry, wrong number,” I mumble, and hang up.
    Idiot
.
    I throw my phone back in my purse and tap my forehead against the cool metal of the tabletop. Next time I should practice what I’m going to say. At least I didn’t give my name.
    “That bad, huh?”
    I yelp, startled by the voice. I snap my head up and find my stranger standing on the other side of the table. I pray for the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
    Oh, God. This isn’t happening.
    “Hey, there, stranger.” I want to crawl under the table and hide. My knack for the ridiculous is a curse. If something’s embarrassing or laughable, more than likely I’ll be front and center.
    He tilts his head and eyes me carefully. It makes me laugh nervously.
    “Hi, Caroline. You all right?” He furrows his brow in confusion. It’s so adorable and I am so flustered, I can’t stop the maniacal giggle-snort from escaping.
    Oh, for the love of Pete. Just kill me now.
    “Peachy,” I mumble, burying my head in my hands. There are no limits to my ability to mortify myself. Here I was thinking I’d take some time to collect myself before offering him a friendly ear, and in he walks, into the middle of
another
meltdown.
    “Did you just snort?” he asks, incredulous. Smart-ass.
    “Don’t mock me.” I bury my face in my hands again. “I’m dying over here.” I lift my face and circle it with my index finger. “See the tomato face? Proof of my discomfiture.” There’s no point in pretending I’m demure or sophisticated. I can only hope that he’s not repulsed by my lack of refinement. His warm eyes twinkle when he smiles, flashing me a set of heart-stopping dimples.
    Oh, my swoony stranger. I am an utter and hopeless mess. Please take pity on me.
    “No mockery here,” he promises. “Wait. . . have we actually met?” His smile is sweet and distracting.
    “Actually, no.” I crinkle my nose. “I don’t even know your name.”
    He sits down across from me and holds his hand out. “Hi, I’m Tate Michaels.”
    I place my hand in his and our eyes lock. “I’m Caroline Hunter,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. “Nice to meet you, Tate.”
    “Likewise, Caroline.” His hand is warm and strong where it grips mine. It feels nice, and I wonder if that’s because of Tate or because I’m that starved for human contact.
    “Sorry about that; you caught me in a moment.” I clear my throat and look away.
    “I came out here to just breathe for a minute.” He sighs and lets go of my hand. “I stepped outside and there you were, banging your head on the table.” His smile returns and I feel my cheeks warm.
    “You got me.” I shrug. “Head banging is the shtick I employ to charm unassuming strangers.”
    His laughter reverberates throughout the concrete confines, giving me a keen sense of accomplishment. It’s nice to know that I made him smile, after seeing him so pained earlier.
    “You’ve got an interesting way of saying things.” He studies my face like he’s trying to read my thoughts. It makes me squirm. “You must be a writer or something.”
    I can feel my eyebrows jump to meet my hairline. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anything other than Lily’s mom.
    “Or something,” I say. “I’m a dabbler.”
    “A what?” He cocks an eyebrow at me.
    “A dabbler. I dabble.” I try to explain. “I dabble with writing and with music. I’m proficient in both, but not gifted enough to make anything of it.” I feel silly as soon as the words come out of my mouth.
    Why are you telling him this?
    It took a long time for me to accept that I was never going to find that
something
I’m really good at. I spent a lot of time