Chapter Text
Thursday came too quickly.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t excited. She was just mildly terrified. And it didn’t help that when the coworkers she had gone out with for girls night found out about it, they continually bothered her with questions and advice.
“I thought you were already dating him,” Inez said Tuesday over charts.
“We’re not dating,” Samira replied.
“He fixes stuff in your apartment, picks you up after a night of drinking, you’re going to dinner with him on Thursday, and you’re not dating?” Laura observed, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re friends.”
Samira didn’t have to raise her eyes to know she was surrounded by dubious looks.
“He looked and acted like a boyfriend the other night,” Inez shrugged.
Samira said nothing.
“If you’re not dating, then can I get his number?” Laura asked innocently.
Samira refused to rise to the bait.
“I’ll ask him on Thursday if he’s interested,” she said coolly before the doors burst open with EMTs and a wailing child on the gurney followed by frantic parents. Never before had she been so grateful for a broken arm.
She stared at herself in her closet mirror and frowned. She had decided against a dress, not wanting to give off a “date” vibe. But maybe Pope thought it was a date. Maybe he showed up with flowers, wearing a suit or something. She shook her head to clear her mind. She was quite certain he didn’t even own a suit. The knock at her door startled her out of her reverie and she glanced down at her phone. He was ten minutes early. She hurried to the door and opened it and couldn’t help it—she smiled widely.
Thankfully, he was not in a suit or carrying flowers. Just black jeans, a button-down short sleeved shirt, and a leather jacket over his arm. He was holding a box in his hands, however.
“Hi,” she breathed, “come in.”
She noticed his jaw clenched ever so slightly before he stepped inside. She closed the door behind him and motioned to the box.
“What’s this?”
“Oh,” he said, looking down at it and clearing his throat. “I saw you didn’t have an actual set. Just random stuff.”
He held it out stiffly, and Samira opened it, revealing a brand new tool set. Her heart clenched.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. “You’re right, I should’ve had one ages ago.”
He shrugged and placed it on her counter. He turned back to her and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“You look nice,” she offered.
He colored slightly.
“So do you,” he said.
They stared at one another for a long moment before Samira remembered this had been her idea.
“Shall we go?” she asked.
He nodded and stepped back, letting her walk ahead of him as they headed towards his car.
This was definitely all her fault.
She should have remembered that she had a cousin going to school only a half hour away and she definitely should have remembered that said cousin turned 21 only a couple months ago. So she should have realized that the beachfront bar and restaurant scene was not a secure place, especially when she was walking down the boardwalk next to (okay, very next to) Pope with his jacket draped over her shoulders because she had complained about the chill earlier. Plus, she should’ve been smart enough to not turn when she heard a young voice call out: “Samira!”
Actually, Pope was the one who turned first, taking a subtle step in front of her as if to protect her from whatever dangers a 21-year-old co-ed could exhibit. Unfortunately, he had relaxed when he saw it was just a young girl and her friends, unaware that Samira’s stomach had dropped.
“Nadia,” she stammered. She tried to smile nonchalantly. “What are you doing here?”
Stupid question. Nadia was dressed like she was an extra in a low budget version of Euphoria, along with four other girls equally outfitted, plus Nadia’s make-up looked much better than anything Samira had ever managed.
“Out,” Nadia replied, a smirk plastered on her face. “What are you two doing here?”
“Dinner,” Samira managed. It took great willpower to not glance over at Pope, whose presence seemed to take up the entire boardwalk. She knew his eyes were on her, waiting for her to lead him on how to act. “I’m guessing your parents don’t know you’re not on campus right now.”
Nadia’s friends were whispering and giggling, but Nadia simply stepped up to her older cousin and put her hands on her hips.
“And I’m guessing your mom doesn’t know about him,” she said quietly, raising an eyebrow.
Samira’s eyes narrowed. She could already picture the frantic text chain in the family group chat. She swallowed.
“We didn’t see each other,” she said firmly. “Understood?”
Nadia’s eyes flicked from her to Pope and back again and then she nodded.
“Understood,” she shrugged and then grinned. “Have fun tonight.”
She waved and walked back to her friends, linking arms with them and then immediately bursting into laughter. Samira suddenly felt like she was a teenager again, uncool, unwanted, and completely out of her depth. She grit her teeth and turned around.
“I’m fucked.”
“What? Why?” Pope asked, genuine worry in his voice. “Who was that?”
“My cousin,” she sighed, closing her eyes and putting a hand to her forehead. “God, she’s one of the worst gossips in the family.”
“She’s just a kid.”
“No, Andrew, you don’t understand, she is going to blab to her older sister, who is going to tell my aunt, who is definitely going to tell my mom and...oh, God,” she groaned, wrapping Pope’s jacket even tighter around her shoulders.
“What’s the big deal?” he asked and he looked so befuddled, Samira would’ve called him adorable if she wasn’t having a private freakout.
“You don’t know how fast this sort of thing moves in my family,” she sighed. “My mom is going to be calling me nonstop within 24 hours.”
“Because of me?”
Samira looked back up at him and felt guilty. He seemed genuinely upset, as if he had done something wrong.
“No, not you specifically. I could’ve been walking with any guy but the fact that here I am, wearing your jacket, out to dinner, and I’m not just in sweatpants and a t-shirt, the tongues are going to start wagging.” She sighed as she saw that he still looked mildly confused. “I haven’t dated anyone since undergrad and my mom, plus all my aunties, have been after me to find a guy for years and just being seen in the presence of one is enough to have them all bombard me with nosey questions.”
Right on cue, Pope turned red. He swallowed and shrugged.
“We’re not dating,” he reminded her quietly.
Samira’s chest clenched and she hoped it didn’t appear on her face.
“They don’t know that,” she replied. “And it won’t matter what I say, in their heads, I need to get engaged. It’s exhausting.”
“It sounds like it,” Pope agreed. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You’re still young. They shouldn’t be bothering you about that stuff.”
She laughed derisively.
“You haven’t met my family yet,” she shrugged. “Come on, let’s go.”
They walked in the direction of his car, both silent. She noticed that Pope had stepped farther away, leaving more space between the two of them. She frowned.
“I’m sorry,” she sighed, “I didn’t mean to ruin our night.”
“You didn’t.”
He opened the car door for her. She looked up at him again and suddenly felt warm.
“I did enjoy dinner,” she said earnestly.
A tentative smile crossed his lips.
“Me too,” he said.
The impulse to hug him was very strong but Samira wasn’t about to risk making the last five minutes any more awkward than they already were so she simply nodded and climbed into the car. He closed the door, walked to the driver’s side, and got in, as well. Luckily, Pope immediately began (gently) arguing with her over the fact that she had paid for dinner, successfully distracting Samira from the most likely already in progress machinations of her family and from what they should do when they arrived at her apartment. Earlier, in the cold light of day, she had been brave enough to think she would invite him in but now, after dinner and with his jacket around her shoulders and his shy smiles filling her mind, she was not sure.
When they did arrive, her stomach was in knots, made worse by the fact that he walked her to her door without being asked. She cleared her throat, looked up at him, his face so unsuspecting and genuine. Shit.
“I’m sorry, can we do this over?” she blurted.
Pope frowned.
“Do what over?”
“This. This whole night.” At his confused and slightly worried expression, she continued, “I was having a really fun time with you tonight until that thing with my cousin kind of…soured everything.”
If she had looked closer, Samira would’ve noticed the slight pout on Pope’s face but she was too busy cringing at herself.
“You mean get dinner again?” he asked.
“Yeah, or lunch or whatever. I mean…” she sighed and closed her eyes. In her purse, she could hear phone buzz repeatedly with texts. It was already starting. Fuck it, time to be brave. “I mean, a date.”
She opened her eyes just in time to see his own widened. Oh God.
“A date?” he repeated hoarsely. “This was a date?”
“Well, sort of,” she said, guilt and shame flooding her system. “I used the excuse of owing you dinner for all the favors you’ve done for me so I wouldn’t have to risk being rejected.”
And Pope’s face went through a rather comical transformation: his eyebrows rose so high they almost hit his hairline and he somehow paled and then turned several shades of red in rapid succession. Samira stopped herself just in time from checking his pulse.
“You thought I’d reject you?” he asked, the shock clear in his voice.
Samira shrugged.
“I haven’t been on a date in years,” she said softly. “And the last couple times I’ve tried, I’ve been ghosted. And you’re so…you know.”
“I don’t know,” he muttered, still looking completely bewildered. “But yes, we can do this over again. We should. Because I should be asking you out and paying.”
Samira blinked and then laughed in relief.
“Andrew, that doesn’t matter,” she insisted, reaching up to rest a hand on his chest, his heart beating wildly beneath it.
“It does to me,” he murmured, and he must've decided to be brave as well, because he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“So was this not a date?” she asked softly, her face turned up to gaze at him. She noticed a small spot he had missed shaving and she fought back the urge to kiss it.
He shook his head.
“No, this was a…proto-date.”
A smile broke out on her face and she nodded.
“Okay,” she agreed, “but does that mean we should wait to kiss? For our first date?”
Pope hummed as he thought about it, a thoroughly serious expression on his face.
“I worry,” he began, his voice deliciously low, “that if we wait, we’ll become so focused on having that first kiss that it may overshadow the actual date.”
“That sounds really sensible,” she agreed softly before rising up on her tiptoes. He lowered his head and met her halfway, and Samira couldn’t help but smile against his lips. It wasn’t a particularly passionate kiss but she could tell the man had talent.
“Good choice,” he whispered.
She nodded.
“Did you want to come in? I can make coffee,” she asked gently.
He shook his head and gave a half-smile.
“I should go.”
“You don’t have to.”
He swallowed.
“I should.”
“Okay,” Samira sighed. “One more kiss though?”
“Definitely.”
This kiss went a little longer and sent a delicious tingle through her body. She should’ve done this a long time ago, as soon as they met. When he pulled back, he offered another smile and Samira realized she had never seen his eyes so bright. It was a startling transformation.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
“Okay, I’ll be home by 7.”
He nodded.
“Good night, Samira.”
“Good night, Andrew.”
He waited for her to enter her apartment and lock the door behind her before leaving. And it wasn’t until she heard his car pull away that she realized she was still wearing his jacket. She smiled and wrapped it even closer against her body, ignoring the fact that she could hear her phone buzzing. Her family could wait.