There were iridescent scarlet and baby pink hearts taped to the ceiling. Booths and tables coated in paper hearts. SkyWay's signature oyster crackers shaped into the holiday's most "romantic" symbol. Similar spiral decorations pinned on the ceiling; they bounced up and down above the Cincinnati chili restaurant's kitchen. The area was open for customers to observe. In the kitchen, tin bowls filled with the classic spiced and chocolate chili steamed in the air. Pre-wrapped cheddar cheese laid on the counter ready for drive thru orders. With Valentine's Day in a week, SkyWay dyed their noodles pink. The restaurant also dyed their noodles in other colors for different holidays such as green for St. Patrick's Day, turquoise for Easter, and orange for Thanksgiving. Of course, they reserved another batch of noodles with no dye.

I shook my head as I observed a couple eating their chili. The pink noodles were drenched in the special chili and cheddar cheese on top. The sight made me nervous. Well, it was mostly seeing the pink.

They had to put so much dye in those noodles. It's unnecessary.

Mama would have flipped.

"Why on God's green earth would they make them pink? That means it'll make our insides pink." Mama said years ago when we went to SkyWay.

I could imagine Papa's small smile. "But Pat, don't you dye your strawberry and cheese-cake cookies pink?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Isn't that the same thing?" Papa would've teased.

I could imagine Mama hitting Papa with her small handbag. "Hush, George."

Even though Mama would smile.

Every other week, Mama and Papa went on a dinner date. They bickered about where to go, and in the end, they always decided on SkyWay. The food was reasonable. The servers greeted the guests with a quick smile along with an iced beverage. Food delivered within ten minutes. It was divine.

I recalled asking them, "Why do you go there? You can go to any restaurant in this area. What makes this place special?"

Papa and Mama sat next to each other at the dining room table. Papa rubbed his hand on Mama's forearm.

"Cassidy used to love going to that place," Mama glanced down at the table, "She'd color on the blank paper or we'd play tic-tac-toe as we waited for order to come out. And so do you. I love thinking of the memories of my girls."

The fact that my biological mother enjoyed this place. Mama rarely talked about her daughter. An uneasiness settled underneath my skin as I recalled Mama's main reason.

This is the place, Mr. Dalton chose for "second date"? They must be trying to get extra cash to show case, SkyWay.

I ran my hands over my jeans. The small waiting room area was designated in the corner. Black seat cushions had wrinkles and dents from overtime. My back leaned against the cushion, my right leg crossed on top of my left knee.

One of the camera women greeted and directed her to the waiting room. Five cameras were positioned throughout the restaurant. Three were stationary whereas two followed the main people. August. And whoever the woman was.

I wonder who is with August?

My thumb rubbed on my lower lip, and then out of habit, I started to bite my nail.

Laughter and clanging of metal forks and knives sounded in the restaurant. Michael Bublé's "When I Fall in Love," played over the speakers.

It's been thirty minutes. Why did they give me an early time? I could have slept in.

Leaning forward, I tried to see where August was sitting. I nearly fell over as I looked for his silly smile. Those darn blue eyes. That bold wink and sleek-back shoulders.

Violet chose the small table in the middle of the restaurant.

A brunette woman sat in front of him. His elbow rested on the table. A half-eaten cheese Coney, chili-hot dog, remained on the ceramic plate. A square framed mug paired well with the plate. The dark polo shirt showcased his frame. The sleeves rolled halfway up his forearm. His fingers drummed on the mug. He leaned to his left, gazing at the woman.

Can't deny it. He looks good.

He appeared attractive. Maybe it was the lighting? Or perhaps, it was how engaged he was.

The woman leaned in, too.

August tilted in his head back, laughing at whatever they shared.

Guess, he's like that with everyone.

I slumped back into my seat. I ran my fingers through my hair. My jaw and the back of my head's muscles tightened.

He smiled at her like he smiles at me. All the same. I'm no different.

My face got warm. My knee bounced, the small heels of my shoes clicked.

Why am I upset? I'm perfectly fine.

I leaned over once more. The woman and August were hugging. Her hands tangled in his delicious – wait, what! I shook my head. In his disorganized hair. His arms caroused the woman's waist and his hands held her hips.

I almost made a "blah" or "yuck" noise. Almost. I kept my mouth shut. The childish response made me angry – my teeth clenched.

There's nothing wrong with what they're doing. It's a hug. A friendly hug.

The woman's hand grazed August's jaw.

Oh no.

August pulled the woman closer to him.

I turned away.

Ah-ha! Nope!

"Cut! Great job, Courtney and August – what a fantastic ending to the second date," Violet voice stopped the public display of affection.

Violet stood with August and Courtney. Her black biker boots stopped near her knees. Her skinny jeans were tucked into her shoes and she wore maroon "It's a Monday" hoodie kept her warm.

"You're all good to go, Courtney. Sorry for keeping you longer."

"Thank you. I need to hurry – my kids should be getting dropped by their dad shortly. Call me later."

The brunette woman had said all of this while she shoved her brown winter coat on, slid her purse over her shoulder, and kissed Violet on the cheek.

"Bye, dearie."

She waved to Violet and August.

Oh no, I need to –

I tried to move out of the way.

"I'm sorry," Courtney said, her hip ran into my back, "Are you okay?"

She reached out to make sure I was fine.

"I'm good," I replied with my hands up. "Thank you."

Courtney smiled. Her dark brown eyes melted my heavy heart. Her curly hair had blonde highlights on her ends. Freckles dusted on her forehead, cheek, and chin. Courtney nodded and then proceeded out the door.

She's beautiful. I'm nothing like her.

Warmth embraced me. An arm wrapped around my shoulders. A hand grazed on my forearm.

"My," cinnamon aroma drifted towards my mouth, "oh my, you're looking fine lollipop."

I glanced at my fingers that curled in my jacket.

Those hands caroused Courtney's hips.

I shrugged off his touch.

The warmth disappeared. I missed it.

Glaring at him, I said, "Nice line, you say that to all the girls, Oli?"

Throw a nickname right back at him.

August chuckled. His hands made their way into his jean pockets. "Just you."

Sure.

I crossed my arms.

"Are you excited about our 'second' date?" August said.

"It brings me the same joy as a pulled tooth."

"Nice. You get a packaged deal with that. Laughing gas, painful shot, and a milkshake as a reward," August teased back.

"Exactly."

His laughter tickled my insides.

"Am I that agonizing?"

A small smile formed on my lips. "Sometimes."

"You didn't say that last night when I gave you my commentary of Sherlock."

I flinched.

Last night, I watched season three of BBC Sherlock again after baking lemon bark cookies. My colleagues complained about how there wasn't good "food" around. I thought bringing in a batch of these cookies would cheer them up for the next day. As usual, August pestered me with sending five to ten text messages until I answered.

What are you doing?

How's it going?

Sugar.

Suuuuuuggggaaarr,

Lolllllliiipop.

I hope you like chili. We'll be eating that tomorrow.

Sugar. Sugar. Sugar.

I can't stay awake. I have to finish this proposal for our "dates."

Where would you like to do on our third "date"?

Any ideas?

Hmmm, alright. Loud club it is with hot, sweaty bodies pressed into each other. 😉

Sent 11:31 PM

Nope.

Sent 11:31 PM

You're alive!

Sent 11:32 PM

Yep.

Sent 11:32 PM

What are you up to?

Sent 11:32 PM

BBC Sherlock.

Sent 11:33 PM

I texted short responses. It was his message that sparked my passion.

What's BBC Sherlock?

Sent 11:33 PM

I nearly dropped my phone. My fingers quickly typed in:

It's the most awesomest, beautiful, breath-taking modern-day television series version of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes in the entire world. YOU NEED TO WATCH IT! RIGHT NOW!!! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE MISSING!

Sent 11:34 PM

I sent it. Half-expecting, August pushed my frantic message away.

Instead, he responded:

Hour long episodes! Who does that?

Sent 11:36 PM

Geniuses. That's who. 😄

Sent 11:36 PM

August watched the entire first season. He texted a play-by-play reaction to everything that occurred in the episodes. Out of pretty entertainment, I switched over to try and match up what he saw at home.

WHAT?! THAT CAN'T BE THE ENDING! Moriarty?!! What. The. Hell.

Sent 2:40 AM

I chuckled recalling those silly messages. "I have to say, you were entertaining."

I noticed his smile faltered.

"I mean," I thought of another way to portray what I meant, "I related to all your reactions. I felt that way too when I first watched the show."

August nodded. "I couldn't stop myself. I started season two. I had to pause it after the first twenty minutes."

"Lucky," I replied, "I had to wait two years for season two on that cliff-hanger. Wait until you see season two's ending."

"You have any plans for Valentine's Day?"

I closed my mouth. The switch in conversation made me pause.

Alarms signaled in my mind. I had to tread lightly.

"I don't."

"What's your usual routine?"

I tilted my head, "I watch Bridget Jones's Diary or He's Just Not That Into You. Well, I'll say I watch a RomCom with Dottie. Eat fresh dipped strawberries on the couch in my PJs. Every day routine, really."

I bet he goes clubbing and bar hopping. He enjoys the company.

"How about you?" I said, ignoring those jittery sensation in my heart and arms. "You have any plans?"

"I do."

Oh.

"Cool," I drew out the 'oo', "What are you going to do?"

"I'll be watching Sherlock with the prettiest lady," August said with a wink, "Her name rhymes with booger."

That was cute until he continued his sentence.

"Uh-huh."

"At least, I hope I'll be. Want to hang out? I'll make dinner," August's hands placed in front of his chest.

I blinked. "We'll be watching Sherlock?"

"At my house."

Netflix and chill.

I heard the stories. What those words indicated. The pure expectation, the hidden meaning behind those three words. The "chill" wasn't at all relaxing. August pressed his hands down on my shoulders. I hadn't noticed my shoulders lifted up. "Calm down. I see you're overthinking something. You don't have to give me an immediate answer."

"I don't –"

"Think about it. We'll have popcorn, ice cream, braid each other's hair and paint our nails. It'll be fun."

I laughed. My hand automatically tried to cover my mouth to stop the loud noise.

A little cliché, but comfortable. Nothing too drastic. Almost sounds like something that Lydia and I would do.

"I'll let you know as soon as possible," I nodded.

Hanging out. Yeah, we would be hanging out. It's nothing like a date. Totally opposite from that.

He smiled. "Sounds good."

"Hey, lovebirds," Violet called from the designated table. "Are you two done 'tweeting' with each other?"

August shook his head.

She said that as if we were flirting. Lovebirds?

"We'll be right there," August called over to Violet.

Violet nodded and returned back to give instructions to her co-workers.

"Duty calls. Ready to pretend flirt?" August asked, his fingers ran over my shoulders. Again.

"I might mess up."

"Remember what I said on our first date?"

"No."

I lied.

"You're great at flirting. Even though you say you're a beginner," he said with a teasing tone.

Heat radiated throughout my body.

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome."

His eyes drifted down a little.

What is he looking at? He's still looking at my face. I think.

"I'm going to go and see what Violet wants me to do." I walked away before August replied.

Too close. Way too uncomfortable.

"You need me to do anything-" I started to talk.

Although, Violet seemed to be on fire. Violet pointed her pen to and fro throughout the restaurant, recreating the similar experience that Courtney and August had.

Crap – what am I, oh!

My phone started to vibrate in my pocket.

Who would be calling me?

I pulled out my device.

An unknown caller. Just a number with an Ohio area code.

Who is this?

I tried to recall any appointments, prior commitments, or call backs that I was waiting to receive. Whenever I called someone, I added their name or business to my contact list.

Maybe I forgot to put in my Tire and Service number?

This was a perfect excuse. Anything that created time and space from August.

Any distraction to give me a break from August. These weird sensations returned with a vengeance; however, the warmth seemed to die down when I excused myself.

I pressed the green button. "Hello?"

No answer.

"Hello?" I repeated.

Nothing. No breathing. No noise.

My thumb hovered over the end button.

"Cassidy?"

A timid voice. Too-fragile and high pitch.

The last time I heard someone call me Cassidy was when I was five. A five-year-old girl. Bloody knees. Stupid tears rolling down my face. The dust gravel got in my eyes. The short car drove over those evil rocks, the tires crackled as the car disappeared.

I hung up.

I posted this lovely story in December 2017. Look where we are now, in 2020, rocking it out with a second draft. I started writing in November because this idea kept popping in my head. Those silly voices saying, "Write it down, this is important!" Goodness, time has escaped me. I'm thrilled for all the accomplishments: ChickLit and Women's Fiction's reading list "A La Mode," nineteen chapters published (first drafts), and over 4K reads.

Thank you.

Thank you so much for your patience. Your support, comments, and encouragement. You are amazing! I know I'm probably the slowest updater ever.

Here's to many more memories! <3

There's a lot more goals I want to challenge myself and grow from. Hehe.

Did you expect Sugar's mother calling her? After all these years of no communication. Any theories why her mother would call Sugar?

Sugar was experiencing tons of emotions. Maybe even ... (should I even say it) jealousy?

<3 <3 Thank you!