Page 14 of Love at First Sighting

“You know, you can say it out loud.”

“Passing notes is more fun,” he says. “My dad and I used to play these spy games when I was little. Invisible ink, hidden messages in my lunch box I’d have to find every day. It was like being a secret agent without all the shady stuff.”

I’m honored by the purity of the memory. I think of a smaller Carter in the same hat, sneaking around corners and cracking secret codes like he was trying to save the world. So, I grab the blue crayon and write back.

Are we?

No one I’ve dated in recent years would ever be caught dead in a diner or would even consider taking me to one. So, no, it does not feel like any date I’ve ever known. But it feels like a date I could get used to.

Carter raises his eyebrows and clears his throat. “Uh, no. I think we’re on some serious secret agent business.”

“Oh no.” I laugh. “So, we can’t tell her the only reason we’re here is because you showed up at my house and told me to come to a second location? Or that I only know you because it’s your job to stalk me?”

“Government-sanctioned stalking,” he corrects over the rim of his water glass.

“That makes it so much better.”

“The justice system might agree with you.”

Several minutes later, the waitress swings by the table and drops the single grilled cheese with fries on the table. It smells like a heart attack but looks criminally sexy. Bread, gooey cheese, perfectly crisp fries.

I claim one half of the sandwich and take a bite. Sweet Jesus, this is delicious. I need to start coming to weird diners more often. Especially coming to weird diners with handsome government agents who offer me the bigger side of the sandwich.

After a single bite of grilled cheese, he lets out a low moan and I don’t blame him. “I forgot to go grocery shopping this week, so there’s no food at home.”

I’ve never actually thought about Carter out of the suit and off the job.

I guess I assumed he lived in his car and only ever wore suits.

I didn’t think he’d have to go grocery shopping or need a bed.

I’m getting the impression that if there is secrecy he’s supposed to be upholding, he’s not doing a good job around me.

I like the bubble of warmth in my chest that says he trusts me.

“So, you, like…have a life outside of this ?” I wave at his getup.

“Yes? Granted, a boring one, and I work a lot of hours, but yeah.” He shrugs and takes another French fry.

“Right. And you have, like, a house—?”

“Whoa,” he interrupts, choking on his food. “I’m Gen Z. I will never have a house. I rent an apartment.”

“And do you own, like…T-shirts and jeans? Or do you wear this to bed, too?” I lean across the table and snap his suspender.

I imagine undressing him and slipping him into something more normal—jeans, T-shirts, hoodies, pastel shorts. Actually, I can also imagine myself just undressing him and leaving it there.

“Of course I have other clothes,” he scoffs.

“You’re not giving me much else to work off, buddy. And I did some research on the Men in Black—

“Before or after you binged Angel City Noir ?”

“Hey…” I frown. “You know, there’s a lot of conflicting stories about the Men in Black. Some people think they’re aliens, or just really weird guys.”

Granted, most of my research came from a Skroll web series Lea recommended, starring a blue-haired girl and her bespectacled lumberjack boyfriend. I’m not fully sure their information is completely factual.

“I mean, I am a weird guy,” he concedes.

“But weirder than that. I’m talking pale skin; no eyebrows; glassy, glowing eyes. One description said they had these red lips, like they put lipstick on because they didn’t have lips. Others said…”

Carter laughs and rakes a hand through his gelled hair. It falls out of place, and by the time he’s done, the hat hair is gone and his fluffy waves look way too tempting. Like the sort of thing I’d hold on to if—

“Please, do go on,” he says, motioning with his hand to do so. His bemused expression makes my cheeks flush with heat.

“I’m just saying. Some people think they look horrifying to scare people into silence, but you’re…” I trail off. The word gorgeous almost slips out, because I mean it. Carter’s lips quirk into a smile and there’s a playful twinkle in his eyes that makes him all the more alluring.

“I’m what?” he teases.

I choke on a French fry. “Human, I think.”

Then he takes my hand and places it on top of his, pushing his silver watch up his arm.

My index and middle fingers rest along the side of his wrist where his pulse thrums beneath my touch.

His skin is so warm and smooth, and there’s something so attractive about a man’s hands.

Carter’s hands look effective and practical.

There are small blots of black pen ink on the edges of his fingers, and his nails are clearly bitten, but I can tell he knows how to use hand cream.

“See? Human,” he says. “Pulse and all.”

“Yes, pulses are…They are good to have.”

I glance at his jacket and hat hanging on the hook behind him, the dark suspenders clinging to him like I want to.

With the backdrop of old black-and-white photos, linoleum floors, and fifties music playing in the background, Carter looks like he belongs here perfectly.

All he needs are a crack of lightning and a downpour of rain for him to step right into a black-and-white film.

He bewilders me. How can someone be so many things at once?

I clear my throat. “So, you always wanted to be a Man in Black?”

Carter pulls his hand away from mine and bites into his grilled cheese again.

“Kind of. As a kid, I thought it was cool that my dad did it, but once he died…I don’t know.

I thought maybe if I worked my way up the chain, I’d get answers or feel closer to him.

But it’s not yielding much so far. Just more questions. ”

“And your mom?” I ask.

“She passed away when I was really little. I don’t even remember a time when she was around. As long as I’ve known, it was just me and my dad,” he says with nostalgic fondness. Then Carter clears his throat. “Did you always want to sell shampoo and yoga pants?”

I laugh and shake my head. “Yes and no. I…”

After all he’s said about his dead parents, he’s not going to care about my grueling teen years as a pageant queen or how I hustled my way to the top with sponsorships.

“I kind of fell into this. I modeled as a kid, then went on to do pageants—”

“Like Toddlers and Tiaras ?”

I nod. “Yeah. The makeup, the frilly dresses, Q and A’s. I won a few.”

“It’s not hard to imagine why.” My stomach jolts at his words.

“I guess I do like what I do. I like discovering new things. I like taking pictures and going to events. I wish there was something real in my life. Everything feels so fake.”

“This cheese might also be fake,” he says, waving to my barely eaten sandwich.

“Oh, I know it’s fake.”

“The heart disease will be real, though.” He waits, watching me as I bite into it again. Fuck, this is good. Smiling, he huffs out an amused breath and reaches for my phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Baby’s first grilled cheese. Gotta commemorate it.

” The camera flashes as I take another bite, but I’m midlaugh.

It’d make a good candid shot, but I’d have to photoshop the grilled cheese out for a green smoothie or something.

For the next picture, I flip him off. Carter laughs and slides the phone back to me.

The first picture—which I expect to be horrifying—is actually…

cute? I’m giggling into my sandwich, but there’s life in my eyes I haven’t been able to muster in my own photos.

And the flipping-the-bird picture has far more personality than anything I’ve posted in years. Years. But, of course, I can’t post it, because it’s technically offensive and Bex would kill me in my sleep.

“These are really good. Between them and the pictures you took when you were stalking me,” I say, “you’re a great photographer.”

“I dabble.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, well, you dabble well . Is that what you’d do if you weren’t a Man in Black?”

“I’d travel,” he says without hesitation. “I’d want to see the world. But yeah, I guess there’s a lot to take pictures of if you travel.”

“Traveling is overrated, if you ask me.”

As nice as it is to see the world, there has never been anyone I’ve wanted to share it with. Every flight, every tour, every jaunt feels empty—like the ketchup bottle Carter’s battling.

“Well, I’ve left California a grand total of four times, so my bar’s on the ground.”

“I mean, to be fair, you dress like you’re from a time when airplanes were just invented.” I pick his hat up off the table and drop it on his head. He frowns, but it doesn’t hide the laugh bubbling at his lips. Instead, he tips it off and places it over my head.

“Head lice!” I cry.

“Oh, seriously? I don’t have lice. I’m an adult.

That’s reserved for little kids at summer camp.

” Carter wipes his hands off on his napkin and tilts the hat back so it sits on me like it should.

He draws away with a smirk that makes me feel like I’m bound to melt into the pleather seating. “It looks good, Agent Ariel.”

Carter (4:31 pm): I’ve got it.

Carter (4:33 pm): You know my roommate Leonard?

El (4:35 pm): …no

Carter (4:36 pm): Okay well his name’s Leonard and we live together.

El (4:36 pm): Cute?

Carter (4:37 pm): He also works for the government.

El (4:39 pm): Can you give me more than one sentence of information at a time?

Carter (4:42 pm): So he works for the government and we mostly keep to ourselves. But I think he may be able to help us.

El (4:45 pm): Congrats on 2 sentences tell me there’s more.

Carter (4:47 pm): He has very high security clearance apparently and if we play our cards right, we might be able to get into the archive I think my dad’s files are in.

El (4:52 pm): Why are you winking?

Carter (4:54 pm): I’m being sneaky. Duh.

El (4:57 pm): Quite the saboteur you are.

Carter (4:58 pm): I think you like it.

El (4:57 pm): Do you now?

El (4:57 pm): But ok I’m in.

Carter (4:59 pm): Can you meet me at my apartment after 6pm? I’ll send you the address.

El (5:00 pm): Sure. What do u need?