And if it was more, how much more?
“He’s cute?”
Cassidy pictured his grey-blue eyes and earnest face. “Yes.”
“Polite?”
“Very.”
“Financially secure?”
Cassidy remembered his junky car. “Don’t think so.”
“Huh,” Emily said. “Well, two out of three ain’t bad.”
Cassidy played along by smiling, even though the money thing was not important. Emily didn’t know that she owned the house they shared with two other roommates, Miles and Juno, both of them also graduate students. Cassidy’s accountant, Rodney, who had been managing her finances since her father passed away, had practically ordered her to purchase the home for “investment purposes,” with the promise that she would thank him later. He had even set up a property management company to deal with collecting and depositing rent. After Cassidy had advertised the rooms for rent in the university’s Earth & Space Sciences department lounge, they quickly filled with geology graduate students. The house had since been dubbed “Casa de Rocas,” or “House of Rocks.”
“What are you going to wear?” Emily asked.
Cassidy gave her a look. “How should I know? It’s a week away.”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “Let’s have a look,” she said, heading for Cassidy’s room. “How’s your lingerie collection? Do we need to go shopping?”
“Em!” Cassidy cried.
Emily grinned. “Just teasing, but you really should put some thought into this, you know. I’ve never seen you so worked up about a guy.”
“I’m not worked up,” Cassidy complained, though she realized that this was a lie. Pete had been on her mind since their trip to St. Helens.
“You’ve dated losers ever since I’ve known you, Cass,” Emily said, her tone serious. “I don’t know why, you’re better than that,” she added with an impatient sigh. “This guy sounds like a major improvement.” Her eyes twinkled. “So let’s get you ready.”
Four
Casa de Rocas, Seattle
November 15, 2014
Cassidy walked the four blocks to the Blue Star Café the following Friday wearing the outfit Emily had insisted on: a black V-neck cashmere sweater, jeans, and cowboy boots. The closer she got to the pub, the more frenzied her jitters became. It’s only one beer, she told herself.
The pub was busy, but then she remembered they hosted trivia games on Friday nights in the winter. Hopefully, Pete wouldn’t mind the extra noise.
She scanned the bar but didn’t see him.
The clock told her that she was on time. Should she go to the bar and wait? A few other people were milling about in the entryway, waiting for a table. She watched the door with growing apprehension. After lingering for ten minutes, she hung her coat on a tall rack and stepped to the bar.
Just as she settled onto a stool, she caught sight of someone moving in her direction. Pete rushed to meet her, his bright eyes like beacons in the darkened entryway. His sandy-brown hair looked wet, as if he had walked a long way in the rain without a coat.
“Hey,” he said, his smile warm.
“Hi,” Cassidy replied, relieved but hoping he didn’t notice.
“Sorry I’m a bit late.” He placed a manila envelope on the bar and slid onto the stool next to her. “I have this deadline, and . . . I sort of lost track of the time.”
A bartender took their order and moments later two frosty glasses of IPA appeared.
Cassidy pushed her remaining anxiety away with a deep breath. “Is this a pattern?” she teased.
Pete winced. “Unfortunately,” he said. “I’ve even tried setting an alarm but sometimes I just get really focused.”
“That can be good for your writing, I’ll bet,” she said.
“It’s also gotten me in hot water more than once,” Pete said with a sigh. “Maybe this will make up for it,” he said, sliding the envelope on the bar towards her.
Cassidy gave him a curious look, then unfastened the flap and reached inside. A stack of black-and-white photographs from their day in the field slid out. The first showed the waterfall, with Cassidy in the foreground after their swim, sitting on a rock putting her boots on, her damp braid draped down her back; the next showed the first field station, with Helens in the background, the fireweed a grey fringe, the next showed her working intently dismantling one of the seismic stations. The others showed more of the same: Cassidy doing something, or of something scenic.
“These are for me?”
Pete nodded. “The mag didn’t need them, so I thought you should have them.”
Cassidy remembered how the sound of his camera’s shutter had made her frustration flare that day, but eventually, she had forgotten about it. The photos were required for the story, and if the story was successful, then it could help her work. That he had thought to share images of her doing what she loved touched her more than she could express.
“Thank you,” she replied, her emotions swirling inside her.
“Sure.” They talked about her goal to land an academic position somewhere after her PhD. He asked about her family, and Cassidy told him about missing her brother Quinn who lived in San Francisco.
“What’s he do there?” Pete asked.
“He owns a bar. He also parties like a rock star and runs marathons.”
Pete laughed. “Sounds like an interesting mix.”
“He and I both specialize in burning the candle at both ends,” she replied.
After that, however, she shut him down before he could dig too deep. From their lengthy conversations during their day of fieldwork, he already knew that her parents had passed away. There was no need to get into it again.
“Did you grow up skiing?” Cassidy imagined a scrawny Pete flying straight down a ski slope, his skis in a giant power wedge, his legs wobbling.
“My parents are cross-country skiers, still are. I started out that way, but I got
