Jude’s tall. Really tall. His hair is as dark as mine, with a slight curl that peeks out from underneath his Detroit Tigers cap. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses and of course his mask is covering the lower half of his face.
I can tell Jude is active; wiry and broad under his neon delivery uniform and khaki shorts. But that’s about all I get. I wonder what he’s making of my Rosie outfit.
Somehow his entire body seems to smile when he says, “Hi, Gray.”
I press my lips together and push my glasses to the top of my head. “Hey, Jude.”
Under his mask, I can see his cheeks bulge and I know, I just know he’s beaming.
“Or should I call you Rosie?”
I shift my box and strike a pose, making a muscle and glancing over my shoulder. “Hell, yes. I’m here to kick some COVID butt.”
He laughs, and my heart actually throbs. He has a beautiful laugh. Rich and full and hearty.
I hand him the box, careful to keep my distance. He places it on the table behind him. No accidental (gloved) hand brushes here. No, sir.
“Thank you for these. After the governor made the order for everyone to wear them shopping, a lot of our costumers panicked. You’re a lifesaver, literally.”
I lift a shoulder and drop my hands into my giant overall pockets. “I’m happy to do it.”
Silence stretches between us, but it’s not completely awkward. I wonder if it would be too obvious if I pulled down my glasses again, so I can check him out? I definitely feel his gaze on me. I’m tempted to pull out my phone to text him, asking him what he’s thinking about.
Colin clears his throat and we both jump. I’d forgotten he was there. “So my dad had a business proposition for you, Gray…”
Jude straightens. “Right! I almost forgot! He was wondering if we could commission more masks from you?”
More? My scrap pile is looking rough. I must look skeptical, because Jude keeps talking.
“We’d provide you with materials, obviously.”
I raise my eyes to Jude’s. Even through the lenses, I can see he’s watching me intently.
“Okay. I have plenty of elastic still, but my scrap pile is running low after every person in my family asked for masks, so if you have some fabric…”
“We do. I think my uncle got some donations in the back…”
“I’ll get it,” Colin says, giving us a knowing look as he moves past Jude.
As soon as he leaves, Jude exhales and my shoulders slump in relief. Jude laughs again.
“Is it weird that I want to pull out my phone and text you?” he asks in a low voice, his hands tapping out a rhythm on the box in front of him. “I really don’t know how to talk to pretty girls.”
“How can you even tell?” I wave at my face, hoping he can’t see how flushed my cheeks are. “In all this getup.”
He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, and I try not to notice how strong his forearms look. I’m officially a heroine in a Victorian novel, noticing muscular forearms and perfectly proportionate ears, while everything else about his appearance is a mystery.
“I didn’t need to see you to be able to tell. But I knew if I told you online, you’d just think I was full of it. As you can see…” He trails off awkwardly. “I’m not that smooth.”
And he’s not. I can’t explain how I know, but I know. Maybe it’s the old New Balance sneakers or the too-flat brim of his hat. Or the fact that his favorite singers are crooners when every other guy our age is listening to Drake.
But I can tell that he’s being genuine, and it makes my stomach do a giddy little flip-flop.
“Thanks,” I say. “I didn’t need to see you to know you’re pretty amazing, too. But it’s nice to know you’re real.”
“You were worried?”.
“Maybe not worried,” I say. “But I couldn’t imagine being that lucky.”
“Really?” he asks, sounding so unsure, I practically melt on the spot. I need to leave before I give the middle finger to the CDC and jump across this table to wrap my arms around his waist. This whole thing is equal parts impossible and incredible.
Colin returns and hands me the box of materials. I take it from his outstretched arms and thank him, starting to back away reluctantly. Before I turn to go, I look back at Jude.
“Really, Jude. See you next week.”
I can feel his stare as I load the box back into my car and put my seatbelt on. My phone vibrates, and I pull it out.
Jude: I’m the lucky one.
I look up through the windshield and raise my fingertips close to my mask, blowing him a socially distant kiss. Across the lot, he catches it and covers his heart with his palm.
—
“I love Amelia Hargrave in these remote performances,” I say over FaceTime to my best friend, Chloe, as our favorite reality show blares in the background. “She seemed a little lost on the main stage back in Hawaii, but she’s brilliant in a cozier setting.”
On my phone screen, Chloe slips a blond curl behind her ear and purses her lips. “Yeah, I don’t think she’d have broken Top Ten if the season had been a normal one. She’s just really good at set design. Which”—she pins me with a look—“is probably why you like her. Her vocals are shaky.”
“I do love what she does with twinkle lights,” I admit.
Chloe and I have been watching American Famous together since seventh grade. We might not be in the same room with our bowl of popcorn and chocolate chips between us, but it’s nice to have some
