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The diner has never been this empty.
Cheryl can’t recall a single instance in which she’s been the only patron at the Chock’Lit Shop. It’s always filled with townies, boys and girls crowded around booths. They stole each other’s fries, shared complaints about homework, broke up and made up. These red rubber booths contain so many memories, so many life stories waiting to be told. She tries not to come here more than she has to, but she knows it’s the busiest spot in town. The place where people spend their entire teenaged lives before finding a greater calling.
One necessary correction- they spend the majority of their teenaged lives here. Beloved as it was, it simply wasn’t appropriate for all three-hundred sixty-five days of the year. It would be odd to walk by and see families exchanging gifts over chocolate malts for Christmas. Twice as peculiar to see them ordering a full menu for Thanksgiving. Some occasions are too important, too sacred, to be wasted at the same place you see every day. They require branching out, visiting higher-scale restaurants you wouldn’t normally be caught dead in. Taking a girl to a shabby little diner for Valentine’s Day was entirely out of the question. Anyone who tried that would be either a poor man or an idiot.
Cheryl sighs.
That should have been the first red flag. She should have known from the moment Archie called that there would be a catch. He never calls her first. Those little goody-two-shoes girlfriends of his keep him on such a short leash that if Cheryl wants a date with him, she has to put in the effort herself. Not a problem. She’s Cheryl Blossom, she can have any man she wants. All she has to do is snap her fingers and Archie forgets Betty and Veronica exist altogether. She’s the one who snaps, never Archie.
She has no doubt she’s on his mind. She haunts the men of this town like a spirit, coming to them in the dark when they’ve already kissed their girlfriends goodnight. She takes their sleep, and they repay her with their attention. It doesn’t take much effort, just a lot of eye contact and a few intentional touches. They chase her like dogs after a slab of meat, drool spilling from their mouths.
Archie is the rule, not the exception, but he’s also the hardest to pin down. When she’s out of sight, and he can no longer drop his gaze to her chest, they become strangers. He doesn’t call or approach her, not until she gives him the go-ahead. She tells herself it’s because she’s in control, that he’s just intimidated by her. He takes her seriously, and he wants to be with her, but he can’t. Not while Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum are around.
Apprehension started to claw at her when she was the first one there. She’s never the first to arrive at a date. She always arrives intentionally late to keep the boy guessing, just so he never feels too important to her. If the guy is later than she is, she turns around and goes back home. This case was an exception not because it’s Archie, but because trouble with Archie means trouble with Betty and Veronica. If she couldn’t have a normal date, she would gladly celebrate the holiday by humiliating her two rivals.
Thirty minutes passed with no sign of Archie, and no Betty or Veronica either. She should have called it off at that point, but she was still holding out hope. She kept waiting for Archie to walk through the door, stupidly apologizing for being late. Or, better yet, for Veronica to walk in and scold her for trying to snag a date with her boyfriend. Then she would "accidentally" spill her milkshake on Veronica’s last-season shoes. The look on her face would be enough to make up for the spoiled evening.
Surprise, surprise, neither of those scenarios were brought to reality. The final nail in the coffin came in the form of a text (not even a call!) from Riverdale’s gift to women himself. It read simply:
Ran into some trouble. I’ll make it up to you, I promise!
“Trouble” was their code for “Betty and Veronica.” It’s only natural that his prudish girlfriends ended up getting him for the night instead of Cheryl, who would have skipped dessert if he asked. Cheryl, who made sure the lace trim of her red bra peaked out the top of her pink dress. Cheryl, who does everything right and somehow still manages to lose.
She didn’t really want to sleep with him anyways. She would have, but it wouldn’t have been that good. It never is. She did, however, want to eat dinner with him. It would have been nice to talk with him in a way they don’t usually get to, with Archie either flustered or busy with the other two. She was intending to pay, as she always does. She spent hours picking out a perfume that would entice him and ankle-boots that matched her bra. All for a guy she barely even likes.
She does like him. She thinks she does. Maybe. She isn’t really sure. She loves the attention and everything else is irrelevant. It’s worth putting up with how piggish men can be. She’ll fall in love someday, then it will stop feeling so complicated. She won’t feel like she’s fighting herself every time they kiss.
Fighting herself- great, now she’s being dramatic. No wonder Archie bailed on her. She wouldn’t want to sit across from a self-obsessed, self-pitying, neurotic flop either. Still being dramatic. Looks like she’s stuck here with herself. Just a menu and a plethora of thoughts that make her want to bark at the girl in her brain to shut up. She finds herself yelling at that girl more than usual lately. The girl who still hasn’t realized they’re supposed to be a woman now. A part of herself that has feelings Cheryl would never experience, doubts that would never even cross Cheryl’s mind. A delay in her development, or an entirely separate entity that must be removed by force. It’s best to tune her out, or beat her to a verbal pulp when she won’t shut up. She’s gotten louder ever since Cheryl started seeing Archie.
She pulls out her phone just to make sure she didn’t get another text. She finds three messages, none of which are from Archie. One is Jason, asking how the date’s going (with a message immediately after asking if Archie showed up. Twin telepathy is a scary thing). The second is from Ginger, a picture of a party Cheryl passed up in favor of this sucky date. And the third is Veronica, who just sent her a red heart emoji.
That bitch.
She shuts her phone off, turning it screen-down on the table. She looks across the diner to find it has remained desolate, save for her and Pop Tate. He’s not too old for her, but she’s probably a little young for him, so she pops that thought bubble as soon as it surfaces. She pointedly ignores his sympathetic smile, the pity akin to barbed wire around her neck.
She should leave. It’s not too late to go to the party, even if it would be a public admission that her date didn’t work out. It would be better than sitting along in this crummy little booth. There’s nothing for her to get out of this night, other than a cheap meal eaten alone. She has no company, no one to fawn at her while she brags about herself. This night was ruined the moment she agreed to the date.
Before she can collect her red handbag, the bell to the front door chimes. A mop of pink hair walks through, wearing- hmm, that wouldn’t be Cheryl’s first choice. Pink is the main theme of her outfit, including the cap she wears on her head. Her hair is short in the back, but longer and fluffier up front. She’s got on black jeans (so not entirely pink), and a hot pink leather jacket paired with a purple t-shirt. She also wears more jewelry than Cheryl’s used to seeing on the girls in this town, golden earrings and stacks of rings on both sets of fingers. Some kind of black necklace too, though Cheryl can’t make it out from this angle.
As Cheryl takes her in, she realizes she’s seen this girl before. Not just seen, they’ve spoken on more than one occasion. She met her through Archie, who met her through Jughead. Toni Topaz. She runs with the Southside Serpents, a gang Cheryl’s mother warned her to avoid. She goes to school at Riverdale High with all the other townies, but during her free time she likes to hang with what most people refer to as “the wrong crowd.” Toni herself isn’t all that intimidating, just a little annoying. She’s got this laidback attitude that comes across as smug. She’s too…not cold like Veronica, or goody-two-shoes like Betty, but something else. Something Cheryl can’t quite put her finger on, but despises all the same.
“Welcome, Toni,” Pop Tate calls from behind the counter. “Can I get you anything?”
“Let me check the menu first,” Toni says. “I’ll start with a couple of burgers and a soda. Scratch that, make it two sodas.”
Cheryl hadn’t forgotten about Toni’s unusual appetite, which could rival the likes of Jughead. She shudders to think there could be two of him.
“I’ll have that right out.”
Something akin to dread pools in her stomach when Toni starts to turn. She has the fleeting thought that it’s not too late, that she could still run or duck under the table. A hasty abscond to save her from being spotted in this state by someone she knows. She may not know Toni that well, but she knows that Archie’s circle is broad. It ranges from sweethearts like Betty to devils like Reggie who would most certainly tell the entire town about this. If she had to guess, she’d place Toni somewhere in the middle. Those are odds she’s not too fond of.
She could conceal her presence with the menu, or blend in with the yellow tiled wall. She could bolt outside, pretending to be alarmed by an emergency text. Maybe, if she stays perfectly still, she can make herself invisible.
“Cheryl?”
Damn it.
“Hi Toni,” she forces herself to look up from the table. “Fancy seeing you here.”
The other teen has stopped by her table, watching her in astonishment. As if she’s never seen a girl get stood up before. The commoner etiquette is vomit-inducing.
“I thought you had a date with Archie,” Toni says, conversationally. “Is he running late?”
Oh, god, this snake is actually going to make her say it. This has to be some humiliation scheme, revenge on Cheryl for all the times she plotted against that group of nobodies. Or, better yet, an elaborate prank set up by Veronica. Any minute now, half the town is going to pop up and laugh at her. That’s the only thing that would explain this situation.
She digs her red nails into the sides of her arms, no longer caring if her skin gets damaged. Tonight, there’s no one around to appreciate it.
“He didn’t show.”
“Oh,” Toni blinks. “…Sorry.”
From the wince on her face, Cheryl can tell she regrets asking.
“Don’t act so shocked,” she snorts. “Everyone knows Veronica’s got him wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger.”
“And Betty’s.”
“Is there a difference?”
There’s an awkward static in the air around them, too much space to work with. With the diner empty, they can talk as loud as they want to, but they keep their voices down out of habit. The distant sound of the stove can be heard over the radio, which plays some new-age pop song. Unusual for Pop’s, he must have switched it up for the holiday. If Archie had shown up, he’d no doubt ask to change the station. Then she’d be forced to eat a greasy burger while John Lennon tortured her eardrums. Perhaps this outcome was for the best.
She’s not looking directly at Toni, but she can see out of the corner of her eye that she hasn’t moved. She’s still standing there, hovering like there’s something else she wants to say. She smells faintly of vanilla and leather. Contrasted by the scent of beef and mop water, it’s not entirely unpleasant.
“Want some company?”
Her eyes flick up to meet Toni’s, taken aback.
“From you?”
Wrong thing to say, but Cheryl’s okay with that. That’s just the way she talks, provoking people with her airy, condescending tone. It’s a voice she’s mastered, a major source of pride in her life. She knows what follows it; Toni will either snap back or shuffle away, embarrassed. She’ll avoid Cheryl after that, not wanting to face another humbling exchange. At which point, it will be Cheryl’s job to seek Toni out whenever she’s bored. To make her life a living hell the same way she does with Betty and Veronica.
None of that happens. Instead, Toni holds her gaze, not scrutinizing but, perhaps…challenging.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
The audacity of this woman. If there’s one thing Cheryl hates, it’s being mocked. Nobodies like Toni should look up to her, they should worship the ground she walks on. How much pride does she have to be speaking this way to a Blossom? Toni should be begging to sit at her table, not making fun of her for being stood up one time. It could happen to anybody!
Still, it’s better than being alone, unfortunate as that is. Certainly better than tucking her tail between her legs and walking into the party. She’d rather sit here and trade insults with Toni than admit defeat. Might as well entertain herself.
“Fine.”
“What was that?”
“Do what you want,” she says, clearer this time. “Just know that if you bore me, I’m kicking you into that wet floor sign.”
Toni glances over her shoulder at the yellow sign in question. When she looks back at Cheryl, there’s a slight smirk on her face.
“You sure?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” Cheryl folds her hands on the table. “Sit.”
“Alright, but,” she throws her bag into the booth. “I’m doing this because I asked, not because you told me.”
“You asked, now I’m demanding it. The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
“Demanding,” Toni laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure you do a lot of that.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
The two are temporarily interrupted by Pop Tate delivering the first part of Toni’s order. He looks mildly surprised to see them together, but doesn’t comment on it. Toni ends up ordering another round of burgers, two hot dogs, an ice cream sundae, and a whole other list of items Cheryl quickly loses track of. She’s never seen anyone eat like that, other than Jughead. It’s morbidly impressive. Cheryl herself reluctantly orders a milkshake and burger with a side of fries.
She’s glad that Betty isn’t around to lecture her for contributing to the brutal slaughter of cows, or Veronica to side-eye her for the milkshake. The two of them are probably having a nauseating time with Archie, wherever he ended up taking them. It’s his loss, for having to put up with their insufferable personalities. At the same time.
She finds herself growing progressively more distressed at the thought.
“Hey,” Toni says. “Is everything okay?”
Cheryl would love to answer that question, but she’s currently too focused on the way Toni touches her hand when she asks it. Her nails are pink, unsurprisingly, and her palm is warm. Her skin is so much smoother than Cheryl would have expected, so smooth it stings. She’s not used to such casual contact from women, and not in such innocent places. It makes her feel a little uneasy.
She doesn’t pull away though, refusing to let Toni win whatever competition they’ve just entered. She meets her brown (brown like caramel) eyes, regaining her composure.
“Everything’s fine,” she wishes Toni would stop looking at her so sympathetically. “I’m just not used to this, that’s all.”
“Not used to being stood up?”
“What do you think?”
Toni’s caramel eyes widen slightly. Cheryl must have taken her tone too far this time, because she pulls her hand back seconds later.
“Boy, you’re cocky.”
“First I was demanding, now I’m cocky,” Cheryl recalls. “What did you mean by that?”
“Which one?”
“Demanding.”
She already knows she’s cocky, it’s something she takes a great deal of pride in.
“You’re the one who said it first,” Toni counters. “What did you mean by it?”
Toni’s lips leave a hot pink stain on the clear straw of her soda. Cheryl’s unsure if she’s more pissed off by that, or the question she was just asked. Every little action seems to both repel her and draw her in.
“I know what I want,” she answers, confidently. “I wouldn’t be a Blossom if I didn’t take it.”
“Then what would you be?”
“Pardon?”
“If you weren’t a Blossom.”
She pauses for a moment. “My, you’re forward.”
“You don’t have to answer,” Toni reassures. “Just trying to get to know you better, that’s all.”
The question leaves her stumped. What would she be if she wasn’t a Blossom? Somehow, she’s never considered it. Her last name is so integral to who she is as a person, she feels as though she was made for it. Perfectly manufactured to carry on the bloodline. She has the hair, the spite, the ambition, the confidence- even the sex appeal. Her parents never miss an opportunity to remind her how proud they are of the young woman she’s becoming. They tell her she’s just like her mother when she was younger, that she’ll do a fine job running the family business someday. As long as she can find a nice, intelligent man capable of running it alongside her.
They’ve never bothered to ask her if inheriting the business is what she wants, so Cheryl’s never bothered to ask herself that either. Why wouldn’t she? It’s what her father was raised for, what her mother married into the family for. It’s what her and her brother have been raised for as well, though Jason has far less ambition than she does. He’d be fine to spend his life mooching off of their parents, living a lavish life without ever having to lift a finger. Cheryl is different. She wants more. She’s not entirely certain what “more” is, but she knows it will be different than this.
Fulfillment, that’s what she’s seeking. She wants to live a fulfilling life, and what better way to do that than to carry out her destiny? It sounds poetic, important. She wouldn’t mind doing that for the rest of her life, not one bit. But is that all she wants? Is that all she is?
“I’m not sure,” she answers, honestly. “I like to think I’d still be me.”
“And who is that?”
“Cocky, demanding,” she grins. “Who would you be if you weren’t a Topaz?”
The streetlights from outside paint Toni's brown face in shades of red and blue. A stark contrast from the yellow lighting of the diner. For some reason, Cheryl imagines walking home with her in the darkness. Taking a ride on the back of her motorcycle, feeling the engine thrum beneath her as her heart races. Toni’s solid back against her chest, leather against bare skin. Leather and skin that would be slightly wet from the rain. It would feel dangerous, but exciting. Those rare moments when routine breaks and it feels like you’re truly alive.
Last time she rode on the back of someone’s motorcycle, it had been a tall, dark-haired boy waiting outside her academy. He brought her home late and her parents scolded her for it. Jason still teases her about it occasionally. She wonders how mad they would be if she did that same thing with a serpent of all people.
(The thought occurs to her that they would probably be angrier at Toni being a woman than a serpent, and the idea is no longer exciting).
“I guess I wouldn’t be too different,” Toni concludes. “It depends on the scenario. Do we trade lives?”
“As if I would ever give up my wealth to a townie.”
“Rude. It’s just a hypothetical.”
“Am I a serpent in this hypothetical?”
“That’s what I was getting at, yes.”
Cheryl tries to picture herself riding a motorcycle, with a cherry red leather jacket. Showing up to all the same eating contests Toni practically lives at, going to Riverdale High. Spending her weekends in Archie’s garage with him and Jughead. Then, she tries to picture Toni, on the beach in mesh bikinis. Attending a prestigious academy in pencil skirts, batting her eyes at her professors to pass. Throwing massive parties with wet t-shirt contests and body shots.
She can’t help but laugh.
Toni’s eyes light up. “What?”
“Nothing,” she doubles over the table, trying to catch her breath. “It’s just- we’re so different. It would be like the Parent Trap.”
“As long as I get all that hot arm candy you collect.”
“Take them!” Cheryl giggles. “I don’t even like most of them.”
She’s not sure why she admitted that. Until now, it was a secret she had planned to take to her grave. She misplaces her common sense when someone makes her laugh like this.
“Deal,” Toni says. “But you can keep Reggie.”
“We’ll pass Reggie off to Veronica,” Cheryl compromises. “And I’ll take whoever you normally go with.”
Toni grimaces at that. “I don’t know about that, my last girlfriend was kind of a nut.”
Cheryl’s laughter in the back of her throat.
That one little word is all it takes to abruptly end their brief moment of bonding. Their shared laughter drains like the last stream of soapy water in a bathtub. That last wisp of warmth, gone. It slipped right through Cheryl’s fingers, and she is guilty for letting it fall.
Now Toni is looking at her like Cheryl lodged the knife in her back, and Cheryl is frozen in place. She wishes she could find the right words, just speak, damn it. But she is currently unable to move her mouth. She can’t even think to formulate the words, because there’s only one word spinning in her brain right now. Over and over again, replaying it just to make sure she heard it right. The only other thought in her mind is of how much Toni is going to hate her for the way she reacted. She’s going to leave, and Cheryl will be all alone again. Discarded to be eaten alive by her own thoughts.
Pop Tate interrupts their awkward silence, finally bringing their orders. He must notice that something is off, because he doesn’t say anything. Toni offers him a small “thanks,” but he only nods in response. Cheryl thinks he mutters something about how he’s available if they need him, but she can’t be sure. It sounds distant to her, like an avalanche falling in the next town over.
Girlfriend. It’s not that Cheryl has a problem with the concept, it’s just that…well…she hasn’t met anyone of that persuasion. No one that she knows of, at least. The only one to come to mind is Kevin, and their limited interactions have hardly been positive. There may have been some girls at school, but they were either closeted or harshly punished for it by their peers (peers like Cheryl). Jason only ever had girlfriends, and her parents talked down on folks who lived like that. Though Cheryl doesn’t share their more extreme sentiments, she’s not quite sure how she feels about the whole ordeal. She prefers not to think about it for too long.
None of that matters right now, seeing as she’s talking to another human being. A human being who is rapidly growing more agitated. Her choices here are either to ruin Toni’s night or try not to be an asshole for once. And as much as she adores being an asshole, she’d much prefer to keep Toni’s company. With that goal in mind, instead of hitting her with an “ew” or a “don’t get a crush on me,” she politely asks:
“What was she like?”
An intentional rewording of the question she’d prefer to ask, “what was it like dating a girl?” That would lead to more prying questions, squashing any chance they have at salvaging the night.
Toni’s expression shifts into something less hostile, but still guarded. Her eyes have gained back their warmth, her shoulders have slumped slightly, but her lips remain downturned.
“A crazy bitch,” she elaborates. “I know I shouldn’t call her that, but…”
“It’s fine,” Cheryl cuts in. “I want to know everything.”
And so, Toni tells her everything. About how her former lover brought up marriage before they officially called each other girlfriends, and how she slashed the tires on Toni’s bike after they broke up. The bits in between are played down a bit out of sentiment. She goes back and forth between calling the girl a bitch, and somehow managing to make excuses for said bitch forgetting her birthday. Cheryl knows better than anyone that these situations are complicated, so she makes an effort not to comment on it. A trying task for Cheryl, but she manages.
“And it took you how long to break up with her?”
“Six months.”
“Toni!”
“Don’t judge me,” she twirls the straw of her milkshake. “You weren’t there.”
“She couldn’t have been that hot.”
“Oh, but she was,” Toni sighs, dreamily. “Dark red hair, green eyes. I could have eaten her alive.”
Cheryl flushes at that. “Red hair?”
Her mother often tells her she has a habit of making every single conversation about herself, even when she has to take mental leaps to do so. Cheryl doesn’t agree that this happens anywhere near as her mother seems to believe it does, but every now and then she’ll catch herself and get embarrassed. They were just starting to relax again, and she had to go and ruin it by making assumptions.
Luckily, Toni just snorts.
“Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not myself.”
She says it with a teasing smile, challenging her once again. That is something Cheryl simply can’t stand for.
“That’s unheard of,” she leans back, crossing her arms. “I’m everyone’s type.”
“And everyone is my type,” Toni says. “With few exceptions.”
“Pray tell, what makes me an exception?”
“It’s only fair,” she shrugs. “Am I your type?”
She has to think about it for a moment. She’s inclined to agree with the sentiment that everyone is her type, there are few guys she won’t screw. She’s never taken attraction into account; she cares more about their attraction to her. But there’s a key difference between Toni and the boys she collects, namely that Toni isn’t a boy.
If she were a lesbian, what would her type be? Someone like Veronica, probably. A wealthy, glamorous girl like herself. Long, silky hair falling over a Vivienne Westwood dress. Wicked red lips and brown eyes that could cut a block of ice. Admittedly, she’s more interesting to look at than Archie. Not any fault of Archie’s, women as a whole tend to put more effort into their appearances than men do. A beauty contest between any given woman and any given man would be uneven, rigged. She loathes Veronica, but she doesn’t blame men for flocking to her.
But Toni isn’t Veronica. She’s beautiful, but a different type of beautiful (aesthetic-wise, at least). More grunge than Gucci. Still girly, but in a way that appears natural rather than manufactured. An outsider who seems so completely different from herself. Short, fluffy pink hair, paired with a pink leather jacket from the thrift store. Plush pink lips and brown eyes that seem to stare right through her. Way more interesting to look at than Archie.
Yeah, Toni would totally be her type.
“I think you would be,” Cheryl decides. “If I swung that way.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is.”
“I’m still disappointed though.”
Another sense of whiplash hits her. Every time she thinks she’s found her footing in this conversation, a new path pops up to throw her off course. She usually knows what to expect from people.
This time, it comes with less panic, but she can still feel her nerves spike. Pop Tate must have fooled with the thermostat, because her face suddenly feels very hot. She tries to distract herself with her milkshake, only to find she’s already finished it. Veronica would certainly have something to say about that. Why does that thought make her face hotter?
“You’re disappointed that I’m not into girls?”
“A little.”
It’s burning up in here. “So now I’m your type?”
“You just said you’re not into girls.”
“Would I be your type if I was?”
“Maybe.”
Cheryl groans. “I don’t see why you’re being so elusive about this.”
“I’m not elusive, you're just petty.”
“How am I petty?”
“You want to be my type even though you don’t like me back.”
“You like me?”
She hates how small she sounds, stupidly hopeful for something she doesn’t even want. She’s such a needy, attention-hungry thing. She is incapable of returning Toni’s hypothetical feelings, and yet she still wants them to exist. She can’t recall the last time she wanted anything this badly.
“I would if you swung that way, so to speak.”
That spark of hope makes her say something she’ll later regret.
“How do I know that I don’t?” She says. “Sexuality is fluid, after all.”
“Nope,” Toni says, quickly. “I’m not going there. I’ve been there before, and I swore I wouldn’t go back.”
“Go where?”
“This whole experiment thing,” she waves her hand. “I’ve had girls use me for that before and it never ends well.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” Cheryl protests. “I just- you can never be completely sure, can you?”
The words come out before she has time to think about what she’s really saying. She has no idea what she’s talking about, it’s like overhearing a stranger. A part of her has always wondered…no, it doesn’t matter. She’s not in a position where she’s able to explore that. Her parents would kill her if they ever found out, and all her friends would mock her. She doesn’t even want to try anything like that, she just misses Archie. She wants the confidence of knowing she can pull both men and women. She’s letting her arrogance lead her into making a bad decision.
And still, she’s having more fun with Toni than she would have had with Archie. That doesn’t mean she and Toni are the same, but it’s an avenue worth exploring. No one would have to know about it. Just a quick little fling to confirm she’s straight and then she could go back to chasing Archie.
On second thought, that sounds pretty terrible. It wouldn’t have to be like that, she could…she could…why is she doing this?
“Tell you what,” Toni leans forward. “Give me your number. We can go on a second date and see where this goes.”
“This is a date?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?” She’s already taking out her phone. “And you are into me, aren’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be pushing this.”
Cheryl bites the inside of her cheek. “I thought you didn’t want to be an experiment.”
“That’s why I said we’ll see where it goes,” Toni explains. “I’m not jumping into anything serious with someone who’s still confused.”
Confused. Sure, that’s what she is. She has no idea why she’s about to agree to this.
“Good,” she says. “I don’t do serious.”
“Then we’re on the same page,” Toni grins. “Now hand me your phone.”
They exchange numbers, and Toni orders them another round of milkshakes. They split the check, because unlike Archie and Reggie and all her other men, Toni refuses to let Cheryl pay for everything. They talk about their respective, vastly different lives, asking questions they would never dare ask anyone else. There’s no physical contact, it’s too soon for that. And Toni looks at her eyes instead of her chest (with far too much softness for Cheryl’s liking). It’s so completely different from any date Cheryl’s ever been on, and for the first time, it feels right.
The diner has never been this full.