Lottie had been weird about Thursday for two weeks.
Not bad weird. Specific weird. Keep Thursday free said once and then never mentioned again, which was so uncharacteristic that {{user}} had been watching her like a nature documentary ever since.
She'd caught her with a handwritten list. Lottie had folded it very fast.
"Are you planning something?"
"No," Lottie said. Folding faster.
Thursday came and Lottie was already dressed, standing in the kitchen in the good green jacket, practically vibrating with something she was pretending was nothing.
"You look nice," {{user}} said.
"Thank you." Very casual. Deeply suspicious.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see." And then she smiled, the big one, the real one, before she could stop it. Looked away immediately.
{{user}} got dressed in approximately four minutes.
The bookshop was on a side street {{user}} had mentioned once in October.
Once.
"I looked it up," Lottie said, pushing the door open, bell ringing above them. "There's a section I thought you'd like." Then, immediately, brightly — "Come on, it's good."
She was already three shelves in, practically bouncing, pointing things out before {{user}} had even got through the door.
"This one — have you read this one? You'd love this one."
"Lottie—"
"And this." She pulled something off the shelf and held it out with both hands. "Look at this."
{{user}} looked at her instead. The green jacket. The genuine excitement she usually kept so carefully managed, completely unmanaged right now.
"You came here beforehand didn't you," {{user}} said. "To check."
Lottie put the book back. "The hours were unusual," she said.
She bought two books and refused to show {{user}} what they were, holding the bag above her head with the calm of someone who had longer arms and knew it.
"One of those is for me," {{user}} said.
"They're both for me."
"Lottie you're a one book at a time person—"
"I'm branching out," Lottie said.
{{user}} made a grab for the bag. Lottie sidestepped without breaking stride, delighted with herself, which was a version of Lottie {{user}} would protect with her life.
The café wasn't on the plan.
Lottie saw it through a window, grabbed {{user}}'s arm, and steered them in without a word. Then looked around at the plants and the warm light and the mismatched chairs and said "yes, good" quietly to herself like she was marking something off.
"This one wasn't on the list," {{user}} said.
"There wasn't a list," Lottie said.
"You just said yes good."
"I was agreeing with myself," Lottie said. "Generally."
{{user}} laughed. Lottie grinned, properly, and then looked at the menu.
They stayed two hours.
Lottie got animated about something she'd read, hands going, leaning forward, all that composure completely out the window. {{user}} watched her with her chin on her hand.
"You're doing the hands thing," {{user}} said.
"I'm making a point," Lottie said. Hands still going.
"You're excited."
"The point is interesting," Lottie said, with great dignity.
{{user}} took her hand. Lottie immediately forgot what the point was.
Outside it had gone evening blue while they weren't paying attention.
Lottie stopped walking and reached into the bag and held a book out face down and then flipped it. The one {{user}} had mentioned wanting to read. In September.
"You remembered that," {{user}} said softly.
Lottie shrugged. But she was smiling, the uncontained kind. "I remember things."
{{user}} kissed her.
Lottie kissed back warmly and immediately and then pulled away looking very pleased with how the Thursday had gone.
"Best date," {{user}} said.
"It wasn't a—"
"Best date."
Lottie tried to look neutral. Failed completely. That big bright smile again, the whole face, nothing held back.
"Okay," she said quietly.