Page 4 of A Small Town Spring

“Thanks,” I say flatly.To Van, I say, “But no thanks.”

“You’re not dating?”Van asks, sounding surprised.

“I’m—” Again, the question stops me.I struggle to remember the last date I was on.The last guy I hooked up with.There have been men since Sergio, but they’ve been few and far between.I guess I’ve lost my taste for the casual, and the serious is—well, I haven’t met anyone I want to be serious about.

I’m saved from having to explain myself to my annoyingly well-meaning friends by our hosts coming into the kitchen.Jack’s laughing quietly while Pete’s got his hand at the small of Jack’s back.Cleo, their brown rescue mutt, twines around their feet before coming to greet me by sniffing at my purple shoes.I pat her head, then go to the sink to wash my hands.

Turning away from the happy couples gives me a chance to collect myself.I’m surprised to feel this unsettled by Van’s simple offer of an introduction, and the fact that I’m older than everyone in this room, and I’m also the only single one.

How, exactly, did this happen?

My singleness was supposed to be a phase.For years, I embraced dating, hookups, experimentation, infatuation, heartbreak, embarrassment, getting hurt, accidentally hurting others.I’ve had significant relationships—some even lasted a year or two, like Sergio.I’ve been through it all.But singledom has stubbornly stuck to me like a burr in my favorite camel hair coat—unable to be removed unless I cut it out and ruin the coat forever.

But it’s not their fault—my paired-off friends haven’t done anything wrong.In fact, I urged them together, at least in Van and Beck’s case.It’s sweet, I guess, that Van wants to return the favor.But if I know anything at all, it’s that love doesn’t work like that.It doesn’t work on a planned-out schedule or just because you’re ready.I’ve been ready for a long time, and it hasn’t happened.

Maybe it never will.

That thought leaves me cold and I push it forcefully away, drying my hands with more vigor than necessary on a nearby dish cloth.I grin at Jack and Pete, offer to open a bottle of the red to let it breathe before dinner.

Pete comes over while Beck and Jack consult over the timing of the meal.“Hey man,” he says, giving me a warm hug.“Thanks for coming.I really want you to meet Ivy.”

“She new to town?”I ask.

“Been here about a year, I think.She and her boyfriend moved from England.”

“British?”

“Sort of.I think Ivy grew up between New York and London and the boyfriend’s dad is British, but his mom is American.I think they both have dual citizenship.”

“Interesting.”

“She’s intimidating.But I want her for the board.She’s a sculptor, and she’s really good, and she has experience working with other nonprofits.Plus, she has some kind of family money.”

“Sounds like the perfect fit.”Rosedale is full of artists, but not necessarily ones with spare cash to throw support at the Art Center.A board position there usually entails donating something significant to the organization.Pete fits the bill.He started volunteering there, then became a drawing teacher, but when Super Rupert, the middle grade illustrated novel series that Jack writes and Pete illustrates, went big time with a popular TV show based on it, and Pete’s original art also started selling, he suddenly had the means to support the Art Center rather than the other way around.

“Yeah.I’ve approached her about it obliquely, but she didn’t exactly jump at the idea.I thought if we hung out and included her and her boyfriend—he’s an artist, too—in a social way, it might make her more open to the idea.”

“Makes sense.Only been here a year—maybe they haven’t made friends yet.”

“Toby, that’s her boyfriend, has been to some events at the Art Center, but they do kind of keep to themselves.”

“Well, allow me to draw them out,” I say, glad to have a task to distract me from my personal woes.

Pete looks relieved.“Thanks.You’re better at that kind of thing than me.”

I pat his arm reassuringly.“Never fear.Between Beck and me, we can make friends with an angry dog.”

“She’s not angry, just beautiful and classy and intimidating.She kind of gives off Zoe Saldaña vibes.”

I smile at my friend’s expression, which has gone back to pinched with nerves.“Pete, she’s just a person.”

The doorbell chimes, echoing throughout the kitchen.The voices around me fall silent and we all look around as if waiting for someone to do something.

“I’ll open the door,” Jack announces.He wipes his hands on his jeans and straightens the cuffs of the hunter green cashmere sweater I gave him for Christmas.The boy needs help dressing.

“I’ll put on some music,” Beck says, taking out his phone.

“I’ll get another beer,” Van says, heading for the fridge.

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