Page 21 of 28 Dates

Because he has a girlfriend and he’s totally over you.

“Ugh. Dating sucks,” I mutter. The entryway to Dirty’s is in front of me, and yet I’m unable to force my feet to take me inside. My cold hands are clammy, and I swipe them against my coat for warmth. I should have worn gloves. It’s freaking freezing. I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat and ball them into fists, peering closer to the windows.

As hard as I’m looking, I’m still not entirely raring to go for another gross encounter of the toe fetish kind. It’s not like my other dates have set the bar that much higher, either. Somewhere I have courage, but all I find in my pockets is lint fuzz. Perhaps my courage has been packed away until spring.

My shoulders scrunch up to my ears and I do another quick scan.

Sara is at an empty table, setting dirty dishes into a gray bin. Paul is at the bar, leaning forward, hands curled around the edge while he talks to some male customers. He jerks his thumb at the television behind him, and they all burst out laughing. There are several other tables taken, and yet no one of the male persuasion is sitting alone, eyeing the door, waiting for me.

“Okay. You can do this.” I jerk back from the window and blow out a breath, surprised I can’t see it float away into the frigid air. Summer can’t come soon enough. I’m dying for a trip to the beach. Or at least the freedom to finally pack away my fur-lined boots. I kick said boots against the pavement and shake off the chill before heading inside. Like always, the breeze clips the door, swinging it wide open, and I have to use both hands to close it. Every time I enter Dirty’s, I’m breathless like I’ve been stuck in a whirlwind.

No one else seems to have this problem with the door, and I’ve spent a lot of time researching, watching patrons come and go. The door must love only me.

“Gracious,” I say as I enter. It’s not quite half-filled with patrons and no one pays me any attention. Which is good, because I don’t usually make it a habit to talk to myself.

Okay, well, not unless I’m in front of a mirror. I don’t know what that’s about, either, but sometimes as I’m getting ready, I have conversations with myself. Maybe I’m going crazy from the lack of interaction with real people, since I spend so much time alone. Who knows?

Who cares?

I shrug off my scarf and grab Sara’s attention. She’s headed my way, wiping her hands on a towel, but I hold her off, pointing to a table near the back that gives me a good view of the door and sidewalk. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just grab this table. I’m meeting someone.”

Sara grins and waves the towel in the air. “Sounds good. I’ll get some waters and menus ready for you.”

“Thanks, Sara.”

I wave her off as she goes back to the table she’s cleared and reset and grabs a handful of rolls of silverware wrapped in napkins.

Settling at the small table, I shimmy my shoulders and arms out of my wool coat and fold it up next to me. My scarf is untied but still wrapped around my neck. After fidgeting with the silverware in front of me, I place my hands in my lap.

I’m a nervous wreck, and it’s ridiculous. I’m having lunch with the nice electrical engineer whose name I now know is Isaac. We’ve messaged back and forth several times since Monday, and when he finally asked if we should meet, I only hesitated for a split second before suggesting a late lunch. I’ve been so busy all morning finalizing more contracts for Trey and getting his schedule set up for the summer months that I almost lost of track of time and I barely managed to run around my apartment getting ready.

Shockingly, I’m only a couple minutes late, as opposed to the seven-minute-minimum delay I always claim Trey is perpetually on. I’m so used to it, I’m not the least bit bothered by Isaac being late. In fact, I prefer it. My early arrival means I get to be comfortable before he arrives. I scan the bar again and dig my phone out of my purse just in case he messaged me.

My screen is blank, so I set my phone next to me. I don’t want to be enraptured by a Candy Crush Super Hard Level when Isaac shows up. I’m unsettled, my foot tapping against the table leg while I wait, and I double-check his profile pic so I’m sure to recognize him.

This guy is so much more my type, looks-wise. Thick black hair, styled professionally. He has a tiny dimple in the middle of his chin, two more endearing ones to the sides of his smile. His jaw is square, a broad nose, maybe a bit too large for his face, but with his seemingly muscular physique, I can overlook the nose. This guy looks exactly like the kind of guy to be my nextfriend.

Yeah, I’m turned on just looking at his picture, and I haven’t met him yet. I also didn’t spend much time talking to him this week. A few messages here and there, where we got straight to business.What do you do for fun? What do you do for a job?We have similar interests (being outside in the summer and watching football in the winter…When is Portland getting their own team?we both lamented). He plays videogames. I prefer books. But who cares as long as the rest of his body looks like his profile picture. There’s enough here to start a friendship that could maybe lead to something more physical.

A girl can dream anyway.

Sara waltzes by, and while she’s near, I change my mind about waiting to order until he gets here. My fingers are ice cubes, and I need some heat in me to warm them. I wave a hand in the air, grabbing her attention after she checks on a nearby table.

“Hey, what can I get for you?”

“Can you please bring me some hot water and lemon while I wait?”

“You got it.” She hustles to the bar where Paul is lounging with his hip resting on the bar, eyes on sports reruns from the weekend. I don’t very often pop into Dirty’s on a Monday, but I’m not surprised Jonas isn’t behind the bar. If he’s here at all, he’s probably in the office taking care of the week’s busywork. For a moment, unease prickles at me.

I’m not in any better position to be in a relationship, nor is my desire any greater than it used to be. Jonas has made it clear he’s moved on, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a small part of me that occasionally wonders…

What if?

If I could go back to six months ago, to the morning he walked away from me after declaring he wanted something more…would anything be different now? Would I be like Teagan with stars in my eyes and a pink hue to my cheeks every time I think about him, like she has for her husband?

What would it feel like to know that at the end of the day, there’s a person waiting for you, wanting to hear about your day, the good and the bad, a person who’s there for meals with a smile and someone to help clean up afterward? A person who would hold your hand during the sad parts of a movie, and not someone who’s just looking for a Netflix andchillkind of night?

The concept is so foreign to me, so always unwanted, it’s hard to imagine me being with someone like that. But Jonas? Do I regret not even trying?

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