Page 25 of Best Friends, Tennessee

I just wanted to be with therightperson.

Not that I knew what the fuck that meant.

It had continued until now, and over time, Ori had gone from saying I was too picky to not commenting on my relationships much. He’d grown and learned, just like I had.

But over time I’d also learned that Ori was partially right. There was nothing wrong with dating many women, but I was starting to think my standards were only serving to keep me alone, more often than not.

It was exhausting. I was tired of dating, to say the least.

So damn tired of trying to find the right person for me.

Ori wasn’t back yet when I got home.

I was beat, after being up since six, running over to the ranch to shovel horse shit, then running home to shower and get ready for a long day of clients all across town.

I rinsed off in the shower. I made a rum and coke in a tall glass and parked on the living room couch with a chicken pesto sandwich.

Ori usually got home around nine. I threw on a documentary about wildlife and summoned the will to stay awake as I waited for him to walk through the front door.

I was on myseconddocumentary, two hours later, when I finally heard the front door opening. I was struggling to keep my eyes open as I watched antelopes galloping across the screen, but as soon as Ori walked in, I perked up, nodding his way.

“Yo,” I told him.

“Oh, hey,” he said, coming through the door.

“Long night at the diner?”

He shrugged. “It was an easy night, actually.”

“You’re home a little later than usual,” I said.

He put his keys down on the little table by the door, kicking off his shoes. Ori looked good in the fitted black T-shirt and dark denim he usually wore to the diner.

When he set down his little sketchbook on the coffee table, I saw a new watercolor he’d painted of a big, iced cinnamon roll. It looked delicious.

“I got caught up,” Ori said. “I was talking to the new guy my parents hired.”

“Thomas? The baker?” I asked. “Thought he only came around to bake in the early mornings.”

Ori nodded. “My mom had apparently been nagging him about meeting me, too, so he swung by. She thinks because we’re both gay we’re going to instantly go googly-eyed and start fucking each other.”

I puffed out a laugh, shifting on the couch. “Yeah. That’ll never happen.”

“You don’t like him?”

“Too nice for you,” I said. “I’ve met him a couple of times when I’ve visited Danielle at the diner. He doesn't seem like your type.”

Ori waved a hand through the air. “I don’t have a type.”

I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Bullshit.”

He stifled a yawn. “Only thing I have is ananti-type.”

“Cowboys?”

“Bingo,” Ori said. “Anyway. I’m going to go shower and crash. Tired as fuck. Night, Finn.”

He was already in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of water.

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