Page 7 of Confessions of the Funny Fat Friend

I nodded, all my friends’ thoughts echoing in my head. “I had fun,” I admitted, getting in the car. And my friends were right. He was cute. From the strong edges of his stubbled jaw to the ridge of his nose and the fullness of his lips that revealed a breathtaking smile. And God, the way my name sounded with his accent. If I moved to the South, I’d be in trouble. Pining for men just for the way they spoke.

But Tyler would be my coworker, and I knew better than to chase men who would only break my heart.

I focused on driving, at least until he said, “I feel like I didn’t learn much about you at dinner.”

“What do you want to know?” I asked cautiously. I had to be careful—revealing too much could be a liability, especially as a woman in the workforce. I’d seen my sister-in-law get shoved out of her job after announcing her pregnancy. Not to mention my younger brother’s fiancée constantly got called ‘emotional’ since her line of work was heavily male populated.

“Did you always want to be in property management?” Tyler asked, drawing me out of my thoughts.

The question seemed innocent enough, minus the way he watched me. It was like he wanted to genuinely hear my answer. And with his eyes on me, it was hard putting two words together. “Not really,” I admitted. “I went to college after high school and got my associate degree in business, but I had to work full-time to pay for everything. Once I got a full-time job I liked, it seemed silly to spend all that money to go back.”

He nodded. “So you like this line of work?”

“I do,” I admitted. When he was quiet, I felt like I had to fill the silence. “Home has always been a special place for me. Somewhere I could go back to after a hard day and always feel safe, loved. Helping other people create that kind of place... it’s the dream.”

When I glanced his way, there was a small smile on his lips. “I’m excited to build that with you. Especially knowing you’ll be the one in charge of the new building.”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread on my face. Getting this promotion—it was a huge affirmation for me. It meant I’d been right to follow my gut and stop after an associate degree. It meant that my work mattered and was valued by the people I served. And it meant I’d finally be able to reach my savings goal that had always seemed so far away.

Maybe I’d even find someone to share it with.

Someday.

The apartment building came into view, and I parked along the curb closest to his unit. Instead of immediately getting out, he smiled over at me. Not a forced smile, but a real one that took all the air out of the car.

“Thank you for letting me crash your dinner,” he said.

I smiled. “Around here, we call it supper.”

His laugh was infectious. “Supper,” he corrected. “Let’s do it again sometime?”

With a silent nod, he opened his car door and got out, then bent down to look at me again. “See you Monday.”

I waved, pressing my lips together so I wouldn’t squeal. As soon as I got out of the parking lot, I started a group call with Mara and Birdie. But I ended it before I hit send. How juvenile did I look, getting all giddy because a guy I worked with mentioned the potentiality of having supper together again.

I needed to remember who I was—his plus-sized tomboy virgin coworker with less of a chance of hooking up with Tyler Griffen than the Brentwood Badgers had of playing in the finals this year.

With a sigh, I continued toward home.

My family lived on the line between Emerson and Seaton in a smaller ranch-style house with a big backyard. But with so many of us living there, Dad had converted the garage into an extra bedroom, keeping all of our tools in the shop out back.

The light blue house came into view, and I parked under the carport next to Dad’s old Buick. That thing had seen more years than I had, but it ran like a dream. No way would he leave it completely exposed to the elements.

When I got out, I noticed a car I didn’t recognize along the curb. “Great,” I muttered, hoping with all my heart this wasn’t another setup. But when I got inside, my fears were confirmed.

A guy around my age, with short coiled hair sat at the table with my mom and grandma while my dad cooked at the stove. He had the distinct look of someone who didn’t know exactly how they’d gotten there, but also didn’t know how to leave.

At the creak of our front door, all eyes landed on me, and my grandma waved me over. She stood behind her latest attempt at Prince Charming, rubbing his shoulders like a boxer about to go into the ring. “Henrietta, dear, look who I met at the grocery store today! His name is Deshawn, he works at a bank, and he has a401k!”

When he waved at me, she pointed at his ringless finger.

Oh dear lord.

Dad gave me a look over Grandma’s shoulder that said,be good. This wasn’t the first time Grandma had brought a respectable stranger over to sweep me off my feet, and it wouldn’t be the last. But we all put up with it because she was such a romantic, and well, arguing with her was about as useful as gassing a car in park.

“Hi, Deshawn,” I said, hanging my purse up and wishing for the millionth time that I had my own home with my own key and multiple locks. “Which bank?”

“First Bank of Emerson.”

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