Page 1 of My Knight Before Christmas
One
Mydate’ssweatypalmgripped my cold and clammy one as he recountedanotherstory of his pet guinea pig, Petal, whose funeral we were at. That’s right. Instead of postponing our date, Felix thought I’d enjoy nothing more than attending his “best friend’s“ life celebration.
With the hand not being held captive, I tapped on my cell screen laying next to me on the picnic blanket. Forty-five minutes had passed since we arrived in Felix’s backyard.
They were by far the longest minutes of my life.
He hiccuped mid-way through his latest retelling. “And then, right in the middle of breakfast, Petal figured out how to use the step-stool Mom used in the kitchen to hop up on a chair, then a bar-stool, until she was on the counter eating pancakes right off the plate!”
Could small pigs really do that? Actually, any pig?
“She was just so special,” he rambled on. “What am I going to do without her snout pressing up against my cheek every day?” He brought our clasped hands up to his face, nuzzling our fingers. I slowly slipped my hand out of his, reaching for the sandwich I’d yet to eat because of my hand-jailer. I attempted a one-handed approach of my sub earlier, but my tomato and lettuce fell off. Seriously, didn’t he know food like this required all ten fingers to consume? Felix did not think through this date at all.
When I didn’t respond, he launched into another tale of Petal. This one made tears fall by the gallons. Oh boy.
Pets were like family. I got that. My sweet poodle, Roxy, passed away my senior year of high school. Whenever I glimpsed the picture my parents kept on our mantle, my heart pinched. Her downy fur and round eyes would never again greet me when I visited my childhood home. But we grieved in private.
After I finished the last bite of food, I interrupted Felix. “It’s getting late, and I think you need some time to process everything. Will you drive me home now?”
“Oh.” He startled. “Right. Yes. Let’s go.”
I stood, wiping my hands down my backside. “Thank you.”
We drove back to my house in complete silence. Not even the radio was on. I kept my gaze trained out the window, not caring if I came across as rude. Felix hadn’t asked me a single question about myself tonight.
What happened to all the good men in the world? The ones who held steady jobs, moved out of their parents’ basement, kept up on personal hygiene, and didn’t take their date to a funeral? Were they taken already? After another failed first date, the answer was clear and simple. Yes. Yes, they were.
When Felix pulled into my driveway, I assumed he’d drop me off and go. Much to my horror, he followed me to my door. Did he want a goodnight kiss? I shuddered. Not. Happening.
I stood on my porch; the light shining on him. If he were someone I had any sort of attraction to, the glow over his red hair could be romantic. The look of pure misery on his face matched my own.I hear you buddy, this date was not at all what I agreed to either.
“Well,” I said, puffing my cheeks out. “I hope you drive home safe, Felix.” I held a hand out for him to shake.
“Do you want to go out again sometime?” he hesitantly asked.
Uhhh, pretty sure he’d been with me the last hour and not a single moment sparked anylet’s do this againfeelings. If anything, it cemented the fact that my roommates, Anna and Amy, were wrong with a capital W. The newest, hottest, dating app, that was “sure to bring me a boyfriend within a year,” had failed me.
At twenty-five years old, I knew I still had time to find the man of my dreams. But Mom kept asking for grandbabies, and my roommates had ridiculously adorable boyfriends. Why was it so easy for them to find a match, but not me? What was wrong with me that always drove men away? Was I too clingy? High maintenance? Did I not show enough interest? How would I ever get my happily ever after, which included making Mom a grandma? If I couldn’t find one now as a perky woman in her mid-twenties, what hope was there the older I got?
As my one-year Kismet anniversary approached, I’d yet to find a single man to become serious with, let alone go out with, twice. Well, except for Liam, but I refused to think about him or the six dates we went on.
All in all, online dating was a big fat waste of time. And not for lack of effort on my part. I went out almost every weekend and occasionally on week nights too. Granted, my schedule was wonky due to working at a bakery, but I’d found a way to squeeze in both—caffeine.
For Amy and Anna? They met their boyfriends within three months. Not poor old me, Avery Thatcher (yes, Amy, Anna, and I were called Triple Aallthe time. No, we could not provide any assistance, roadside or otherwise). So why couldn’t I find a significant other? Most people said I was cute. I had classic features—wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, an average figure, and an appropriate laugh. On occasion, Aunt Flo pestered me withslightmood swings and a smattering of zits, but who didn’t she curse?
Despite my flaws, I determined this would be the year I met someone special. My roomies agreed. I’d been down on my luck for so long, fate had to smile on me eventually.
Tonight was not that night. “Felix,” I said, gentle but firm, “you should take some time for yourself and grieve. Petal will occupy your mind for a little while, and I don’t want to distract you from that.” Or go on another date with you.
He nodded as if I bestowed Mother Teresa’s level of wisdom on him.
“Best of luck,” I said quickly, opening my front door and practically slamming it behind me. I blew out a large breath and slid down the back of the door until I was on the tiled floor. My forehead rested on my knees. Why did I keep doing this to myself? When did I admit insanity?
“Date went that well, huh,” Amy said, stopping in front of me in our entryway. I pulled my head up to meet her gaze. Even though she was in yoga pants and a t-shirt, with her blonde hair swept up in a messy bun, she was gorgeous. No wonder she found someone through the dating appso quickly. I swear my thumb had a callus from all the swiping on Kismet the past year.
“We can add it to the book,” I replied. We kept a spiral notebook on top of our refrigerator where we documented our worst dates as a way to process what happened. There were quite a few doozies in there. Mine took up the most space.
Amy’s face crumpled. “Oh sweetie, I’m sorry. Someone out there is just waiting to meet you. We need to keep looking.”
