Page 3 of Napkins and Other Distractions
“How about a bottle?” I say, pointing to the wine list.
Val dips her chin and raises her left eyebrow.
“Absolutely. I’ll be right back with it.”
I move my hands to my lap, the promise of wine and a small connection lulling my fingers to relax. Marvin’s words replay in my head. Be in the moment. Don’t dismiss outright. Sitting across from me, even in his tangled state, something about Kent intrigues me. He’s clearly older, but the SWISH age ranges only told me he’s “over 40,” which technically, even though only by a few months, so am I.
Finally settled, Kent scans the restaurant. “This place is nice.”
“Yeah, I love it. The food is fantastic.” I dab the napkin on my lap. “Thanks for agreeing to meet here.”
“Oh please, I’d meet you anywhere,” Kent says, and his smile, soft, kind, and full of empathy, sparks something in my stomach.
“So, you’re divorced. And you haven’t dated in … seven years?” I ask.
“Honestly, no. I haven’t had the courage. Corrine and I were college sweethearts, and well, I’m so out of practice. With apps and all, it’s not quite the same. Back then, you went to a club. A bar. Or met at a party. You gave out your landline number, went home, and waited impatiently for your answering machine to blink.” He grabs his phone and lifts it. “None of this nonsense. My family takes a lot of my time. And my job can be consuming, and now, well, things at work are … ” Kent’s eyes drop to his lap and his voice trails off as he bites his lower lip.
Kent’s mention of work turns my thoughts to tomorrow. A fresh start for me—a new school implementation. After the last disaster, I need this one to be successful. Hopscotch, the software company I work for, gathers and analyzes data more effectively for schools. If it’s rolled out correctly. This time I won’t fuck it up. My OCD won’t derail things. This time will be better. It has to be. My job depends on it. Bringing up work on these first dates is a convenient option, but it can be a minefield. Perhaps Kent shares this perspective.
“Kent, may I propose we don’t discuss our jobs?” I suggest. “Just for tonight.”
His eyes find mine again. Tiny lines crinkle around the edges as he grins at my offer. My heart beats a little faster. When he’s not tripping, falling, or spilling, Kent’s face has a warmth that’s doing it for me.
“Really? You know, that sounds amazing—no shop talk. Let’s get to know each other without those boring details,” he says.
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
Val returns with a tray carrying two wine glasses and a bottle. She pours the wine. I taste it, give her a single nod, and my shoulders drop as I sip. The weight of work, the stress, and the worry disappear down my throat along with the full-bodied, smooth liquid. Kent’s radiating kindness, which is incredibly sexy, overshadows his scattered nature and messiness. Something about the wine and this man across from me has my head swimming, and I’m optimistic this night won’t be a total disaster.
CHAPTER 2
Kent
Did Sweetums take his pill with the enthusiasm of a lion crammed into a tiny cat carrier? Yup. Did he gag, hack, and spit up all over me? Twice. Was I worried about being late? Of course. Did I arrive discombobulated? Obviously. But that head. That bald, shiny, perfect work surface of a noggin shakes me to my core.
Vincent’s photo did not do him justice. Sure, he lost the facial hair, but he doesn’t need it. I can see more of his face this way. His beautiful punim. His creamy skin. Perfection. The photo was sweet. Cute. Approaching handsome. In person? Vincent is scorching hot. As my daughter would say, all the flame and chili pepper emojis.
Theo, the prickly, but sweet custodian at school, assures me I’m a catch. He says anyone would be lucky to date me. For him, a certified grump, it’s a massive compliment or a complete load of crap. Ruth, the PE teacher and my work wife (Corrine’s words, not mine), told me guys might consider me a “daddy.” My daughter, Gillian, is twenty-six and hasn’t called me Daddy since she was in pigtails. “Dad” suffices just lovely now. Sweetums is my kitty baby, although sometimes our relationship borders more on warden and prisoner. Theo and Ruth are the only queer people I’m close with, and I’m beyond grateful for their counsel. Seeing Vincent in person, something springs alive I haven’t felt in a long time. Something primal, deep, and it knocks me off center.
Agreeing not to talk about work is the blessing I need to get through this evening without melting into a puddle of despair. My life revolves around Lear Elementary. The kids. The staff. With our test scores nose-diving, the board mandated new software to collect and report on student data. The district is spending a fortune on the rollout, and I’ve got until spring break to see the implementation through. That will give us the rest of the school year to show growth with the new system. I see through Hopscotch’s innocent name; this is anything but good news.
“To no talk of work,” I say, lifting my glass. Vincent smiles, and his eyes sparkle. Maybe it’s the prospect of being on a proper date with a man for the first time in, well, ever, but I really hope Vincent doesn’t think I’m a complete dolt.
“None,” he replies, crashing his glass against mine. The force of the impact shoots an eruption of wine onto my shirt.
Vincent’s eyes open wide, and he immediately sets his glass down and grabs a napkin.
“Kent, I’m so sorry.” And he’s up, over, dabbing at my shirt.
“It’s fine. Honestly, it was only a matter of time before I made a mess. You’re simply helping me hurry things along.”
I move my hand over his, and when my fingers brush his knuckles, a warmth sparks in my hand and travels up my arm. It’s been less than twenty minutes, and we’ve made skin-to-skin contact. Add that to the hug, and this is more intimacy than I’ve had in over seven years. My center simmers, and I shake my head, attempting to shoo the dizziness away.
He doesn’t stop, his determination clear as he vigorously tries to remove the stubborn spot, but even I know that red wine stains are no match for a cloth napkin.
“Vincent, it’s okay. Really,” I say and gently remove his hand, but keep ahold of his fingers. “I’m good.”
