Imagining Maggie’s husband handling her wasn’t on today’s to-do list. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Okay, then.” She nods to her right. “I’m talkin’ about Finley.”
Finley.
I swallow hard. Never in a million years would I date her.
Sure, I’m fascinated—but only because she’s nothing like the women I usually date. Sweet. Kind. Always cheerful. She’s sunshine in a bottle. She knows all the regulars by name, their drinks, even their kids, their pets. She has a way of making my shitty days just a little bit better.
She can spot when someone’s struggling, and she goes out of her way to lift them up. Last year when my girlfriend Shawna had broken up with me, she noticed I was off. I hadn’t told Roland, let alone the staff at the coffee shop, but Finley picked up on it. For weeks, she asked if I was okay. I said I was fine, but she knew better, so she’d slip a muffin in with my Danish and scrawl encouragements on my cup like. “Today’s a new day!” and “One day at a time!”
What had been routine became something I looked forward to. She was something I looked forward to. And before I knew it, I was out of my funk.
Sure, I’ve thought about asking her out. But she’s not my type. I date women who run companies, who live and breathe million-dollar deals. Finley? She makes lattes. Yeah, I hear how that sounds—pretentious asshole, right? Maybe I am. But I stick to women who speak the same language I do.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed her laugh, or the way she’s genuinely interested in people. Or the way her smile hits me square in the chest. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I weren’t Alex King, cofounder of Zebra Tech, chasing seven million in venture capital. If I’d chosen something simpler, then I’d be someone who could date someone like Finley.
But that’s a fantasy, and a stupid one. Even if I wanted to ask her out, I swore off dating after Shawna. I’m a workaholic with zero work-life balance—which she made abundantly clear. And when things go to hell at the office, I’m an asshole to live with. As Roland likes to remind me, we’re married to Zebra Tech. For better or worse, richer or poorer. We were banking on richer, but poorer’s always lurking. I don’t have the luxury of splitting my focus.
“Hey, Finley,” Roland says, oblivious to my existential crisis. He leans over the counter. “Do you like Christmas?”
She looks up from making Fake Aunt Sylvia’s drink and smiles—when she does, it’s not just with her mouth and eyes. Her whole body radiates with it. “Of course, I do, Roland. Only a scrooge wouldn’t like Christmas.”
“Have you heard of Hollybrook, Vermont?” he asks. “It’s the Christmas capital of the world.”
I watch in horror as I realize what he’s doing. I need to shut him down, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it. The thought of bringing Finley to Hollybrook has short circuited my brain.
Maggie takes the credit card from my hand and taps the screen.
That jars me out of my stupor. “Uh, Maggie? We didn’t give our order yet.”
“Please…” She rolls her eyes so hard I see nothing by whites. “You order the same thing every day. A large flat white and a cheese Danish. Mister Matchmaker over there orders a medium caramel latte.” She hands back my card. “Besides, you could do worse than Finley.”
There’s no doubt my mother would love her.
When my mother met my first serious girlfriend after college, Patricia had called my parents provincial, which I didn’t think sounded so bad. Mom told me that she hadn’t meant it as a compliment. Mom was right, of course. Days later, I asked Patricia about it, and she’d admitted it—unapologetically—that she thought my parents didn’t have enough class, and that once we were married, I’d need to distance myself from them.
We broke up seconds later.
I might not spend as much time with my family as they would like, but I’m not going to let anyone trash talk them either.
Then, when my mother met Shawna two years ago, she told me my girlfriend was only interested in the big payoff I’d get when Roland and I eventually sold our start-up. I was pissed and told my mother she was wrong. But months later, I was eating a huge slice of humble pie. Roland and I had hit a low point. We needed more funding, and we were struggling to find new investors. I poured my heart out to Shawna, and instead of offering encouragement, she dumped me, claiming she’d written a paper about sunk cost fallacy, and that she’d wasted enough time on something that was almost guaranteed to lose.
It was only after she left that I realized she hadn’t misspoken when she’d said something instead of someone.
I haven’t dated since.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t been with a woman. I’ve slept with several, but relationships? Not until we see Zebra Tech to fruition.
But right now, Roland is still chatting with Finley while she makes our drinks.
“You’ve really never seen a white Christmas?” he asks in amazement. I can spot Salesman Roland a mile away. He’s really pushing this.
“Nope, never.” Finley has a wistful look on her face. “I’ve always wanted to, but…” She shrugs and to my surprise, something flickers in her eyes, a hint of sadness, but then just as quickly it’s gone. “Who knows?” she says a little too brightly. “If all this crazy weather keeps up, maybe Atlanta’ll start havin’ blizzards.”
Roland props his arm on the back of the espresso machine partition. “Why wait twenty years to see one when you can go to Hollybrook? Did I mention it’s the Christmas capital of the world?” He turns to look at me with an encouraging look. I recognize it from when we tag team potential investors. “What do they have up in Hollybrook, Alex? Candy cane eating contests?”
“No,” I said with a laugh, but it feels a little forced. I should walk away and leave this woman alone, but I can’t seem to stop myself from saying, “But they have just about everything else. The town’s kind of Bavarian-themed and there’s always snow at Christmas, so they capitalize on it. They have a gingerbread house decorating contest. Sleigh rides. Outdoor ice skating.”
