This choice seems right. Four months ago, I was a mess. But I’ve straightened that up, and I’m in a good place—a place where I have zero plans to get serious again, and no intentions to give my heart away. Nada. But a good time? Bring it on.
“I will. I already have someone in mind.”
***
A few nights later, I host my besties for wine.
I lift my glass and issue a declaration. “I’m diving back into the dating pool,” I announce.
My four friends clink glasses with me. Relief and excitement swirls in my chest. I’m ready to try again, but also a tad nervous. “Dating is a shark tank, right?”
“Full of Moby Dicks,” Emerson says drily.
“And hammerheads,” Olive adds with a wink.
Skyler sets down her wineglass on my coffee table and mimes banging a drum on the punchline. Then she jerks her gaze to me and goes all business, tucking her stray red strands of hair behind her ears. “Are we going for Tinder? A matchmaker? Bumble? Something else?”
“Because not everyone can meet a fabulous tour guide on a Hawaiian vacation,” I point out, since I can’t resist reminding her of her ridiculously good fortune.
“Lucky bitch,” Emerson hisses as she downs some red wine, then taps the glass. “Snooty Wine Club time out! This tastes like shoe leather.”
“Well, that’s better than last week’s wine. It tasted like a veggie burger,” Jillian quips, lifting her seltzer water as she nudges our resident vegetarian.
Emerson’s jaw drops in mock outrage. “Take that back. Veggie burgers are the best.”
“Says you.”
“Exactly. I would know,” Emerson adds.
I take a drink of my wine, a different red than Emerson’s, then murmur appreciatively. “Mine tastes like cherries. I’m winning.”
Emerson laughs. “And you deserve to win. So, tell us more. What’s the plan?” she asks, rerouting the conversation back to dating.
Apropos, since cherries remind me of the man I’m finally ready for. I set down the glass and clear my throat. “I’m going to reach out to the guy who got away.”
Jillian gasps. We’re talking full-on, jaw-drop style. This has clearly been a dream of hers for some time. “Oh my God, I’ve only been hoping you would for seven years. Thank you for putting me out of my waiting misery.”
“It really was all about you,” I tease. “And trust me, I wish we’d had our Tuesday-night date several years ago. Would have made my life easier.”
But as soon as I say that, I have to wonder—would it? Would I have started Sassy Yoga if I’d stayed here and dated Harlan?
Something else wouldn’t have happened either. Something much more important.Someone.If we’d become a thing, he wouldn’t have had his little girl. Maybe we weren’t meant to be then for many reasons, after all.
Except, I don’t believe in fate.
I believe in timing, and this timing seems right.To date.Just to date.
My friends seem to think so, too, judging from their reactions.
Olive hoots. “Get it, girl!”
Emerson shimmies her shoulders. “He’s such a hottie.” She turns to Jillian. “And he’s single?”
“As far as I know,” Jillian says with a light shrug, “but it’s notlike Jones and I spend all our time talking about Harlan’s dating situation.” She rubs her growing belly. “We’re a little busy.”
I roll my eyes. “Making people, sheesh. You act like it’s so hard.”
“Easy as pie,” she deadpans, then asks, “Is this going to be more like an official date?”
