Page 30 of My Real Love Affair

I should say no. This was moving too fast. I didn’t know him. This whole thing was crazy. But my fingers were already typing.

Me:Dinner sounds good.

Send.

Oh god. What had I just done?

Austin:Perfect. 7pm? I’ll pick you up.

Me:Text me the address. I’ll meet you there.

I stared at that last message, a stupid smile spreading across my face. I wasn’t going to be that easy. Even though he already knew where I lived, it was my standard safety feature. I preferred to meet my dates at the place.

Then panic set in.

What was I supposed to wear? How was I supposed to act? What did people even talk about on dates? I hadn’t been on a real date in… how long had it been? Two months? Three?

I needed help.

I opened a new tab on my phone and typed into the search bar.

Me:How do I flirt over text with a guy I just met?

Responses popped up.Keep it light. Use humor. Show interest but don’t seem desperate. Mirror his energy.

I screenshotted the advice and saved it to my photos. That advice was all probably obvious, but I was freaking out. It was pathetic. I was pathetic.

I stumbled to the kitchen and made coffee, my phone clutched in one hand. No new messages from Austin. Should I text him? No, that seemed too eager. But what if he was waiting for me to text him? What if he thought I wasn’t interested?

“Get it together,” I muttered to myself.

I’d built a business from nothing. I’d survived being canceled by the entire internet. I could handle one date with one admittedly gorgeous, charming, completely out of my league man.

My phone buzzed.

Cleo:Girl. GIRL. Have you seen the internet this morning?!

Cleo:You and Austin Bancroft are EVERYWHERE

Cleo:I’m coming over. We need to talk.

Me:Door’s unlocked. Bring pastries.

Twenty minutes later, Cleo burst through my front door carrying an iced coffee in each hand and a bakery bag tucked under her arm. Her purple hair was in space buns today. She wore a vintage band tee, Rolling Stones, with leather pants and about seventeen rings.

She looked like she’d already had three espressos and was ready to fight someone.

“Okay,” she said, setting everything on my kitchen counter. “Spill. Everything. Don’t leave out a single detail.”

I filled her in while we ate croissants at my kitchen island. The bathroom confrontation at the wedding. Austin waiting for me outside. The kiss. The burgers. The ride home.

“And now he wants to see me again,” I finished. “Tonight. For dinner.”

Cleo stared at me, mouth hanging open. “Tonight? Like,tonighttonight?”

“That’s usually what tonight means.”

“Melody.” She grabbed my shoulders. “Do you understand what’s happening here? Austin Bancroft wants to take you on a date.”