A small smile touches my lips, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. "Just a bit."
His grin is boyish, disarmingly so, and for a moment, I see what drew me to his profile. I sigh, crossing my legs beneath the table. Maybe it's just nerves. He's younger than me, a few years shy of my usual type.
"Can I please start over?" he asks, a hopeful note in his voice.
"Yeah, you can start over."
"Should I order us some drinks? What would you like? Wine? Beer? Cocktail? You seem like a cocktail kinda guy."
"I don't drink alcohol," I say simply, the words flat.
That look of disinterest returns, sharp and unmistakable this time, as if I've just admitted to collecting stamps or having a third nipple. "God, you're no fun. Why?"
I lean forward slightly, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "Are you seriously asking me that right now?"
His expression remains blank, a vacant canvas.
I roll my eyes. "Personal reasons," I say, the finality in my tone leaving no room for further inquiry.
Alcohol and my depression don't mix, a fact reinforced by the medication I take. But that's a confession for another day, another person, certainly not for this man across the table.
"Okay, forget I said that. I'm starting over a second time." Ted takes a deep breath, running a frustrated hand through his perfectly styled hair. The raw nerves radiating off him are almost palpable, and I have to bite back a smile.
He tries again. "I'll order myself a wine and get you a tea?"
It's almost funny, in a painful sort of way, that someone so physically perfect could be so socially awkward. Usually, I'm the one stumbling over words, my mind racing to catch up. Was I really making this man nervous? The thought is a strange mirror, reflecting back a version of myself I rarely see.
"A tea would be nice. Thank you," I say, deciding to extend a bit of grace.
We talk over dinner, finding common ground in our love for the beach. Ted is a realtor by day and a surfer whenever he can steal away. He completely lights up talking about surfing and the best beaches in the area, which becomes the main topic of our date. I can't help but appreciate his passion for the water. It's something I can relate to.
Ted admits he's never tried yoga, but he listens politely while I talk about it. I mention some of the beaches I've been scoping out for an outdoor group session I want to record. He recognizes a few of them, and is delighted to share his favorite photogenic spots with me.
I try steering the conversation toward running, but the second I mention waking up at six every morning, I lose him.
Ted lives his life without goals or timeframes to worry about. Surfing seems to be the only thing that matters to him.
He is so incredibly carefree. I can't wrap my head around how someone can live like that and survive in this city. I wonder if money is simply not a concern for him.
Despite the disconnects and differences between us, the rest of the dinner goes smoothly. Ted's charm is easy to lean intowith a bit of patience and some stepping out of my own boundaries.
By the end of the night, I've secured a second date with someone I've met on a dating app for the first time.
I tell myself relationships take time and effort. It isn't all about instant attraction that blinds you to the other person's faults until infatuation fades.
Ted seems real.
We arrange to meet again next week, dinner on the beach in Malibu.
Chapter 7
The Wrong Shoes
Vince
Holy.Fucking.Shit.
I storm back inside, the heavy front door slamming shut behind me, the impact rattling it in its frame.
