—
It is… I reply. Your paintings are gorgeous. I’d love one over my sofa. : )
—
Maybe you will have it one day. Make me an offer.
Oh, so that’s how it is. He’s just trying to sell art. Well, I must admit, flirting is not a bad strategy. Although I could afford it, I think I’ll pass.
Yeah… maybe, one day.
—
Your kids are adorable. You have a beautiful family.
I’m taken aback by this last message. And flattered.
Thank you. Do you have a family?
What do you look like? How old are you?I want to ask.
Nope. I’m a bachelor. Divorced, actually.
—
Oh… sorry to hear that.
I glance up at Emma. She’s looking straight at me, frowning. “Sorry, sorry,” I mouth. I’m a bad mom – chatting with some stranger on social media instead of paying attention to my daughter.
It’s okay. Clara and I were just never meant to be. Not everyone can have what you have.
Wow… this conversation has moved fast. We are complete strangers and he’s about to tell me his whole life story. This is not right.
Yes, I’m very lucky. Speaking of which, I need to head off to bring my boy to his piano lesson. Bye. Nice chatting!
My pulse is racing. I don’t know why. We’re just having a normal conversation. I obviously lied… I don’t need to head to Theo’s lesson for another twenty minutes, but I just had the urge to run. If truth be told, he makes me feel a little too good, too excited, and that scares me a little.
Chapter Three
I’VE GOT MY BEST BOOTS ON, and I’m dangling one foot over the other as I wait. My latte is steaming on the table. I’m the first one here, as I often am. Maeve will be next, followed by Kayla, and Corrie will grace us with her presence in about half an hour or so.
I slip out my phone and check my notifications. I’ve been secretly hoping to receive another message from Eli, but there’s been nothing. I must have checked my phone fifty times this past week. I know I’m acting like a silly junior high school girl — I’m not too proud of myself. I suppose I just want that feeling again — the brief rush of excitement I got when I was chatting with him.
I’ve even used one of his paintings for my phone’s wallpaper — the one with the boats. No one needs to know what that’s about… it’s my little secret. I smile when I think about him. Maybe he’s seventy years old. Maybe he’s five foot one. Maybe he’s five hundred pounds. I picture him with blond hair, like John. Danish people are light, right? I Google “are people in Denmark blonde?” I can’t quite get a definitive answer, but apparently some common stereotypes about Danish people are: they eat very healthy, wear black, like to drink, and are a bit serious and standoffish.
I really need to get a life. Seriously. Maybe a part-time job, or volunteering. Why am I obsessing over this stranger?
Maeve is all smiles when she swoops in. Every time I see her, I’m struck by her beauty. Corrie always goes on about how jealous of us she is. She calls us her two exotic beauties. I’m Latina, and Maeve is half Irish, and half Jamaican, absolutely stunning, and a little curvy like me. The both of us envy Corrie’s beach blonde waves, blue eyes and tiny frame. It’s funny how that works. We women are never happy.
“So, what’s new?” Maeve asks.
“Not much,” I say. “John is away again this weekend. Anna is looking after the kids.” Anna is a neighbor, and only thirteen. She looks after the kids for us, but never for long periods of time.
Maeve pouts. “Well, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Peter is always around, and I have to put up with sports on the TV all day, and his snoring at night.”
I know she’s just trying to make me feel better. At least, she has someone to cuddle and watch TV with at night. Maeve and Peter are big movie buffs. “How are the wedding plans going?”
A smile stretches across her face. “Good… I’m shopping for a dress next weekend… I just can’t wait. You wanna come?”
