Page 4 of Always Almost You

Mike smiled, swiveling in his chair and gazing out at the city. Somewhere out there, families were gathering at tables, passing dishes, and raising glasses. “Good to know,” he said. “Then I’ll work around the clock if necessary. I promise you this, Mom—you’ll have my undivided attention when I arrive.”

“I hope you’re not serious when you say you’ll be working every moment until then,” she said. “How are you ever going to meet someone if you’re holed up in your office twenty-four seven? You can’t expect the woman of your dreams to just walk through the door.”

“I’m not,” Mike said, a sliver of defensiveness creeping into his tone. “I’m having coffee tomorrow morning with a woman I matched with online.”

“Well!” his mother said brightly. “That’s certainly something to be thankful for. I didn’t know you were out there in the online dating world.”

“Well, I am,” he said.

“How long have you been on the apps?”

“I’m on just one app. And only for a couple of months.”

“And?”

“Nothing promising to report,” Mike said. “So far.” His gaze drifted to the small model on the credenza of a minimalist structure of wood and glass, perfectly proportioned and beautifully designed. He’d built it late one night, proud of its balance.

“Well,” his mother said with optimism, “maybe tomorrow will be different. Will you call me after?”

Mike inhaled slowly and bit his lower lip. He hadn’t told his mother he was dating again because he didn’t want to report back after every encounter. The past several months had produced matches that ranged from incompatible to disastrous, each one leaving him more discouraged than the last. He was good at designing spaces for other people’s lives, and less good at building a life of his own.

“If I’ve got anything positive to report,” he said carefully, “you’ll be the first to know.” He cleared his throat. “I was going to call you tonight. I figured you’d be tied up in the kitchen about now.”

“It’s the lull before the storm,” his mother said. “As a matter of fact, I’d better get back to it. I need to start the mashed potatoes.”

Mike smiled, picturing the familiar warmth and chaos of his childhood home. “Give my love to everyone,” he said. “Tell them I can’t wait to see them at Christmas.”

“Will do,” she replied. “Enjoy your dinner, and stay open to the possibility that the love of your life will be at that coffee shop tomorrow.”

The line went dead.

Mike sat for a moment longer, the quiet settling in again. Outside, the sky darkened. Inside, the office lights hummed steadily, illuminating plans for homes filled with people and laughter. He reached for his pencil and bent over the set of architectural drawings spread out in front of him.

CHAPTER 4

Mike took a sip of his coffee the next morning and checked his watch. She was twenty minutes late.

He’d arrived at The Friendly Bean fifteen minutes early to secure a table, which meant he’d now been sitting there for thirty-five minutes. I could’ve been working on the Hunter project instead of wasting my time here, he thought.

He set his cup down and turned his attention to the door just as a woman with deep auburn hair and far too much makeup pushed her way into the shop. She paused inside, scanning the room. The woman resembled the photo from the dating app closely enough that Mike stood and raised a hand.

She spotted him, nodded once, and made her way to his table.

Mike extended his hand. “I’m Mike.”

She took it, their handshake brief and perfunctory. He pulled out the chair across from him, and she sat down. Mike opened his mouth to ask if she’d like something to drink.

“You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours,” she said, cutting him off.

Mike sank into his chair.

Without waiting for a response, she launched into a detailed account of her Thanksgiving, including backstories, grievances, and perceived slights involving every family member. She spoke rapidly, barely pausing for breath.

At first, Mike listened politely, nodding in the appropriate places. Five minutes in, he was bored. By twenty minutes, his thoughts had drifted to the Hunters’ addition and how he might rework the design to accommodate their request for an additional powder room.

He shifted his chair slightly to let a pretty brunette and her small dog—one that looked like a living teddy bear—squeeze past their table. The woman across from him didn’t notice. Her focus had moved seamlessly from family complaints to a lengthy critique of her boss and coworkers at the accounting firm where she worked.

Mike glanced at his watch again.