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He stands, lunges forward, and the next boat barely misses him.
We wait on the side for him to join us again. Gee. This is the easy part. How will he handle the rest?
Mustache Man calls over the rushing water, “I’ve been following you on social media. Love your videos.”
My eyes widen, but he won’t notice since I’m wearing sunglasses. “Cool.”
“That’s how we heard about the tours. Now we’re here.” He waves his oar, pointing to his friends.
“I’m glad the word is getting out.” Social media accounts do wonders for reservations. A few reels have gone viral, and we get a flood of enquiries. Kaitlyn loves and loathes it. She messages me when the phones are going crazy. What did you post today? Whatever it is, it’s working.
Ten minutes later, we finish the course, and the group gathers around me at the meeting base as they remove their life jackets. The men thank me one by one.
“Totally awesome.” Mustache Man removes his helmet. He ruffles his hair, flexing his muscles, revealing a bicep tattoo. He steps toward me and removes his glasses. Green irises study me. “I must visit again. Soon.” His smile broadens, and I’ve got to admit, the facial hair looks good on him.
I remove my sunglasses and smile. “We’d love to see you come back.”
He shields me from the other men, using his body to block their view. “Hey, I’m here for the day. Are you free later for coffee?”
I blink. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I get hit on by tourists often. But usually, they aren’t as good-looking as this guy. I should go. I need a distraction from Mason. I need to remind myself that I have options, and one day I’ll find a special guy who has the time for me. Maybe Mustache Man likes adventure and is the outdoorsy type.
“Why not?” I shrug. “Sounds nice. Do you know of Kelly’s Garden? It has a great outdoor area. View of the mountains.”
“I’ll look it up. What time?”
“Four.”
“Perfect.”
I walk under the entwined archway of Kelly’s Garden. The outdoor section has flitters of sun rays dancing through a yellow Ginkgo tree. I weave through the round tables decorated in white linen cloths and floral centerpieces. Pride fills my chest at my friends’ creations. Even though she’s the only florist in town, the flowers look great.
My breath hitches at the sight of Mustache Man. He mentioned his name after the tour, but I’ve forgotten. Mason would say that means I don’t care about the person. He’s all into remembering clients’ names. But it’s all about chasing another deal. Not about caring.
This could get awkward.
I hike my handbag strap higher on my shoulder and bite back nervousness. It’s been ten months since I’ve been on a date. Is it a date, anyway? Only coffee. No pressure.
My sundress flaps at my knees as I increase my strides and give Mustache Man a little wave. I need to stop using the nickname in case I blurt it out accidentally. Hey, Mustache Man, what do you do for a living? Hey, Mustache Man, do you get food stuck in that thing? Oh, what if he gets milk froth in his hairs? Could I hold it together? How do you tell a stranger to wipe their upper lip? I find it hard enough to tell my friends when they have a booger. But a friend who lets you walk out in public with a boogie hanging isn’t the friend you need in life. Someone has to initiate those awkward conversations.
Mustache Man stands to greet me. Okay, let’s call him Mr. Facial Hair. He’s rocking the whole trimmed beard look.
“Lauren.” He oozes as he places a warm hand on my back and brushes a kiss on my cheek.
A giggle escapes as his beard tickles. Oh, I must sound like a silly teenager.
I take my seat, my cheeks heating at his attention. “How was the rest of your day? Where are your friends?”
He sits and shuffles his chair closer to the table. “They’ve gone to Idaho Springs. To a little cafe called Ancient Moose.”
“I know the place. Great food. Cozy.”
He opens his menu. “Lots of options here. I know I said coffee, but I’m starving after the rapids and we went hiking too. What do you recommend from here?”
“It’s all good.” I collect my menu and scan the list. “Grilled salmon always hits the spot.”
He studies the laminated sheet. “Where’s that?”
I lean across and flip over his menu and point.
