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“Doubtful. Most of my friends are coupled.Happilycoupled. Unless they’re looking for a third, I don’t see that happening.”
My mother shot me a disapproving look as she laid her menu down. “Your uncle says you’re doing great at the office. Something about surpassing sales goals. I’m so glad you found your niche.”
“My niche isn’t selling insurance, Mama. It’s cake decorating. We’ve talked about this.”
“Ryan, I know where your heart lies, and I fully support your dreams, but in the meantime, bloom where you are planted. That’s what my daddy used to tell me. He called me his little daisy, so he often used garden metaphors on me.” She covered her smile by lifting her glass to her lips.
I loved hearing stories about my grandfather. He died when I was ten, but the memories I had of him were some of my favorites. He left everything he had to my mother and me, which was a considerable inheritance.
The server set a steaming bowl of butternut squash soup in front of me and a cheddar, apple and bacon sandwich. I usually ordered the same thing every week. As boring as it sounded, I was a creature of habit, and if something worked for me, I tended to stick with it. When we finished eating, we lingered over our iced teas while my mom dug for more gossip.
“Tell me about your last date, baby. Maybe I could give you some pointers.”
Jeez, could this get any worse? “I’d rather not. It was an unfortunate evening that I’d rather not relive. I’m trying to stay positive and look forward. A friend of mine is helping me out and I hope to find a good connection soon. I’ll keep you posted.”
An inquisitive look brightened my mother’s eyes, warning me to tread carefully. “Helping you? With what? Dating?”
“Yes, Mama. He’s giving me some pointers to polish my game. We’ll see what happens.”
“Interesting. I can’t wait to see how this pans out,” she teased, looking very pleased with herself.
If she had her way, she would have me married off before she turned the next page of her calendar.
“Enough about boys, tell me about school,” she prompted, sipping her iced honeyed hibiscus tea.
* * *
As I readthrough the final draft of my American Classic Lit essay, my phone pinged. I checked the notification telling me I had a new match and opened the dating app, curious to see who’d messaged me. The profile picture showed a handsome man several years older than me with light hair like mine and distinguished wire-rimmed glasses. If I had to guess, he had to be in his late forties or early fifties, an age gap I’d never experienced before.Why not, I asked myself. Nothing I’d tried had worked yet, so I had nothing to lose by giving William a chance. Older men weren't really my thing, but maybe we would have undeniable chemistry. I replied, flirting lightly as we exchanged several messages throughout the day, finally making plans to meet Friday night.
Immediately, I thought of Carson.
Ryan: Are you working Friday night?
Cary: Of course. These bills aren’t gonna pay themselves.
I laughed.It was exactly what I expected him to say.
Cary: Why? You stopping by so I can buy your lonely ass a drink?
Ryan: I’m not lonely. Got myself a date. See you then.
Not two secondspassed before my phone rang. I smiled when Carson’s name flashed across the screen. “Hello?”
“Tell me about your date, Boytoy.”
His voice sounded husky, like he just woke up from a nap. I imagined him lying naked in bed, eyes sleepy at half-mast, warm and relaxed. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “His name is William. He’s older. Fancy.”
Carson scoffed. “Fancy? You’re fancy, Boytoy. So this guy must be beyond elegant. Which means he’s boring and pretentious.”
“That’s an unfair assumption. So, how should I play this?”
He was silent for a minute, his deep even breaths ghosting through the phone as I listened, matching my breathing to his. “He’s older and suave, so you have to play it cool. Dress nice, maybe that brown shirt.”
Frowning, I questioned, “I thought you hated that shirt?”
“I do. But Old Man Fancy-Pants would probably love it. Since when do you like old guys? I haven’t seen you look twice at any profiles like that.”
“I don’t, usually. But it won’t kill me to try, right?” I hated sounding desperate, like I was grasping at straws.
