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They've prepared me to win a man's heart, and now it's time to put their advice to the test. Three times over!
My brother would totally freak but I've got to follow my heart...right?
But first, I need to face my biggest challenge yet and tell my brother's best friends our dating lessons are about to change into.... diaper changing lessons! Ooooh baby!
1
This is annoying.
It’s the third date I’ve had this month that has ended in a long, awkward silence leading absolutely nowhere. I don’t know what it is about me that doesn’t quite click with these guys. Maybe I’m too socially awkward after spending most of my twenties with my head buried in archaeology and anthropology books.
Maybe I’m completely unfit for the dating scene and therefore destined to become a single old lady with an army of fluffy cats and one too many antiques in the house. Or maybe I’m just picking them wrong. I mean, I haven’t really had any opportunity to learn about men, to interact with them beyond the scope of academic or professional performance. The irony here being that I was raised mostly by a man and that I, myself, have helped raise another man since my mom died when I was just a kid.
I’ve been surrounded by men my whole life, yet I seem to know very little about what they want in a woman.
“Don’t say it’s hopeless,” I tell myself as I walk through the door, letting it shut behind me with its usual creak and clank.
The door is as old as me. The house had just been built when my parents moved here almost twenty-nine years ago. Dad was still in his prime, a dashing and record-breaking hockey player, a star of the NHL and the sun of my mom’s life. They settled here in Lansing, Michigan, because I was a young bun in the oven, and it was conveniently close to the headquarters of the Lansing Devils—a rising force in the league at the time. I slip out of my black boots and stop to look at myself in the foyer mirror.
A critical eyebrow pops up. Maybe this wasn’t the best choice of outfit. I thought I’d be more comfortable in something I’m used to wearing, so mom jeans and a white shirt with short boots and loads of gold-brushed bracelets felt like a good idea. But then I got too comfortable and pulled my long blonde hair up in a loose bun. I should’ve just let it flow so it would bring out the blue in my eyes. I’m never on the skinny side but I like my curves, so why do I always manage to bungle it? I see everything there in the mirror. I see myself and like myself just the way I am, yet I have to play this part whenever I’m dating, I have to be different. Or so I’ve been told.
“It’s not hopeless but it’s in the ICU at this point,” I sigh, and proceed to remove the jewelry, then toss it in a turquoise porcelain catch-all I picked up at a Navajo-inspired art exhibit in Phoenix, Arizona.
My phone pings. There’s a message from Hayley, my best friend. She wants to know how the date is going. She thinks I’m still out with the guy, which would make sense since it’s barely six in the evening. I can’t bring myself to tell her this one failed, too. She’s always so hopeful and upbeat about it, while I’m only getting more tired.
“Ugh…”
Barefooted and disheartened, I trudge across the living room and work my way through Dad’s secret stash of fine whiskey. It’s been a long time since we buried him, but I still haven’t found the strength to clear the place out of these last few remnants of him. My brother Kyle and I repainted the place last year—one room at a time whenever he came around for the weekend—yet neither of us has had the heart to actually put some things away or to do a yard sale that would probably fetch us a pretty penny considering how much of Dad’s stuff could be considered memorabilia.
For now, however, I put that thought out of my head and go back to feeling sorry for myself while I pour a double shot of smoked whiskey into a crystal tumbler. Since it’s such a nice evening, I have decided to enjoy my drink on the back porch in my favorite rocking chair. There’s nothing I love more than a late April evening as the magnolia tree in the backyard sheds the last of its pink petals.
I used to sit in my dad’s lap in this chair. Gosh, sometimes I feel like he’s still here, hiding his pain and trying to take care of Kyle and me. I’ve been a caregiver my whole life, and I’m now becoming convinced that it has taken me away from important moments on the romantic side of things. I’ve never been kissed. Other girls my age are already getting engaged or married or having their first kid. Meanwhile, I’m still struggling to get past the first date.
Movement by the fence separating my place from the neighbor’s captures my attention. I glance away from the amber liquid swirling in my glass to find him looking at me. This man screams sex appeal and danger beneath that friendly, boy-next-door type of smile.
“What’s up, neighbor lady?” Noah asks with a crooked grin.
Good grief, it’s enough to send my blood pumping hot through every vein in my body. I’ve always had a thing for Noah, but I’ve never had the courage nor the opportunity to do something about it. Truth be told, the fact that he and my best friend briefly dated sort of put him in the “Don’t touch” box that’s in the back of my head. I’ve got a couple more gentlemen just like him in there, albeit different personalities altogether.
“Nothing’s up,” I reply dryly. “Just having a drink.”
Noah jumps over the fence. He rarely uses the gate but that’s okay. We’ve been neighbors for fifteen years now. “I’m not buying it,” he says, coming over and taking a seat on the steps of the porch.
“I guess I’m that transparent,” I sigh and get up to join him. “Did you just get off work?” I ask, noticing specks of dust and woodchips still hanging in his messy brown hair that’s just long enough to cast a shadow over his wild green eyes.
“Yeah, it’s been a long day. I had a last-minute order that required a more hands-on approach.”
“I thought all woodwork was hands-on,” I try not to chuckle.
Noah works as a carpenter or as he prefers to be called, a high-end woodworker for a luxury furniture manufacturer here in Lansing. It’s always been his passion, and I have seen some incredible pieces come out of his hands.
He shrugs and inches closer, a smile lingering on his delicious lips. It’s hard for me to focus when he’s like this—playful, enticing, yet somewhat reserved and always respectful. “It usually is, but this one was more hands-on than usual. The client wanted some changes made to a standard desk from our ash wood line. It involved customizing the drawers in a way that took a little bit longer than I’d hoped. I usually get off around noon on Fridays.”
“Yeah, I remember. Did it come out nicely, at least?”
“Always.”
We look at each other for a moment without saying a word. I think it’s part of why I like Noah so much. There’s never an awkward pause between us. We can always just sit together in silence without feeling the pressure of conversation in order to be comfortable around one another. Then again, we practically grew up together. I watched him become the tall, dark, and handsome stranger that he is today—though I didn’t really notice until the last year of high school when he showed up at my doorstep with a bright purple corsage, determined to take me to my senior prom, even though he'd already graduated a couple of years earlier. He said I shouldn’t miss out on such important moments. I should’ve listened to him more since then.
