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Slow down there. Proceed with caution.
He quickly composed an answer.
I’m heading down to the Green Lake area this afternoon. There’s a cool little bar on Latona called The Cider House. They have, of course, an awesome assortment of ciders and craft beers, but they also happen to make the very best grilled cheese sandwich and homemade tomato soup. I have a hankering. If you see this in time, maybe you’d want to meet me there?
HE HIT SENDbefore he had a chance to allow second thoughts to deter him. What did he have to lose? The guy’s profile showed he was online, but who knew when he’d see Steve’s response or if he’d even take the time to contact him back. Even though Steve was relatively new to the world on online dating, he knew chances of running across liars and flakes were high.
He noted his empty glass and was about to get up for a refill when he noticed he had a new message.
So glad you got in touch! I get my hair cut today on Sixty-Fifth, so I’ll be just down the street from Latona. Wanna meet at, say, one? I’ll wait for you outside if this sounds cool. Excited!
Steve debated, but not for long. He shot back that he’d be delighted and would see him then. He began to add his number, so the guy, whose name he still didn’t know, could get in touch if anything should come up that would delay or prevent him from showing up. He decided against it though. They could exchange names and numbersaftermeeting, if it worked out. And if he didn’t show? No worries? That grilled cheese, with its blend of gruyere and sharp cheddar on sourdough, was just as enjoyable whether one was dining alone or with a friend.
The guy answered right away, saying he would see him then.
Steve got up to shower and make himself presentable. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
The day was looking very promising—and not so lonely.
THE PLATES ANDbowls showed only the barest traces of the food they’d consumed for lunch. Their glasses, filled twice with pear cider drawn from a tap, were empty. And Steve found himself smiling across the table at Fess Parker—yes, that was really his name. “My parents were big fans and thought I’d grow up to be the same macho man. They were sorely disappointed when they realized I showed more interest in hale and hearty wildernessmenthan in coonskin caps and muskets.”
They’d both laughed over that.
They’d done a lot of laughing while they consumed their lunches—tomato soup and grilled cheese for Steve and a cheeseburger and onion rings for Fess.
They’d talked about everything, and Steve was amazed at how easy it had been. But once he’d laid eyes on Fess’s face—more charismatic than handsome—he’d been enchanted. Not in love, not in lust, although there was a little of both, but more hopefully intrigued. No, it was more his pale blue eyes, made more prominent by his closely-shaven head, that drew him in. There was an openness in them, an honesty.
Honesty was a quality Steve had found sorely lacking in too many people these days and especially lately.
Fess made him laugh.
Fess drew him, the classic introvert, out. He made him feel seen and comfortable. Steve had talked more than he had in ages.
He surprised himself.
Fess was everything other men in Steve’s romantic life hadn’t been. His job wasn’t glamorous. It had made him neither famous nor rich. He drove a delivery truck for a local bakery specializing in artisan breads. “I’m up when the sky’s still dark so I can get out there and deliver those loaves to all these fine restaurants on the north side. And the biggest bennie? An unlimited supply of the best homemade bread.”
Steve had never dated a blue-collar man. It was refreshing, and it didn’t preclude, of course, him being smart.
“I love what I do. I have freedom. I’m on my own. And I get to see the city, meet nice people. And—another great perk—my workday’s done at around lunchtime, so it feels like I have more free time, even though that’s only an illusion. But I can go home, take a run, nap, and then get up and indulge my big passion.”
“What’s that?” Steve had asked. “Or should I say who?”
Fess ignored the hint. “Reading.”
Steve nodded, figuring this would be the part where Fess mentioned Connor, or Alfred Knox, as he was known to readers. But Fess surprised him. “I like to read older stuff. Not necessarily ancient or anything, but the writers who had just a bit of a twisted worldview. You know?”
Steve shook his head. He didn’t want to admit he wasn’t much of a reader himself. He didn’t want to bring up his close association with the well-known mystery writer Alfred Knox. If he did, he knew things could veer into fandom, and suddenly, the date would be all about Connor. “What’s he like in real life?” he could imagine Fess asking.
Besides, Steve was more of a movie guy himself, and deep down, had an embarrassing love for Lifetime movies. Something about a woman in danger drew him in. And Lifetime always delivered a happy ending. “Not sure I do know. Who do you like to read?”
“Ah, I love Flannery O’Connor. And Patricia Highsmith. Those two ladies certainly had a skewed vision of the world. They populated their worlds with murders and evil-deed-doers, yet somehow managed to let a kind of redemption shine through.”
“What would you suggest if I wanted to read one of them?” Steve had heard the names, but was chastened that he’d never cracked the cover of any of their books.
“Oh, read Highsmith’sThe Cry of the Owl. You won’t be able to put it down. And O’Connor? Anything she’s written is worth your time. But I’d have to say start with some of her short stories. There’s no better short story, I think, in American twentieth century fiction than ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find.’ The good thing about both of these writers is that they’re not only relevant and classic, they’re both hugely entertaining.” Fess winked. “Not an easy task.”
Thankfully, he hadn’t asked Steve what he liked to read. He was always embarrassed that after Connor’s first couple novels came out he had never gotten around to reading any more of them.
