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I don't understand the appeal of the “blue collar” costume I’ve been given, but the file said this would appeal to Odette. It also came with a pair of heavy boots that could sink a being just as easily as it could protect their feet. The look is finished with the prerequisite cactus pencil sticking out of the pocket. An odd signifier, but when Odette told me of this writing utensil she had that had a wooden desert plant glued on top, I claimed to have a similar one.
“Please take your seat as we enter the atmosphere. At our current trajectory you will arrive at your required location on time.”
This is it. I’m meeting my mate.
Chapter 2
Odette
Oh no.
Oh no no no no.
I’msolate. This is the exact opposite of how this day was supposed to go. Being late is like a cherry on top of a shit shake. First I spilled coffee on my nice top and had to swap it for an old t-shirt that the radio station had buried in a closet. Then my stupid co-workers thought it would be the greatest idea ever to pull a prank on me and post it on the station’s social media feed.
I’m just a sound producer. Everyone knows my voice for radio ads, but nobody can put a face to me. That’s the way I prefer it, honestly. I get flustered and tongue tied the moment a camera is shoved in my face. Now there is a video of me, screaming at the top of my lungs, throwing flyers everywhere, as our sports host dances in a lobster suit next to me.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more embarrassed in my life.
So yeah, here I am, parking in the back lot of the Likton County Brewery thirty minutes late, wearing a shirt from 2013 that says “Lik This” with an arrow pointed down at my crotch.
Mason has probably already left. I’m going to walk through the front door of the brewery and find a fifty-something year old guy sitting at the bar with a cactus pencil stuffed into his shirt. Why would he stick around for thirty minutes for a date with a stranger?
I’ve been stood up before, I know how a person feels at this stage. Like an absolutely unlovable loser. Or at least that is how I felt the last two times it happened. Both times the guys were from other dating apps, though. The first five minutes were fine. At ten minutes, I sent them messages just checking to see if we were still on for our date, because we can all be forgetful. But as it got later into the evening, I just felt that horrible, gnawing sadness in my gut.
A few glasses of wine made me feel better in the moment, but those experiences were enough to get me to switch to something a bit riskier.
At least, it feels risky to me.
The Real People dating app is a blind dates app, meaning until we meet in person, no pictures are exchanged. Everything is done via a rigorous personality quiz and texting. It’s basically anonymous, which did take the edge off answering the more explicit questions, but for weeks since I signed up I’ve been biting my already short nails to the quick about the lack of pictures. The big “what if” question is always on my mind.
I don’t even know what Mason sounds like, which is equally nerve-wracking and joyous. My whole life, the one thing people have ever complimented me on was how pretty my voice sounds. Yet here I am worried that I don’t know what my date sounds like as if that matters.
It doesn’t. I already know the important things about Mason (he/him), 52.
He’s smart with A+ banter. Any time work is a bit slow, I always pull up our chat for a good laugh. He isn’t local, which is a plus for me. He is the right kind of outdoorsy, meaning he likes lazing in the sun and drinking or floating around in the water. He recently retired from a high stress job, so he’s looking to settle down and spoil his partner. I blushed so hard at that message the first time I read it, the studio manager asked if I was having a hot flash.
But maybe none of that matters now. There are no messages from him in the app. I sit in my car for two minutes, waiting for a reply to my message if he is still here while the sci-fi romance audiobook I downloaded at lunch plays through my speakers. Honestly, I wish I could be abducted like this guy. It would solve a lot of my problems.
Like this one, where I’m waiting to see if my date thinks I stood him up.
It’s now or never. The best case scenario is that he is still here, and worst case scenario I get to drown my sorrows in boneless buffalo wings and rosé.
I walk through the glass double doors and am smacked in the face by the smell of yeast and hops exactly thirty three minutes late for a date I have been buzzing about all week. There is already an apology forming in my head. Whether I get to say it in person or over text is a different story.
I show my ID to the guy at the door and walk into the warehouse sized space. It’s been redone to have that cool industrial vibe, and not the sterile, stainless steel kind that is hidden behind frosted glass near the back.
It’s busy tonight, being a Friday in October, but this is crazy to me. I work my way around the edge of the room trying to find a man with a pencil. The gnawing in my stomach grows the longerI spend on my tiptoes peering over at different men. Truly, I’d given up hope by the time a beefy giant of a man nearly runs me down.
“Ope, sorry, p—” He stops mid apology, the hand he caught me by holding onto my hip. So subtle I almost miss it, his large fingers flex against my soft sides.
There’s a cactus pencil tucked firmly into his shirt pocket.
“Mason?” I ask, all the nervous energy of the week stealing my voice until it comes out whisper soft. I can already feel my cheeks flaming and it only gets worse when I remember the shirt I’m wearing under my jacket.
“Odette?”
My eyes zero into him like I am in a Hallmark movie. The man before me is suddenly all I can see and the light around us softens into heart shapes floating around his head. Dressed like one of the guys from the charity ‘Blue Collar Men’ calendar the radio station did last year, this is the man of my dreams. Thick, padded muscles all wrapped up in sturdy workwear, like he just came from the shop or the farm, sets my loins ablaze. There is something about a person who looks ready to get down and dirty that makes me question all my life choices up to this point.
