I had turned back to my table and was rearranging a stack of care packages when a burst of deep, carefree laughter drew my attention. A group of well-dressed men stood close to the refreshment tent. They looked like the kind of men who hadn’t lost sleep over a bill in years. Khakis pressed, sunglasses tucked neatly into expensive pink and yellow polos, and brand-new leather moccasins, like they’d just come from brunch on the marina. Wealth had a look, and this was it: confident postures and smiles full of ownership over the space around them.
The men were older, except for one. He was probably in his early thirties, about six feet tall, with short, neatly kept brown hair and a presence that drew your attention without his having to say a word. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, not the glossy, model type, but there was something undeniably attractive about him. His bearing conveyed a quiet confidence. He was the kind of man who never had to raise his voice to be heard. Natural charm. Lived-in and effortless.
He looked right at me. Eyes curious. Focused.
I looked away quickly, busying myself with organizing the registration forms and pulling more water bottles from the box beside me.
“Hey.”
A voice snapped me out of my sorting. I looked up.
It was him. The man from the group.
“Oh, hey. You might want to change quickly,” I said. “The race starts in two minutes.”
“I’m not running,” he said, almost amused.
“Oh.”
Neither of us said anything. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but my silence probably read that way.
“I’m one of the donors,” he said, nodding toward the water bottle in my hand. “Winthrop.”
I looked down at the bottle. His last name, Winthrop, was stamped across it in bold black lettering. It was bigger than the race logo. Bigger than everything else.
“I see,” I said. I wasn’t trying to be weird, but I didn’t understand why he was at my table, talking to me.
“Do you . . . have a question about the race?” I asked.
“Not really,” he said.
Right then, the start signal blared, a horn echoing through the air. Cheers and applause erupted all around us. We clapped along, though I couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted.
It wasn’t like he was here for me. I wasn’t the kind of woman who attracted men like that. I didn’t really attract anyone. My world was work, volunteering, reading, and spending every free minute with my rescue African grey, Mochi. Paying for his bird daycare while I was at work nearly wiped me out. It was like daycare for a human baby, just with more feathers.
Of course, I felt lonely sometimes and dreamed of being loved by someone who didn’t screech when he got pissed at me. It was just...I wasn’t anyone’s first choice. Not pretty. Not ugly. Just invisible.
Early thirties. Brown hair. My eyes were the only thing that people complimented me on. They were bright green. But eyes alone don’t get you stopped in a parking lot or picked up at the grocery store. I wasn’t bubbly or charming. Definitely not funny. Just the quiet girl people sometimes forgot was even there. I avoided bars and online dating like they were contagious.
But I was honest. I’d give my last granola bar to someone even if I were starving too. Loyal to the core. And life had made me resilient. Kind. Strong.
Still, those weren’t traits people were exactly lining up for.
“I was wondering,” he said, breaking the silence, “if there’s a good coffee place around here?”
My shoulders relaxed slightly. At least now I knew why he stayed.
“We have coffee over there.” I pointed toward the refreshment tent.
“I think they’re out. And I wouldn’t call that coffee.” He grinned.
I smiled awkwardly. “There’s a good spot on Tremont. I forget the name, but there’s a giant coffee bean statue in front of it.”
He nodded. “Would . . . you like to join me?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“For coffee,” he clarified. “Would you like to join me?”
