“Nice?” Mia’s eyebrows shot up in an expression so much like my own it was startling. “Mom. Look at him. He’s gorgeous. And he loves wine and cooking and he lived all these cool places. He’s a great match for you.”
“On paper,” I said, but my eyes drifted back to his photos. Back to that sunrise shot on our beach. “Although, I’ve not been anywhere.”
“But you want to,” Mia said.
“That’s true.”
“And he’s like ninety-eight percent compatible with you according to Robbie’s algorithm.”
“Robbie made an algorithm?”
“Yeah, I thought I told you that already.” Mia waved this away like it was obvious. “Are you going to message him back?”
Was I?
I looked at my wise, precious girl who’d grown up too fast because her father left so abruptly. So cruelly. This girl who had taken it upon herself to find me someone to love because she thought I deserved it. Maybe she was right. Maybe I did deserve to at least try. Was hope a gift to myself or a punishment?
“I don’t know what to say in a message back to him,” I said.
“Just be yourself. That’s who he messaged, right? The real you.”
“The real me is scared,” I said.
“I know.” Mia took my hand. “But you’re actually very brave. You built a whole business after Dad left us. You raised me mostly by yourself. You can totally handle one date with Vance Prescott. Even his name’s cool.”
I laughed despite myself. “You’re not wrong.”
I looked down at my phone again. At Vance’s message. At his kind, funny words.
No pressure. Just a kindred spirit hoping to clink glasses with another.
Before I could overthink it, I started typing.
Dear @WanderingHomeward,
Thanks for your message. I’m not really experienced in this kind of thing, so I’m not sure if we’re supposed to exchange cleverly written messages back and forth for a few days and then agree to a date? But given my busy schedule, maybe we should skip that and just meet in person. I’d like to join you for a glass of wine one evening.
I paused, reading it back. Too formal? Too stiff? I kept going before I could delete it all.
I’m free tomorrow evening or the one after that. I may be a newbie at this, but I’ve heard horror stories about serial killers, so I’ll meet you somewhere. Maybe The Pelican?
Warmly,
Lila
Mia scooted closer to read over my shoulder. “Mom, that’s great. Send it.”
“You don’t think the serial killer part is too much?”
“It’s funny. It shows personality. Send it.”
I took a breath and hit send before I could change my mind.
“There. Done.” I tossed the phone down on the couch cushion like it might explode.
Mia threw her arms around me, squeezing tight. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I just sent a message to a stranger on the internet. That’s not exactly an accomplishment.”
