What’s wrong with cute?
I’m a 29-year-old single guy, filling his own home for the first time. Cute makes me think of flowers and pastels.
Oh. Do you want manly, like a deer head and black leather couches?
He snaps another photo of himself lying on his couch and sends it to me. I may or may not stare at him for way too long, kind of in awe that I’m texting this man right now. There’s something about him that’s simple yet exciting. He’s obviously fit, but not in a bulky way. And I love that he didn’t try to get the shot just right before sending it. There’s no pose to the way he’s relaxing on his couch, which is a tan color and looks nice enough.
No black leather sofas for me.
Looks comfy.
It is. You’ll have to come sit on it sometime.
My face flushes at the thought, but I don’t respond.
Why don’t you come shopping with me tomorrow?
My eyes pop out of my head as I read his text. I swipe my phone up to check my calendar. Then close my eyes in frustration when I see I have a completely packed day. This is my world. Kid, work, kid. I don’t even remember the last time I hung out with a guy. I’ll be single for the rest of my life just because I have time for nothing else.
My phone dings with another text message, taking me out of my self-pity woes.
Am I being too forward?
I sit up in a hurry, not realizing that I left him hanging after his last texts.
No, sorry. I was looking at my schedule. I have to work.
I don’t hit Send, and I delete the last sentence I just wrote, then pull up my calendar again. I’ve never played hooky, and the more I think about it, the more I want to. I think in my head about each client I have and where I could move them.
No, sorry. I was looking at my schedule. Let me see if I can move things around.
He gives my text a thumbs-up.
I type out a message to one person, asking if they can come in earlier, knowing they have an event tomorrow they need their color done for. Once they reply that they can, I text everyone else, asking if I can move them to this weekend, knowing my sister will watch Nolan without me even having to ask, especially because of why I’m asking.
Anticipation races through me as I wait for each person to text me back, saying if they can do that or not. This excitement I’m feeling is so foreign and reminds me of when I was in high school. The thought both excites and terrifies me. There’s a reason I haven’t been with anyone since Nolan’s father.
Only one person can’t, so I move them to earlier, after the other client, and text Evan back.
OK, I can go! Does 11 work?
Perfect. Should I come pick you up?
Yeah, just meet me at the salon.
Sounds good. See you tomorrow.
I heart his message and try to get back to what I was watching, glad no one else is around because I couldn’t hide the smile on my face if I tried.
CHAPTER FIVE
Christy
No, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, and, yes, I tried on three different outfits this morning before deciding on my normal go-to of jeans and a T-shirt. At first, I thought of wearing a cute summer dress, but it’s still March and definitely not dress weather. When I actually thought about wearing a Yankees T-shirt—which I have from when Nolan played on the Yankees T-ball team—I knew I was going too far, so I decided to just be me.
I was able to move around my day to have two clients early, and then he’ll be here to pick me up. How I’m going to make it through those two clients is the hard part.
I don’t remember the last time I was this excited about anything—especially a date.
