I do.
I think.
But it might help.
Does the block party count as a date?
I was thinking maybe not, and in that case, this would be my first official date, since, well, you know, and
I rapidly fire the text messages one after the other, the train of thought clearly derailed, wreaking havoc through my mind and transmitting out my fingertips. Too eager. Too weird. Too “what will the neighbors think?” But Noah’s typing bubbles pop up. Then disappear. Then reappear. And the sight of them is enough to break my rambling. Who knew it was even possible to ramble in a text stream?
Noah: Sounds perfect. I like your friends. Viv said I look like “someone who models flannels.”
I smile, despite myself.
Me: Do you want to pick me up?
Noah: I do, but only if that doesn’t make it feel like too much. Otherwise, I’ll meet you there.
Me: Let’s meet there. One step at a time.
Plus, I could do without Sharon’s eagle eyes peeping through her Pottery Barn drapes and her commentary.
Noah: Every great journey begins with a single step.
Me: Quoting Lao Tzu? You didn’t strike me as a man into Chinese philosophy.
Noah: What can I say? I have layers and social media (I’m pretty hip with the groove), and an old college philosophy book around here somewhere.
Glancing up from my phone, I smile, right into the eyes of Owen smiling back at me from our wedding photo still next to my bed. The guilt hits hard.
Me: Got to go. See you Saturday.
I set the phone down and immediately begin sweating through my shirt.
______________
We arrive at the restaurant like some kind of reality show cast reunion, three women in slightly-too-tight clothes, hyped up on kombucha and nerves.
Viv walks ahead of us, all hips and high heels, swearing that the bottles of kombucha she had us all chug before walking out the door will energize us, renew our minds, and release any pent-up emotions we’ve been hiding deep within our intestines. Marin stumbles along behind Viv, nearly tripping over the maxi dress she found on clearance two days ago that somehow makes her look like she owns a boat.
I, Birdie “Emotionally Frazzled” Lawson, am in a casual knee-length black dress, that may or may not be inside-out, it’s hard to tell with all the stretchy material, and enough concealer to spackle drywall.
Noah’s already there, seated at a long table with two other men I vaguely recognize from the winery, though they look less intoxicated and slightly more nervous than I remembered.
Viv’s guy is hard to miss: shoulder-length silver hair pulled into a loose ponytail, a turquoise ring the size of a small pebble, and a patterned shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He’s bearded, confident, and has the vibes of a man who sells handmade guitars at the farmers market but will absolutely ghost you to go on a silent retreat.
Marin’s date is the opposite: hunched posture, neat polo tucked into khakis, and socks with sandals like a man who’s prepared for a casual hike and an IRS audit. He offers a shy wave when we approach and immediately drops his phone trying to pick up his water glass.
And then there’s Noah, clean-shaven in a soft flannel button-down, sitting upright with that easy sky-blue eye smile that makesmy ribs feel like bubble wrap. He stands the second he sees me and pulls out a chair like we’re filming the warm-up reel for a Hallmark Christmas movie.
I melt a little. Not a full puddle. But enough to need a breath before I sit.
“Hey,” he whispers softly, like it’s just the two of us. “You look stunning and slightly happy to be here.”
“I am happy to be here. I think.” I adjust the strap on Harper’s dress, pulling it higher up my shoulder, still in shock that I could squeeze into it. “Thank you.”
Marin shuffles awkwardly into a seat next to Len, fidgeting for a moment before pressing her back into the wicker, like she’s never used a chair before. It’s obvious she has no idea what to do with her hands or eyes. Viv is practically vibrating out of her seat, but is, for the first time since she landed a few days ago, silent.
