Lola loves my answer; I can see it in her eyes. “Me too. How old do you think he is?”
This is a harder question. I’ve thought about this one. Usually there are more clues in photos. “I’m not sure. Not under twenty, judging by the content of his photos.”
“Are you Gen Z bashing?”
“I’m absolutelynotGen Z bashing, the greatest creatives to come along in a very long time fall in that demographic. I’m just saying that snowy cabin and old dog photos might point toward someone a little older. And the perspective of the photos, something about it makes me think…” I’m not sure how to finish my thought.
“They give you old soul vibes?” Lola offers.
I shrug. “Maybe. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yeah.”
A soft smile breaks out. “That’s how your photos feel. Like you see things the rest of us don’t.”
That surprises me. “Really?”
She nods. “Always. So, how old is Good Guy? What does your gut tell you?”
I prop my elbow on the table next to my plate and rest my chin in my palm. “Forty. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.”
She wiggles her eyebrows like a cartoon character. “Forty could be sexy. And you always go for older guys. Check your messages. I’m dying here.”
I do. Nothing. “You scared him off.”
She pushes her chair back and stands to clear the dishes from the table. “Pssh. Something’s coming. We could always set you up a Tinderaccount, in case he’s only here for the organ transplant, and he’s not a sex god who lives two streets away.”
I throw my balled-up napkin at her. “I draw the line at Tinder. No more dating apps for me. That’s how I met Chance, and you saw how well that worked out.”
Hours later,I’m in bed ready to sleep but get the sudden urge to open my messages. The smile that stretches across my face when I see he replied two minutes ago is involuntary. So is the thing that’s happening in my chest. Maybe it’s heartburn from the spaghetti sauce.
Good Guy
I’m not sure how I can say no to that. Let’s save the world!
I take a chance he’s still on and message him back.
Persuasion into insta-friendship due to fear of retribution from the universe was going into this a little heavy-handed. I apologize for that added pressure.
I should probably tell him I didn’t write the initial message, but I’ll wait and see where this goes if he responds again.
…appears on my screen.
Holy shit.
Good Guy
I wholeheartedly appreciate heavy-handed humor. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. I’ve been scrolling through your photos today. (Over and over again if I’m being honest. I hope that doesn’t make me sound creepy. I promise I’m harmless.) I’m sure you hear this all the time, but you’re really talented.
You’re kind. And possibly farsighted?
Good Guy
Nope, my eyesight is 20/20. Seriously, you have a gift. Are you a professional photographer?
*makes note to schedule you an eye exam anyway* Not at all. It’s a hobby that keeps me borderline sane. How about you?
Good Guy
Am I sane? Or a photographer?
