And the pink heart sweater… well, it had felt like a risk when I bought it, and I should have listened to my instincts.
It was soft and fitted and delightfully low-cut. I’d stood in front of my mirror giving myself a pep talk before the date, thinking the sweater looked sweet but fun. Maybe even a little flirty.
Now it just felt juvenile, like I was trying too hard.
Was there anything worse than an overweight woman sitting alone in a bar wearing a pink heart sweater on Valentine’s Day?
Glancing at the door again, I watched another happy couple walk in, snow still clinging to their coats, smiling like they shared a secret.
My chest tightened. Ofcoursethey were happy. They had someone to love on Valentine’s Day. Unlike me.
I forced a small smile at the bartender, Emmett, when he glanced my way. He didn’t ask where my date was, but I felt the question in his eyes anyway.
Don’t overreact, I told myself.Things happen.
But I knew. I’d known for a while. Brad wasn’t coming. Hope had long since curdled into embarrassment, then settled into that familiar ache I’d felt for far too long.
This is what it felt like to be an unpaired match in a world of mates.
The worst part wasn’t being alone, but realizing I’d let myself believe I wouldn’t be.
I wonder how the girls are doing?
At least Hope had a date with her crush, Nolan. But Kelly, Jenna and I were probably out of luck again this year.
Disappointment snaked through me like it had so many times before.
Brad had seemed perfect… what I knew of him.
We’d met on a dating app, Summit Singles, and spent a few weeks chatting online.
He lived nearby, a few towns over from my hometown of Red Oak Mountain.
He had a job.
He didn’t seem crazy.
And he hadallhis teeth.
That counted as perfection in my book these days.
My standards had dropped recently. I called it casting a wide net. I was thirty-two now, and other than a few short-term boyfriends when I was younger, I’d been perpetually single for far too long.
All my friends had started to find their men. They’d started pairing off and getting married years ago.
At first, it had been surprising. Who gets married at eighteen? That had been Patty who’d hitched herself to her childhood sweetheart. Then, in our early twenties,everyonestarted matching up.
I was hit by one wedding invitation after another for a while there until I was left with just a few single friends.
Jenna, Kelly, Hope, and I were the four remaining survivors of theHopeful Hearts Club.
But these days it looked like we should consider disbanding the group and starting a new one called theSingle for Life Club.
Taking another sip of my Timberline Twist, I debated whether I should text Brad again.
This wasn’t my first time being ghosted.
And it wasn’t even my first time being ghosted onValentine’s Day.
