Nora
I keep telling myself I did the right thing by putting space between me and Miles. Distance is healthy and smart. Distance is how you stop relationships before they turn into something you can’t control. Except there’s that saying—something about absence makes you crave the kiss even more. Okay, not exactly the same, but close enough. The further I pull back, the louder the kiss gets in my head. I go to bed thinking about it, replaying the warmth of his lips and the way my body leaned into him, and I wake up with it still there, as if my brain queued him up overnight just to be cruel.
When Miles returned to town from his work trip, he texted me. I stared at his name on my screen for a full minute before sending a polite message back because I didn’t know what else to say without unraveling the very distance I’d been trying to build. But Miles being Miles, he didn’t keep it surface-level for long. He asked how I was and how Mom was doing as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to still care. Then the messages kept coming over the month—little check-ins, dating questions like I’m still his unofficial coach. A small, traitorous part of me is afraid to open OneDate analytics in case I see he’s going on more dates. Ignorance is bliss, I guess. He even asked if we could get together for more “dating lessons,” and every time I dodged him with work excuses, app updates, or Mom emergencies. I know it makes me a terrible person. But keeping my distance is the only way to keep my heart from doing something reckless.
Now I lie in bed watching the blinking red colon on my alarm clock mark each passing second for the last thirty minutes instead of sleeping. If my brain insists on being awake, I might as well put it to work on something that can’t kiss me senseless and then haunt my dreams.
OneDate.
I roll out of bed and drop into my desk chair. With a shake of the mouse, I wake up the computer and log into the admin panel. The dashboard loads… slowly, but it loads. Progress. Until error logs scroll down the screen like a crime scene report.
Request queue overload.
Memory error.
Auto-scaling failure.
“Okay,” I mutter, cracking my knuckles. “Let’s do this.”
For the next two hours, I disappear into code. I isolate the bottleneck in the matchmaking algorithm, reroute traffic through a temporary load balancer, and increase server capacity just enough to keep everything from catching fire again. I patch the memory leak, optimize the database calls, and refresh the page.
Green. Everything is green.
I lean back in my chair and let out a slow breath—but the relief barely has time to settle before my phone chimes with a notification. I glance at the screen. An email.
SUBJECT: We’d love to feature OneDate
I frown and click it open. It’s from a mid-sized lifestyle podcast—one I’ve actually heard of. They cover health, fashion, travel, relationships, and career advice. The best part? They actively promote women-owned businesses. And they want to spotlight the app—its premise, its origin story, its creator. Me.
A podcast. A real one. With listeners. The kind that could turn OneDate into a household name overnight. My pulse spikes.
“This could be huge,” I whisper, half thrilled, half terrified.
I spring out of my chair and pace the apartment, wrapping an arm around myself while the other taps my chin. Energy ricochets through me. My steps quicken as my thoughts trip over themselves trying to keep up. Then the excitement crashes, and I freeze. What if my voice shakes? What if I ramble? What if I say the wrong thing and ruin everything? I need to tell someone. Miles’s name surfaces instantly. I can already see his reaction—the slow smile, the quiet pride lighting his eyes, the way he’d say “That’s incredible” like a fact, not just encouragement. I grab my phone, my thumb hovering over his name, then I toss it onto the couch as if it’s on fire. We’re not… that. We’re not friends who call each other with big milestones. We’re not people who share wins and panic in equal measure. We’re acquaintances. Fake dates. Two people who kissed twice and called it practice. Calling him would defeat the whole distance thing.
I check the time—10:30. Knowing Asher, Eve’s been up for the past five hours already. Her place is only ten minutes away, and she’s exactly the kind of person who will not only scream excitedly but tell me if I’m catastrophizing. I quickly change and make myself somewhat human before I grab my keys and bolt out the door.
“Nora!” She pushes the door the rest of the way open, shifting Asher higher on her hip, “What’s that look for? It’s as if your brain is sprinting and the rest of you can’t keep up.”
“I might be accidentally famous,” I blurt, pushing past her and scooping Asher into my arms as I go.
She shuts the door behind me. “I’m sorry—what?”
“A podcast.” I pace her living room while bouncing Asher in my arms. “A real one. They want me on their show to talk about OneDate.” I coo into Asher’s belly, earning me a giggle.
Eve freezes. Then her face splits into the biggest grin. “NORA!”
“I know,” I say, laughing and panicking at the same time. “This could be huge. Or terrible. Or both simultaneously.”
She grabs my shoulders and turns me to face her. “This is amazing.”
My throat tightens. “You really think so?”
“Of course it’s amazing! A podcast feature is huge!”
“I needed to tell someone,” I admit. “Also, I wanted baby snuggles.” I tickle Asher’s belly again. “Yes, I did.” Finally, I sink onto the couch and let myself breathe. “I almost called Miles.”
Eve’s eyebrow lifts. “Almost?”
