I hit send and immediately wanted to crawl under the couch, hide from my own boldness.
I tossed a toy off the couch and sank into the cushions, phone pressed to my ear, before the spiral could start. Dani always knew how to talk me down, how to make the world feel a little less heavy. We’ve been inseparable since high school, when we both joined the cheer team, finding troubleand laughter in equal measure. I can still see us crashing the school dance, Dani grinning as she sweet-talked the DJ into playing our song, the two of us spinning wild and free while the crowd clapped along. Our principal wasn’t amused, but it was worth every second. When I found out I was pregnant with Zeke, Dani slipped into the role of fun aunt without missing a beat. She came to every ultrasound, held my hand, and made the waiting rooms feel less lonely. She still shows up for the kids and me. Her own life runs on caffeine and case files, late-night strategy calls, and early-morning hearings. She’s built for the pace. She’s sharp, vibrant, a person who can light up a room and still win an argument before 10 am.
After I embarrassed myself again by telling her about my message, she teased me about it, saying I should run all my wild ideas by her first. She makes everything lighter, easier. I love her for that. We hung up quickly, her laughter still echoing as she slipped off into whatever adventure was waiting for her next.
Five seconds later, the typing dots appeared. My stomach twisted, anticipation and dread tangled together. Of all the possible responses: boring, weird, creepy, what would he choose?
Hunter:Hey Camille. Day’s been
long but better now. How about
yours, Beautiful?
The word landed softly and unexpectedly bright.
My mind went quiet, which seldom happens. For twenty minutes, I stared at the screen, overthinking my response. He was easy to talk to from the start, funny without trying,asking genuine questions about my classes, about my ridiculous late-night snack preferences (Twinkies, of course). He asked about my dreams, not my baggage. That felt like a foreign language.
But the walls were still there, thick and a little sore. Men had come and gone, promises stacked up like forgotten books. The man who left took more than his clothes. He took my trust, my quiet belief that anyone could stay. He left fingerprints on my map of the future, then folded it up and walked away. Still, I was learning to heal, one small step at a time. Some days were harder than others, but every new conversation, every tiny risk, chipped away at those walls. Folding a shirt, listening to Zeke’s sleepy voice from the other room, I tried to smooth out the creases in both the fabric and my thoughts. The soft chatter, the warmth of cotton in my hands, anchored me. Tidying up, setting small things in order, was my way of taking back a little control.
So when we exchanged numbers and he asked me out after three days of messages, he didn’t take my attempts at pushing it off as rejection. Nope. He didn’t ask once and let it be. It was almost like he saw it for what it was, fear. He sent me a picture of his dinner attempt, captioned comically, “I might need a taste tester. Free tonight?” Another message arrived with a snapshot of a sunset, “Thought you might like this. My offer stands, by the way.” It was the little jokes, the moments shared through pictures, the way he seemed genuinely interested in the details of my day that made it harder to keep saying no. I made up an excuse, easier to stay tucked inside the safety of my routine, wrapped in the familiar chaos of home, where no surprises were waiting for me. Each ‘no’ felt like another layer of protection. But it wasn’t about a date to me; it was about dipping a toe intovulnerability, choosing the unknown over the comfort of safety. There was something in his persistence, his patience, a promise of laughter, a glimmer of hope, that made me want to try.
That night I watched my kids sleep: Zeke clutching a plastic dinosaur, the twins turned the same way, shared in their small-sibling ordinariness. I kissed each forehead, whispered my usual prayer,Please let me get this right, and sat in the kitchen with the light over the sink on and my phone warm in my hand.
Hunter:Goodnight, beautiful.
Sweet dreams.
I grinned despite myself.Careful, my inner voice warned. He probably would, like most people, find the constant whirlwind of our lives a little too loud. The house was messy, my life louder than most, and yet there, at the table under the cheap lamplight, the hum of the refrigerator filling the quiet, I felt seen in a small, terrifying way. Maybe that was the point. Maybe I could be messy and tired and still be wanted. Or maybe I was setting myself up to be hurt again. Hope and fear, tangled together, both refusing to let go. I turned the phone face down, unwilling to watch the tiny hopeful flame flicker out in real time.
Chapter Two
Hunter
Since getting out of the Marine Corps a little over a year ago, I mostly kept to myself. Just a few dates here and there, nothing that stuck. I’d rather spend time with my buddies, grab a beer, work on my bike, than sit across from someone who spent half the night scrolling their phone and the other half pretending to care. The loneliness sneaks up sometimes, hitting harder than I’d like to admit. It brings back the weight of things I don’t talk about, a silence that seeps in and stays. The reminder that people leave when you fail to hold it together.
Still, it’s easier than the empty kind of company that reminds you what it feels like to be forgotten while someone’s sitting right next to you. So while I found myself on a dating app, I knew I wasn’t chasing anything serious. At least, that’s what I told myself when I came across her profile a few days ago.
Her smile was unguarded, warm, and effortless. No filters, no angles practiced in the mirror. Just a smile that made mewant to lean in and ask what was so funny. Her eyes were deep brown and kind, holding a quiet resilience I recognized from my own rough seasons. I was caught before I even knew it. Her curls tumbled around her shoulders, the California sun catching her in a way that made her glow. I studied the images, hope and nerves rising in my chest, not sure what it was about her that felt so different.
Another photo: her with a friend, arms thrown around each other, laughter spilling out, faces tipped to the sky. Her friend, a taller blonde, might’ve been the one who stood out first, but it was Camille who pulled me in. There was warmth in her olive brown skin, light in her eyes, something real that didn’t try too hard. I wondered if I was getting ahead of myself, but the idea of swiping past her felt impossible.
The third photo was cropped close, showing a kid’s birthday party in the background, with presents stacked behind her. Still, her smile was easy, unbothered, as if she wasn’t trying to hide the raw parts of her life. Most people curated their stories in sunsets and brunches. She let it be there, like the mess was part of her story, and she wasn’t ashamed of it. That alone told me more than words could.
Nervousness wasn’t the usual concept for me, but I felt nervous at the thought of meeting someone so genuine. She was beautiful, sure, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way her smile felt honest, the kind of thing you could chase for a long time and still not get tired of.
By the time I realized I was smiling back, my thumb was already moving. No hesitation. No way in hell I was letting her slip by.
A few minutes later, a message lit up my screen.
Camille:Hey handsome, how’s your
day going?
I stared at the message for a minute, grinning. She might’ve thought she sounded awkward, but to me? It was solid. No games. Straight to the point.
Me:Hey Camille. Day’s been long
but better now. How about
