“But...?”
“I’m newly divorced,” I say.
He tilts his chin upward. “Ah.”
“But we’ve been apart for over a year.”
A quiet nod.
“So... my daughter is trying to help me, you know, get back out there.”
“I see.” He turns the phone over in his hand. “Well, if I could be so bold—you know, as yourfriend—I would say that the first few dates back can be awful.”
I laugh. “Sign me up.”
“But—” He holds up a finger. “I think it gets easier.”
I pull a face. “Yeah, you don’t seem to be having any issues.”
Confusion spreads across his face. “What makes you say that?”
The image of John and the silver sequins assaults my mind—and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to erase it. As it is, it has a tendency to pop up when I least expect it. Like now. When John is nowhere in sight.
Or maybe there’s a protective mode of my brain that’s intent on reminding me of the similarities between my new neighbor and my ex.
“Two different women in two weeks?” I widen my eyes at him, letting my expression speak for itself. “I’m not stalking you, but maybe don’t make it so obvious.”
“Two different women...?” His confused look changes to what looks like realization, then amusement. He actually has the nerve to laugh.
“That’s funny?”
“I mean... you’re assuming a lot, but it’s fine,” he says. “I’m not in the habit of worrying about what other people think.”
I sit with that for a second, noting the pang of jealousy that he can so freely let go of someone else’s opinion. If I’m wrong, he doesn’t correct me, but he has no need to. It’s an interesting approach.
I wonder if I could try that for myself.
“I’ll just say this,” he says. “I’m good with people.”
“Mm-hmm.” I quirk a brow in his direction. “I’ve noticed.”
“Really?” He side-eyes me. “Thanks.”
I get the feeling he could turn anything into a compliment. If only that made me like him less.
“And we’re friends, so I can help with this.”
“With what?”
“The dating,” he says, like it’s obvious. He props his ankle on his opposite knee and opens his phone. “You don’t know anyone here, and I’ve already navigated this minefield, so let me help.” He pops the last of his second muffin into his mouth. “Maybe I can even help you realize that not all guys are pigs.”
I scoff.
“Some of us really are decent, Claire,” he says. “I’ll help you find the decent ones.”
“You think you know which guys are the decent ones?” My tone is skeptical, but it does nothing to deter him.
Instead, he opens the app, clicks around for a second, then holds it up. “Let’s take Hunter B. for example.” He flips the phone around and swipes through a series of group photos. “What do you notice about Hunter?”
