“He seems like a decent guy,” he says. “He’s divorced with two kids—both in college—and he’s on staff with a minor league hockey team, volunteers for a youth hockey league... You know, decent.”
“I don’t know anything about hockey,” I say.
“You don’thaveto know anything about hockey,” he says. “But maybe he could teach you.”
I shrug noncommittally.
“Look, Claire, this is just your first date back,” he says. “You don’t want to date anyone who might be a real contender.”
“Why not?” I ask.
He turns to me. “You want to rush back into a serious relationship without seeing what’s out there?” One could argue that I already did that once. Sometimes, in hindsight, I wonder if I was so taken with John in those early days because I so desperately wanted independence. Not because I needed out from my grandparents’ rules, but because I didn’t want to be a burden to them for a single second longer than I already had been.
John had a plan, and when he started to include me in it, I bought in. We were going to work at his father’s ad agency until we could take it over. It sounded like a dream.
If Minnie hadn’t come along so early, maybe I would’ve realized how incompatible we were, but she did come along, and our plan shifted into overdrive. I don’t regret it, but I do wonder if Miles is right—I should take all of this slow.
I’m not that girl anymore.
I narrow my eyes. “Is that whatyou’redoing? Seeing what’s out there?”
“No,” he says matter-of-factly. “I have a pretty good idea of what’s out there. But I’m different.”
I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “How so?”
“Because I’m never getting married again,” he says simply. Again, like he’s stating a fact.
“Never?”
“Nope.”
“Ever?”
“Been there. Don’t need to do it again.”
“Interesting.”
He scoops up a bite of butter chicken and shovels it into his mouth. “It’s really not. I had something, and then I didn’t. I’mnot interested in that again. I’m perfectly content to date women I have no intention of marrying.”
“Meanwhile, you’re leaving a trail of brokenhearted women in your wake,” I conclude, fascinated by his take on relationships, given that it’s so different from mine.
“No, they know.”
I frown in disbelief. “You tell them this before you go out with them?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty up front about it. It’s in my profile.” He clicks around on the computer and pulls up an image that would definitely make me stop scrolling.
Miles—40s, landscape architect
Nice guy looking to have fun.
No strings. No baggage. No drama.
I pull a face. “And women go for this?”
He gives me an amused shrug. “I do okay.”
“They probably think they can change you,” I say, rolling my eyes as I focus all my attention on my plate.
