Chapter 7 #2
you aren’t going out with guys who are only going to make it worse.”
I frown. “Why would you do that?”
He squints over at me. “Let’s see if I can get this right . . . You’re recently divorced, haven’t been on a date in, oh, maybe”—he
pulls a face—“twenty years?”
Longer, but who’s counting?
“You don’t understand why the real-life meat market has now moved to the little device in your hands, and it feels a little”—he
scrunches his nose—“gross. But also? You’re mildly curious if you can figure out a way to navigate it.”
I start to respond, then snap my jaw shut.
“Well, shoot. Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel,” I admit.
He purses his lips. “Despite what you think, I’m actually a nice guy.” He leans toward me. “And I know what guys are looking
for.”
“I know what guys are looking for too,” I say. “To sleep with as many women half their age as they can.”
He whistles. “This is worse than I thought.”
I cross my arms. “Experience is the best teacher.”
“Not all guys are like that,” he says.
“Oh, really?” My tone challenges.
“No. Some guys even want relationships.” He whispers this, like it’s a secret he’s sharing against his better judgment.
I chuckle to myself, thinking of the irony. “Do you know any of these guys?”
He leans in slightly. “I was married once too.”
“Oh.” In a blink, the story I’d written about him shifts and changes. Again. What if I’ve pegged him all wrong?
“So, I think to start, you just need to play up your very attractive qualities,” he says, unaware that I’m inwardly chastising
myself for being so judgy and bitter.
My stomach swoops without my permission, but I quickly right myself. I shift the basket of muffins on my lap. “My ‘very attractive
qualities’?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
“And what would those be?” Did that sound as desperate as it felt?
He leans back and studies me for a beat too long, making me feel like I’m onstage in a spotlight. Naked.
Or in a robe in the bushes.
“First of all, you’re a knockout,” he says simply, like it’s obvious. Then he looks at me like he’s judging a sculpture in
a juried art show. “You could stop traffic with those eyes alone.”
Warmth spreads through my body like I just swallowed a heating pad. But then I return to my senses and hold up a hand. “Oh
please. Stop right there.”
“What? I’m being sincere here,” he says. “I don’t know what your ex was thinking, but he screwed up letting you go.”
My breath catches in my throat, but I’m too caught off guard to respond. I search his face, but I honestly don’t think he’s
flirting. It’s like he’s stating a fact.
He thinks I’m a knockout.
And he’s not looking at Colorado Claire, the made-up, perfectly groomed woman who put effort into her appearance. He’s looking
at the dressed-down, casual, more natural person I’ve started to become. It feels hard to believe, but I suppose we all have different ideas about what makes a person attractive.
I’m still pondering this when Miles grins. “Trust me. I can help.”
I grip the handle on the basket of muffins a bit tighter. “What’s in it for you?”
Without the slightest hesitation he points at my lap. “Baked goods.”
“Baked goods,” I repeat.
“Baked goods,” he says. “I’ll offer my services in exchange for baked goods.” He leans in. “To be honest, I really miss homemade
food.”
I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Probably,” he says. “But at least you won’t be getting back out there alone.” He gives his head a quick shake. “I don’t like
that idea.”
I frown, trying to figure out why Miles would feel protective of me and also why I kind of like that he does.
“What do you say?” He sticks out his hand in my direction, and I stare at it.
I sigh, and for reasons that will never make sense to anyone, especially me, I slip my hand into his and squeeze.
“Deal.”
I feel like I should start with “Dear Diary” with the way I’ve been feeling lately.
It felt good to cross out “Try new foods I’ve never had or can’t pronounce.” It’s gotten me on such a kick that I’ve tried
something new at least four times in the past week.
Plov with chicken in a cast-iron kazan? Yes, please.
Oodkac breakfast from the Mogadishu restaurant? Sign me up.
Haven’t tried Thai food. I heard it’s super spicy, so I’ve been avoiding it so far.
But there is just So. Much. Deliciousness.
I never knew.
It feels good to choose. And discover.
If only someone would discover my résumé.
After a week of visiting businesses and dropping off applications—with Miles’s help—I still haven’t gotten one single interview.
That doesn’t feel great. I feel . . . outdated. Obsolete. Past my prime.
It’s so close to the feeling I get when I think about how John so easily replaced me.
Maybe a “filler” job is selling myself short, but if I can’t get one of those, then how am I ever going to find one that makes
me want to get out of bed in the morning?
Three coffee shops, a clothing boutique, two museums, and an art gallery.
Nothing.
On the other hand, there are other “interviews” I’m getting.
The dating app. Ugh.
Why did I give Miles access to the dating profile Minnie set up for me?
I regret that decision.
Somehow, he and Minnie connected through that app and have been discussing me and my profile.
Every time I get a new message or someone “likes” my profile, my phone dings. I’m guessing there’s a setting in the app to
turn off notifications, but I haven’t figured that out yet. In my defense, I also haven’t opened it.
Like, if I pretend it’s not there, it will just go away. Like not wanting to hear the dinging can make it magically disappear.
Three guys. They picked out three guys. Together.
How is this my life?