Chapter 38
Thirty-eight
Liz
Istare at my phone, as if locked in some sort of battle of wills. After my lack of a date at the fundraiser last weekend, I know I should do something. I’ve opened and closed Unsingle, the dating app, at least six times, but I’ve yet to set up a profile.
It was another long day at work, though, and now, I’m home alone. Again.
Trinity’s voice drifts through my mind, steady and annoyingly right. She keeps telling me to get out more, to meet people the way I used to back in Vancouver.
But I was lighter then, not stuck in place waiting for someone else to sort out their emotional mess. Still, the more I think about it, the more I know she’s right.
I brushed her off, but maybe that was a mistake. I even joked about how terrible my last dating-app experience was. I told her Paradise was too small and too interconnected and too full of people who knew each other’s business before breakfast.
But here I am two days later, and now, her advice is wearing down the resistance I had left.
The sign-in page glows up at me. I take a breath and scroll through the profile photos it shows as examples. It’s mostly local scenery shots and bad-lighting selfies. I hesitate. Then curiosity wins. I tap the option that lets you browse anonymously before joining.
Faces slide across the screen. People just use first names, and that makes me feel a little better.
I see a nurse from the fourth floor, one of the imaging techs, a paramedic I’ve seen in the ED bay once or twice, and then a firefighter who was at one of the Paradise family parties.
He wore a red flannel shirt and had the kind of smile that made everyone feel welcome.
I remember thinking he looked like the type who would help someone change a tire in the rain.
He’s leaning against a work truck in his photo.
His dog sits at his feet in another. His profile is simple and warm.
I let out a slow breath. This doesn’t feel as awful as I expected. No one is leering. No one is trying too hard. It’s just people looking for connection.
It’s time to walk toward something else instead of waiting for Alaric to decide which direction he wants to look. I want a life that keeps moving.
I go back to the profile-creation page and scroll through my photos.
Most are work shots or crooked selfies with Trinity where we’re both laughing too hard to look decent.
I stop on one where I’m in a soft sweater, hair down, standing near the water at Black Bear Lake.
It’s calm and natural. I look like myself, not the version who’s trying to impress anyone. Just me.
I upload it and watch the bar crawl across the screen.
My pulse ticks up as the profile preview appears.
I add a short line about liking coffee, quiet mornings, and people who can laugh at themselves.
I keep editing until it reads the way I want to feel—steady, open, ready for something uncomplicated.
My thumb hovers over the final confirmation. I almost chicken out again.
Then I think about Alaric being lost in the drama of his family, too busy holding up Evie’s world to notice mine tipping sideways. I don’t think he can help it. His life is complicated. His family is loud. But I can’t keep shrinking my own life, trying to fit into a gap I’m hoping he leaves open.
I tap confirm.
The screen shifts and welcomes me in.
I smile, feeling like I chose myself for the first time in a long time. It’s a soft kind of brave, a quiet kind of hopeful.
A message pops up from the app. Someone liked my profile.
I laugh under my breath. Of course, that’s how this works. You wait forever for one man to notice you, and the second you step forward into something else, the world gives you a tiny wink and a nudge.
I close the app and set the phone on the table. Tomorrow, I’ll decide what to do next. Tonight, it’s enough that I tried.
I slept well last night for the first time in a while. And this morning I don’t feel a wave of regret or want to immediately delete the app before too many people notice me there. Instead, I feel strangely light. The thought of checking my phone brings a flicker of curiosity rather than dread.
When I log in, there are four notifications. I stare at the number and shake my head because that’s three more than I expected after the one last night. I swipe them open while I sip my coffee. One is a wave from a guy who lives down in Black Bear. Too far.
The next like is from Brian, the firefighter I recognized last night. His profile has a simple message.
Brian: Hey. Funny enough, we’ve probably been at the same events around town without even knowing it. I’m a total morning person, so I’m usually up before the sun. The lake’s my favorite place to unwind.
I smile at the screen. The tone is easy, like an actual human talking to me instead of some performative dating-app version of himself.
The next is Josh, a nurse from the hospital. I’ve seen him in the cafeteria, but we’ve never spoken. His message is short.
Josh: Really like that photo of you by the water. Is that Black Bear Lake?
His spelling is correct, his punctuation intentional—little signs he actually read my profile. The message feels polite. Friendly in a way I didn’t expect.
The final message opens while I’m scrolling.
Dylan: Hey there. I run my own business here in town. My photo’s from one of the vineyards—figured it was more fun than a selfie.
Me: Hello.
Three conversations start at once, which is overwhelming in a good way. I answer in short, honest lines, and they all respond quickly.
Brian: What do you like to do on weekends?
Josh: How long have you lived in Paradise?
Dylan: I like my morning coffee the way I like my days—strong, warm, and not trying to test me.
That makes me laugh.
None of these exchanges feel like they’re trying to push for anything. I’m allowed to be curious without making promises.
I pause in the middle of typing and glance at the clock.
I’m going to be late if I don’t get moving, but I don’t feel overly concerned.
The morning doesn’t feel like something I have to muscle through.
It feels open. That has nothing to do with romance and everything to do with the fact that for once I’m not waiting for my life to orbit around someone else’s timeline.
Brian: Would you be up for grabbing coffee?
My breath catches. I’m not sure why this part lands differently. It’s simple. It’s real. It’s someone who is not tangled in a storm of family chaos seeing me clearly enough to ask.
Me: I’m not sure about my schedule this week, but I’m open to talking.
It’s honest and safe and hopefully still forward enough to keep the door cracked.
The second I hit send, my phone lights up again. Josh sends another message. Dylan responds with a laughing line.
But it’s too much to juggle while getting ready for work, so I silence notifications and place my phone on the table.
I finish my coffee with a smile that feels completely unforced. Whatever is going to happen next can wait. I’ll get there when I’m ready for it.
I dress quickly and head into work. The walk is brisk, my heart is thumping, and I’m feeling good about myself.
In the elevator line, I accept coffee invitations from all three men over the next several days.
A tiny pulse of nerves spikes as I imagine actually sitting across from each of them, but I push past it because this is what choosing myself looks like.
When I get upstairs, Misty’s already at her desk, her hair pulled into a loose knot and her glasses low on her nose.
“Morning,” I say as I set my bag down.
She glances up with a small smile. “Morning. Are we still good for ten o’clock?”
“Yes.” I need to put a few finishing touches on what I promised her, but that’s more than enough time.
With a wave, I close myself into my office, and while my computer boots up, I text Trinity.
Me: I took your advice and joined a dating app last night. I already have three dates this week.
Trinity: That’s great. Who are they and what do they do?
Me: I only have first names, and I believe it’s a firefighter, a nurse, and a small-business owner. I’ll keep you posted.
Trinity: ??
I respond to a few emails and get everything updated for Misty. I hope I got this right. There’s a knock on my door right at ten, and I wave her in.
“I was going to get a cup of coffee. Would you like one?” she asks.
I’m sure she sees my obvious surprise. “Um, yes. Sure. Black is great.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She’s gone just long enough for me to straighten my desk so I can focus on this meeting.
She hands me the coffee and takes a seat.
“It’s so much colder here than it is in Vancouver. Thank you.”
She nods. “I agree. The higher elevation means the valley gets colder.”
I set out my binder. “How did it go?”
Misty reaches into a folder and hands me a stack of printed reports.
They’re clipped neatly. There are no crooked pages, no half-filled cells.
It takes me a second to understand what I’m looking at.
“I got the data caught up,” she says. “We still need to do the reporting, which takes longer, but this gets us there faster.”
I blink because we only agreed to do this last week. I expected maybe two months of data populated, not a full handoff.
“This is the current month,” I say, feeling like a slacker.
Misty nods. “And this is the last year. All updated.”
My mouth actually falls open. The entire previous year? Clean. Formatted. Balanced. I flip through the pages and look at her again. “How did you get all this done?”
She shrugs. “I sat down this weekend and knocked it out. I just needed some uninterrupted time, and I fell into a rhythm.”
I turn the pages again because I need to verify that my eyes are not lying. The formulas are corrected. The entries are cleaned. The rolling totals flow the way they’re supposed to. I press my thumb against the corner of the stack and shake my head.
“It took me all weekend to get the current month updated,” I tell her.
Misty smiles at that. Not smug. Not defensive. Just pleased that she delivered what I asked. “I like this kind of work,” she says. “Once the framework is in place, the rest is straightforward.”
As I sit with the stack in my hands, I let a single thought rise to the surface. The information wasn’t correct before. What I didn’t know was whether that was due to carelessness or something else. But this version of Misty is capable and trying, and I can see that now.
We go over what we’ve put together, and the meeting winds down with nothing more than a few notes about what she wants to handle next.
I tell her I’ll go through everything today and confirm the data, but the truth is already settling in.
This is good. Better than good. This is the first time since I arrived that I have a partner who can help me be better at my job. Things may finally turn a corner.
Once she’s gone, I open the spreadsheet on my laptop and begin verifying entries. Each line that checks out widens my smile.
By the time lunch rolls around, my eyes are a little blurry.
I shut my laptop and stretch before heading to the cafeteria.
The smell of soup and grilled bread drifts into the hallway as I step inside.
I pick up a salad and a tea, already planning to eat quietly in a corner while I sort through messages that have nothing to do with work.
A nurse with dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail waves me down near the dessert case. She walks over with a warm smile.
“You’re Liz, right?” she asks. “I’m Maggie Chu. I work on fourth.”
I return her smile. “Nice to meet you.”
She leans in a little. “I saw you on Unsingle last night. I hope that’s not weird. This town is small. When someone new pops up, they stand out.”
I feel my face warm, but Maggie laughs softly and shakes her head.
“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s actually great. There are so few women on there. Men outnumber us by a mile in this valley.”
She gestures toward an empty table by the window. “Come have lunch with me. I can give you the rundown if you want it.”
I follow because her tone is light and inviting, and I could use a little company today. We sit across from each other, and Maggie opens her yogurt while giving me a curious look.
“So, how is it going so far? Any luck?”
I laugh. “More than I thought. I actually have three coffee dates lined up.”
Her eyebrows lift. “That sounds about right. Men on this app are eager. And bored. And convinced that their next great love is hiding within a ten-mile radius.”
Her teasing makes me laugh again.
“The nice thing is you get to be selective,” she says. “Do not say yes to anyone unless the vibe feels easy. And always meet them in a public place. Everyone knows everyone. It keeps things comfortable.”
“That makes sense,” I say. “I figured coffee was a safe start.”
“It’s the best start,” she says with a nod. “No pressure. No long meals. No expectations. If you like them, you can stay longer. If you don’t, you have an easy exit.”
I take a bite of my salad and relax into the conversation.
Maggie talks about her own experiences with Unsingle.
Some dates were sweet. Some were bland. One ended abruptly when the man realized she often worked the night shift and assumed that meant she wouldn’t be spontaneous.
She laughs at that, and I laugh with her.
“It can be fun if you go in with an open mind,” Maggie says. “Just treat it like meeting people. Nothing more. If something comes of it, that’s great. If not, you still had a coffee and got out of the house.”
I nod. That’s all I want from this, a way to step forward instead of waiting for someone else’s storm to clear.
We finish lunch and gather our trays, and Maggie gives my arm a quick squeeze.
“If you ever need a wingwoman or someone to debrief with, I’m around,” she says. “And if any of these guys get weird, come find me. I have a sixth sense for trouble.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Really.”
“Of course.” She smiles and waves as we go our separate ways. “Welcome to the club.”