Cowboys and Baristas
Lesson learned: Do not go to the date’s house.
I’ve finally hit the Cowboy trope, and I’m honestly excited. Preston looks handsome and rugged in his photo. I just hope he’s not a fake cowboy like Benny was a fake biker. And Thomas was a fake… whatever the hell that was.
In my mind, I picture a six-foot-something man wearing tight jeans and a cowboy hat. Every time the door opens, I glance over in excitement.
Except Preston never walks through the door.
My phone lights up with a message from the app. Not from Preston.
BENNY B.: Want to get together and try another time? ;)
Yeah, like that’s gonna happen, buddy. Delete.
“Preston must be running late,” I say to myself and walk up to the counter and order a latte.
“A little late for coffee, isn’t it?” the barista behind the counter asks.
He’s cute. Light brown hair, a nice smile—friendly and inviting. Everything someone in customer service should be. And I love the blue apron. It makes his gray eyes stand out.
“I’m meeting a date, but he’s running late. Or ghosting me. Either way, shouldn’t you want me to buy coffee? You work in a…” I lean forward just a bit with a smirk, “…in a coffee shop.”
Chuckling, he nods, his eyes scanning me in the least creepy way I’ve encountered lately. God, am I really that desperate?
“That’s fair. Your date didn’t message you?”
“No,” I admit, glancing at my phone again.
Talk about embarrassing. Better a stranger than Mona, though.
“I’m Ken,” he says, handing me a biscotti. “On the house.”
I smile, accepting it. “Thank you. I’m Holly.”
“Well, if he’s got you waiting for him, he’s a lucky guy.”
“You’re just bored,” I joke.
Handing me a cup, Ken winks. “No, I don’t think that’s it. You’re beautiful. And I love your hair.”
Take that, Thomas! “Thank you. You have a nice smile. It’s good you’re in the business you are. You know, face-to-face customers. That smile would be wasted on a call center.”
“That’s a very specific compliment,” he says and chuckles. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. How late are you working tonight?”
“Until close. You’re not going to wait that long for this guy, are you?”
Am I? What’s an appropriate amount of time to wait for a man? “Probably not.”
“Sounds definitive,” he jokes. “If he doesn’t show up in the next half hour, I’ll be your date.”
“What if customers come in?”
“I’ll close.” He shrugs and gives me that smile again. Damn, he really does have a nice smile.
“You won’t get in trouble?”
“It’d be worth it to go on a date with a pretty girl like you.”
This guy has game. “Now, I have a feeling you say that to all the single girls who’ve possibly been ghosted by their dates.”
“To be honest, you’re the first woman I’ve met who got stood up for coffee. But even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t say that to anyone else.”
“And why should I believe that?”
The door opens, the bell above it ringing, and I turn, surprised at how disappointed I am to see Preston. Dirty ball cap, tight jeans, cowboy boots. The boots are covered in something dark that smells far worse than mud.
“Guessing your date’s here,” Ken mutters, and I swear there’s disappointment in his voice.
“Coffee. Black,” Preston says. “Sorry for being late. One of our cows went into labor. Oh, can I get a water cup with no water, my man?”
The bulge in his lower lip explains the need for the cup. Dip.
My stomach churns. I can only imagine what the mix of black coffee and chewing tobacco tastes like, and whatever slim chance there was of a goodnight kiss later just flew out the window.
But hey, he showed up. Credit where it’s due. “Did you deliver a calf?” I ask.
We sit, and the stench from his boots makes me gag. “Yeah, we did, but it was a bit difficult. That calf did not want to come out.”
He spits into the cup before taking a drink of his coffee. Totally gross. I now understand why this detail rarely comes up in the cowboy romances I read. It’s disgusting to see the brownish-black spit dribble into the cup.
“Do you work on a ranch?”
“I own it.”
He looks offended, and I almost hold my hands up in surrender. “Sorry, I was just… It must be a lot of hard work.”
“Well, I don’t have office hands, that’s for sure. Or nice, clean clothes like the coffee man back there.”
“So… yes.”
His nose crinkles. “My store-bought coffee grounds taste better than this burned water. I can’t believe it cost me seven dollars.”
“You, uh, picked the place to meet,” I remind him. “Did you want to go somewhere else?”
“No, this is fine. I figured a city girl like you would call this place your second home.”
“It’s my first time here, actually. I think the lattes are good.”
Preston rolls his eyes, and I can’t quite make out if they’re hazel or light brown. Either way, they’re dull. “Hiding the taste of coffee. Probably not a bad idea. I bet you like mixed drinks, too. Not straight whiskey.”
“Oh, I like certain whiskeys straight. Depends on the brand—”
“My buddy makes his own whiskey. Better than the most expensive stuff on the shelves.”
I’m getting the feeling he thinks anything he has is better than whatever we’re consuming.
“I should’ve brought you some. Didn’t peg you for a whiskey girl.”
You could’ve showered. I would’ve been fine with that. Or at least changed your boots. “Do you have horses?”
He laughs, a bit of brown spit dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. “Oh, you’re serious?”
“Yes?”
“I have a lot of horses. We need them to herd the cattle. I would’ve thought you’d know a little about ranching from that show Yellowstone everyone’s always talking about.”
I shake my head. “Never got into it. The first episode where Kevin Costner’s character has to shoot a horse kind of turned me off.”
“It’s never easy, but it’s merciful. Some injuries are just impossible for them to recover from.”
He goes into graphic detail about helping birth a calf, and I realize his jeans are stained with remnants of birth. Mixed with the cow shit on his boots, I don’t even want to think about hugging him goodbye.
“How about dinner tomorrow?” Preston asks after talking at me for at least thirty minutes about his life on the ranch.
I’ve been thinking about a project I have to focus on at work tomorrow and almost miss the question. “Dinner?”
“I clean up nice, I promise. I just didn’t want to stand you up, so I came like this. There’s a great steakhouse about twenty minutes away. What do you say?”
I feel cornered. As much as I don’t want to, saying no feels rude. I’d expected this conversation to happen on the app where I could carefully craft my decline. But he didn’t cancel, and he’s not the worst date I’ve had so far.
The bar is set pretty low, here.
“Uh, sure. Dinner sounds… good. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t attempt to hug me, seemingly aware of his current state, and leaves with a wink.
“You’re going to dinner with cow-shit guy?” Ken asks, his eyebrows high on his forehead as he wipes down the counter.
“I didn’t know how to say no,” I admit, walking over to him. “He kind of caught me off-guard, and I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“You weren’t riveted by his talk of ranch work?” He drops his jaw and gapes at me in mock surprise. “How could you?”
I giggle. “I know. I’m terrible.”
“What do you mean you didn’t know how to say no? It’s pretty easy. Two letters. One syllable.”
Reaching out, I shove his shoulder lightly. “Shut up. I know, okay? I planned for this over text. I can come up with a response, and then spend two hours rewording it until it’s perfect. I can’t do that to his face. How do I tell him he kind of disgusts me in person?”
“Well, let’s just hope he actually cleans up nicely for dinner. I can’t imagine trying to eat with that smell.”
He clearly didn’t listen to the rest of the conversation to know what else was on his clothes. “This dating app may not be everything I thought it was going to be.”
“If you decide the date’s a bust, I’m working tomorrow night, too. We can grab something to eat after.”
I smile. “Thanks, Ken. Meeting you has honestly been the bright side of this evening. I’ll probably see you again soon.”
He’s cute, but do I really want to date a barista? Then again, I’d never have bad coffee again…