CHAPTER SEVEN
I get a lot of random messages leading up to Thursday. I don’t know if I’m repelled by the dating App or in shock at how some guys really put themselves out there and how many are incredibly perverted.
I roll over. I’m just waking up, and I can see the sun is already shining. I reach for my phone, which is about two feet further than I can reach, and I am suddenly doing what feels like an acrobatic move off the side of my plush double bed. I grab hold of the end of my phone and pull, unplugging the charging cable during the act.
I turn it on and see that I have four new messages. Although I already have my first date tonight, Miriam wants me to have multiple dates - the whole reason for the article. I spent the last few nights with Lucy and Briar, swiping left and right.
I bend my knees to release my lower back to the mattress and, in doing so, unintentionally knock Bob off my legs. I can see him trotting into the kitchen. Within seconds, I can hear him throwing his food on the floor again. I sigh at the thought of the mess I will have to clean up later. His new thing is also scooping water from his water bowl and dumping that on the floor. Hard food, plus water, equals soft, mushy grossness on my kitchen floor.
I turn my attention back to my phone.
You have 4 new messages.
I am instantly excited, although combating anxiety on the inside.
I have to say, although some of the attention is rather unwanted, it does sort of boost the ego, having all these guys message me. I make a mental note to write about this in my first article. I click on the first message.
Talldrinkofhotness (Roch): Looks like you could use a tall drink of me ;)
Really? I delete the message, not interested in even glancing at his profile. I open the next message.
Freehugs (Paul): What up?
Delete. I’m starting to feel a little picky, but come on - where’s the effort? I responded a few days ago to someone who wrote the exact same line, and it went nowhere. I asked how his day was going, and his reply was, “Okay.” Just okay. Nothing followed it. I am not going to waste my time being the sole conversationalist. I click on the next message.
MakeMeMelt (Mike): Send me a nude xoxo
Oh, My God. Seriously? Each message is worse than the one before. I’m so happy that I have a decent guy to go on a date with tonight. Although I’m starting to be a bit more than just a little annoyed, this will make for great writing material. I can’t be the only online dater who gets messages like this! I open the last message.
SoulSeaker (Jonah): My girlfriend and I were scrolling through your profile, and we would love to meet you. She thinks you are very pretty. We’re looking for a down-to-earth girl to hook up with. So what do you say? You interested?
Okay, enough for this morning. I delete the last message, a little taken aback. Isn’t there a different App for stuff like that? Maybe threesnotacrowd.com?
Hmm, I wonder if that exists.
I shake my head and go back to my messages with James.
We haven’t spoken since we made the date, but I’m not worried. I start scrolling through the messages, trying to decode any other hints about him. I decide to try to find him on social media and see if I can dig up any other pictures or facts about him. I write James in my search bar, and I see a bunch of random dudes—and some girls—pop up. I scroll through slowly, trying to spot someone with some resemblance to the pictures I have already seen. I click on one of the pictures, and it takes me to a James Wilcox. I shuffle through his pictures. I guess it could be him. I finally come across a picture of the James I have been messaging at a wedding.
Oh, shit!
It’s his wedding. I zoom in on one of the pictures of him with the bride, suddenly expanding my creeper status from zero to one hundred. My stomach is starting to form knots. I sit up so I can focus, crossing my legs and letting out the breath I’ve been holding. This guy has a dimple on his left cheek. I’m suddenly seeing more differences: thicker eyebrows and thinner lips. I open the dating App and pull up his profile picture. Nope, he is smiling wide, and he has no dimples.
Phew..not him.
I continue my social media search. I prop up my pillows behind me, and I lean back, thinking. He’s a realtor, he has to have some sort of a business page. I squint, trying to look for clues. Maybe a realtor logo…. and then boom! Found him.
A wicked smile spreads across my face. He is so cute, and his profile is public. So, is it really creeping if someone willingly puts all that information out into the world? I’m trying to downplay any stalker vibes that I’m giving off and think about how I’m just being careful, being curious one might say.
Proactive, even.
I click on his A bout Me, and right at the top - Single. Yes! Well, that’s a good start. At least he is being honest about that. I start to wonder if I’m doing myself more harm than good and decide to take one last look at that smile of his and close my phone.
* * *
I’m just pulling into the parking lot of The View. The place is already packed, and I can hear the laughter and conversations coming from the patio that overlooks the river. I hope James reserved us a table overlooking the water. How romantic is that for a first date? I swoon a little at the thought. I park in a spot and turn off the car, pulling my purse onto my lap. I’m trembling on the inside. The nerves set in about two hours ago when I got in the shower.
I spent a little extra time getting ready today. After shaving my legs, I opened up the lime and bergamot scented body lotion that’s been sitting in my cupboard for probably longer than its shelf life and moisturized from neck to toe. I even pulled out some of the beauty samples I’d hoarded and did a face scrub.
I pause, wondering why I did all this for a date, for some rando? I should be doing this for myself regularly. I make a mental note to up my self-care game.
I tilt the mirror on the sun visor down and wipe a spot of lip gloss that has smeared. Once I’ve checked that everything is good, I get out of the car and make my way to the front entrance. I’m five minutes early. I hate being late and rushing. I always strive to be at least a few minutes early, however striving for and actually being early are two very different things. I wanted to get to our table before James arrived so that I could familiarize myself with the space and take some deep breaths to calm my nerves and the flare-up of my generalized anxiety.
The hostess greets me with a smile.
“Hi,” I say. “Reservation under James.” I smile as she looks at her reservation book and nods.
“Follow me.”
She grabs two menus and turns towards the back of the restaurant, leading me out onto the patio. The sun is shining, and the spring air is warm without any breeze. The patio is packed, and I speed up to stay close to the hostess as she veers in and around the already full tables. She stops when she arrives at the last table, in the far corner, overlooking the water.
My heart jumps. This is so romantic.
She places the two menus on the table and tells me my server will be by shortly to take my drink order.
I slide onto the chair facing the restaurant so I can see when James arrives. Another reason I like to arrive first, I get to pick the seat I actually want to sit in instead of pretending that I’m okay with my back facing the crowd. I take out my phone and check the time. I still have a few minutes. I place my phone on vibrate and drop it back in my purse. I look over the ledge and notice a cardinal perched on a nearby dock. That has got to be a good sign.
I glance around at the nearby tables to check out what other people have ordered when I see him.
It’s him.
James is walking right towards me, teeth showing through his smile, hair blowing slightly in the breeze - wait, there’s no breeze. How is his hair doing that? I feel as if the rose-colored glasses have just planted themselves onto the bridge of my nose, where this man of significant hotness is striding towards me in slow motion. I lift my hand and wave, feeling awkward.
He comes right over to my chair, so I stand, and he embraces me in a big bear hug as if we’ve known each other for years. He says my name, although the sound comes out muffled with his mouth smothered against my hair. I take in a deep woods scent, not quite as attractive as Ben’s rainforest, but he smells good nonetheless. I pull back as we seem to be tiptoeing into an overly long hug meant for condolences and long absences.
I sit back down, and he pulls out the chair across from me and sits.
“It’s so great to meet you, Sofia,” he says.
“It’s nice to meet you too, James. This is a great spot, isn’t it?” I ask, looking over the water. His gaze doesn’t leave me as he smiles and nods.
A server makes his way to our table wearing crisp black pants and a white polo shirt with The View logo embroidered on the pocket.
“What can I start you off with for drinks?” he asks, turning towards me.
I look at James and glance quickly at the menu in front of me.
“I’ll take a glass of white wine, please.”
“I’ll have a glass of whatever you have on tap. Surprise me.”
I could never just leave my drink order in the hands of a random stranger. What if I don’t like it? James really is much more outgoing than me. I could learn a few things from him, I guess. Maybe I could open up and try new things and be a little more adventurous. I’m a girl of routine. I like what I like, and I don’t tend to veer off from that mental list of my likes.
James reaches over and grabs my hands abruptly. I’m gasping in surprise, not used to the forwardness.
“I’m so happy we’re doing this,” he says. I smile back at him, unsure of what to say. “Tell me about yourself. I want to know everything.” His voice is filled with the confidence of a superhero.
“Um, I don’t know where to begin. What do you want to know?” I ask shyly, feeling my shoulders raise, not quite feeling relaxed yet.
“Anything, your favorite color, the way you take your coffee, what style of eggs do you eat?” he persists.
I squint as the sun hits my eyes. I move over slightly, allowing the sun umbrella to cast a small amount of shade just over my eyes.
“My favorite color is yellow. I don’t drink coffee often, but when I do, I prefer one milk, well oat milk, and one sugar, and I prefer my eggs scrambled,” I say, meeting his gaze. “What about you?”
He ignores my question and asks if I’m serious that I like my eggs scrambled. I frown at his question. What’s wrong with scrambled eggs?
“How do you prefer your eggs?” I ask again.
“Poached. There’s no way else to eat them,” he says, picking up the menu.
Um, OK, if you say so.
“I see,” I respond, unsure what else to say to that.
He looks up at me again, smiling. No dimple. I’m thankful my first online date is mostly a normal guy. He isn’t giving creepy stalker or murder vibes, so that’s good. Geesh Sofia, where have your standards gone? As long as he doesn’t look like a murderer, you’re good? I think of a few more messages I received earlier today. They just kept getting worse as the day went on, but I did match with a guy slightly younger than me. He wrote me a message, but I didn’t respond. I thought I would wait until after my date with James. I don’t know how one could manage to talk to more than one person at a time. It seems so confusing. I don’t want complicated.
I shrug off James’ odd response and continue on. “So, have you been here before? What do you usually order?”
The menu is on the small side, but I see the smashed chicken I ordered last time I was here. It was so good. I will definitely be ordering that.
He’s looking at the menu when he responds. “Yeah, I come here every few weeks. I’m not a fan of cooking, so I eat out quite a bit.”
I nod, understanding completely. I dislike cooking very much. I tend to set off the smoke detector. I think I just get busy or forget what I’m doing, so I leave my food to cook longer than they’re supposed to.
“I think I will get the mushroom caps for starters,” he continues. “What do you think?”
Inside, my stomach is turning at the thought of mushroom caps. “I think I’m good for a starter, but thank you.”
“Your loss,” he declares as he ponders the menu further.
I’m not quite sure if he is being playful and joking or if he is starting to come across as a little less desirable than he was on the App. “I’m going to order the ten-ounce prime rib,” he says, closing his menu.
I wait for him to continue. The spark in his eyes seems to be gone. We’ve been here less than fifteen minutes, and his demeanor seems to have shifted.
I shrug it off. It must just be nerves.
The server arrives with our drinks and takes our order. The mushroom caps arrive shortly after, and James devours them in minutes. I’m slightly turned off, if I’m being completely honest. He doesn’t even close his mouth to chew his food. He seems to have gotten a second wind and has been talking about himself and the real estate he has recently sold, all while popping in one appetizer after another, barely swallowing. I drink the last of my wine as the server arrives with our entrees. I ask for a glass of water.
“Another beer, my man,” James says to the server as he waves him off.
He’s kind of a douche through the rest of the meal—or actually a moutard . I smile as I laugh to myself inwardly, thinking of Ben. Ben would definitely call out James as a moutard . I spend the rest of the date listening more than talking since James clearly likes the sound of his own voice. I’m mentally already ruling him out for a second date when he tells me he is having such a good time.
Really, James, really ?
I’m about to respond as I finish a bite of my chicken when he cuts me off again to go on about a fish he caught last week. This dude is all about his stories. I finish off my chicken, and I am slowly tuning him out as the thought of Ben and his hands reaching out towards mine the other day causes a tingle to appear out of nowhere back in the depth of my abdomen. I brush the thoughts of Ben out of my head and look across the table at James. He just laughed really loud, loud enough to make heads turn, and he was staring at me, waiting for my reaction. I have no idea what he just said.
“Sofia, did you hear me?” he asks. “My buddy, Boe, fell off the boat when he was reaching down to take off something that had caught on his rod. It was a bra! Can you believe that, Sofia? A bra.” He laughs again, just as loudly as the first time. I let out a tiny laugh, more out of embarrassment than anything else.
I place my napkin on my plate. That chicken was the bomb, as usual.
James follows and downs the rest of his beer. He makes eye contact with the server and orders another one loudly across the room, pointing to his empty glass.
I pull out my phone and glance at the time.
“James, this was really great, but I actually have to get going,” I say shyly.
“It’s still early. How about we go back to my place? We can get to know each other a bit more there?” he asks. “Maybe a little Netflix and chill?”
Do people actually still say that? I shouldn’t be surprised. James turned out to be very different from his profile and the guy I was speaking to.
“Sorry, I can’t. Maybe another time?” I reply, knowing full well that I will be deleting James from the App as soon as I get into my car.
“Your loss, Sofia.” He turns to see our server still at another table. “Man, where’s my beer?” He shouts.
I go to stand up. I’ve had enough of James.
“It was nice to meet you, but I do have to rush out,” I say, glancing down at my blank phone, willing some sort of emergency call to come through to make this less awkward. Of course, it doesn’t vibrate. I pause for a moment before turning wondering if I’m supposed to offer to pay for half, hands clasped on my bag as I ponder this. Jake paid for most of our dates while we were together since he made more money. I never asked Lucy about this, and I make a note to bring this up.
“If you change your mind, hit me up,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
I give James a smile and thank him for the meal before I go.
I apologize to the server for James’ behavior as I pass by him. He smiles in acceptance, and I make my way out of the restaurant as fast as I can.