Chapter 5
five
The soft glow of the lamp on my bedside table casts shadows on the white walls. Thankfully plain and minimalistic is in right now because my bedroom is pretty bare. The only thing I’ve bought is a standing wood frame mirror in the corner and a sage green throw blanket.
Miles is in the living room rewatching episodes of Schitt’s Creek . Normally, I’d be out there with him, but I don’t need him asking for real-time updates of the text exchange I’m about to have.
Taking a breath, I open the last messages from whoever this guy is. He wants to take me out and fix my broken palate. Except he doesn’t want me to be a part of any of that. He wants the barista. I’ve tried remembering what she looks like, but I can’t. I was apparently too distracted by the guy I unintentionally stole from her.
My thumbs hover over the screen. There’s no good way to tell someone you’re not the person they think you are. With a sigh, I type the first thing that comes to mind.
Candace:
I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?
The three dots appear, and my eyes stay glued to the screen until his message comes in.
Unknown Number:
If you’ve been kidnapped and need to be rescued before our date, I have to warn you, among my many talents (and there are many) fighting isn’t one of them.
I shake my head at the message with a tight-lipped smile. Who is this guy?
Unknown Number:
I quit karate at the age of eight, and as a result, I’m useless.
My smile widens as I respond.
Candace:
Don’t worry, no karate needed.
I wait for him to answer, my heart thudding in my chest a little harder than it was before.
Unknown Number:
Sounds like we both dodged a bullet.
Okay, give me the good news first.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip.
Candace:
You’re sure?
Unknown Number:
Yes. I like to consider myself an optimist.
Letting out a sigh, I type.
Candace:
I really do love pineapple on pizza.
The three dots appear but then stop before reappearing again.
Unknown Number:
You’ve lost me. How exactly is this good news?
Your terrible taste in pizza is hardly something to celebrate.
The corners of my mouth twitch, and I playfully glare at my phone even though he can’t see me.
Candace:
The bad news is that I’m not the barista, but there’s a good chance she will have excellent taste in pizza for you.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I intentionally catfished the guy. I’m sure he’ll understand.
But it’s still embarrassing.
He had no interest in me, and the fact that I wrote my number on his receipt makes it indisputable that I was interested in him. I can’t back out and pretend I didn’t mean to give him my number. I found him attractive, I texted him back, and I knew exactly who I was talking to the entire time.
He, on the other hand, never thought twice about the girl who stood behind him in line today.
I jump when my phone buzzes in my hands.
Unknown Number:
You’re not?
Who are you?
I frown. They’re easily the least playful messages he’s sent so far. All flirtation gone, the butterflies in my stomach, dead.
Before I can respond, another message from him comes in.
Unknown Number:
Oh! Danishes?
I wonder if he still thinks I was looking at Danishes when I was clearly checking him out to the point of accidentally giving him my number when he didn’t want it.
Candace:
Yeah.
When a response doesn’t come, I send a follow up text out of panic.
Candace:
I’m sorry for getting in the way.
I smooth my hands over my hair and let out a breath. Well, at least it’s done. Band-Aid officially ripped off.
Unknown Number:
You liked me?
I arch an eyebrow.
Candace:
To be fair, I don’t know you.
Unknown Number:
Yeah, but you liked what you saw?
I blink at my phone screen, not sure how to answer. Part of me wants to say . . . obviously? But before I can come up with a coherent thought, he texts me again.
Unknown Number:
Shit. That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m just surprised.
My eyebrows furrow.
Candace:
Should I be afraid to ask why?
Unknown Number:
I don’t think so.
He starts typing, and I hug my knees to my chest as I stare down at my phone, waiting for his next message. As soon as it comes in, I snatch my phone and start reading.
Unknown Number:
You know how there are some people who look like they’d happily talk to someone they don’t know?
You didn’t look like one of those people.
My lips purse. Is he saying I’m unapproachable? I’m almost tempted to ask him why.
Candace:
Fair enough. Now that you mention it, the barista was extremely welcoming, and I’m sure it had nothing to do with her being paid to smile.
Unknown Number:
Ha. Ha. That’s not why I was going to ask her out.
Candace:
I’m sure you have an excellent reason.
I wonder what he likes about her. After seeing how he described me, I’m intrigued. Is she a daisy with a bubbly personality? I wish I paid more attention to what she looked like while I was there today.
Unknown Number:
I don’t want to tell you.
You’ll judge me.
I let out a huff. I didn’t even ask him to tell me, but now I definitely need to know.
Candace:
You owe me. I thought I was being hit on today.
There’s a long pause before he starts typing, like he’s trying to figure out what he needs to say, but the message that comes in is far from poetic.
Unknown Number:
I have a thing for blondes.
My tight lips burst with laughter, and I shake my head. He can’t be serious. That’s his reason? I suddenly don’t feel so bad about ruining their meet cute after all. What kind of guy only goes for one hair color?
Another message pops up.
Unknown Number:
Are you judging me?
There’s no reason to sugarcoat things, I type back my honest response.
Candace:
I am.
Unknown Number:
I thought so.
Look, it’s unintentional. Every woman I’ve dated has been blonde by circumstance, and now I’ve simply accepted my fate.
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me.
Candace:
Your fate of only dating blondes?
Unknown Number:
I don’t only date blondes. I’ve just only ever had relationships with them. There’s a key difference.
Candace:
Fine. You’re only attracted to blondes. But hear me out.
Unknown Number:
Debatable, but I’m listening.
I snort a laugh.
Candace:
Maybe it’s time to look at the fact that dating blondes is the one thing that has consistently never worked out for you.
And I’m not saying that as a girl who gave you my number today. I’m saying that as a friend.
There’s a pause before the next message comes in.
Unknown Number:
That is . . . an excellent point.
I probably shouldn’t encourage this man’s terrible theory on love, but with a sigh, I type out my next message. Miles will disapprove, but I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. It’s as simple as that. And a guy who only goes for blondes? It sounds like I may have actually dodged a bullet after all.
Candace:
But if you’re really into blondes, just go back and ask her out again. I promise not to interfere this time. I’m sorry about that.
Unknown Number:
Don’t apologize. This has become a much more interesting night than I anticipated.
It has for me, too. Maybe not in the way I was hoping, but I like talking to him. He has this candid way about him that makes him feel . . . genuine. It’s refreshing. And now that the flirting aspect is gone, the conversation isn’t riddled with pressure. Even if it’s not what I wanted, there’s something that can be said for that, too.
Unknown Number:
You really think I should go back?
Of course I don’t think he should go back and ask out some gorgeous blonde who serves coffee, but who am I to judge?
Candace:
You might as well. See how things would have worked out today if all had gone according to plan, right?
Unknown Number:
Another valid point.
Setting my phone down on my bedside table, I consider going into the living room and joining Miles. It’s getting late, though, and tomorrow is a full day. I’m booked solid without much of a break for lunch or my always appreciated afternoon coffee.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table, and my eyebrows pull together before flipping it over. I didn’t think he’d text me again. I’m not the person he thought, and he’s going to ask out the right person. Simple as that. But as I look down at the message, I can’t help but feel a tiny flutter.
Unknown Number:
So, outside of this, how was your day?