Chapter 14
fourteen
After last night’s disaster of a date, for some reason, date number five felt like date five hundred. At some point in the past few hours, a new sort of understanding that I was now a seasoned blind-date veteran sank in.
I was definitely getting less nervous each time I set up a new one. And more excited that I was officially well over the halfway point of this dating experiment I had let myself be conned into.
I managed to snag a small corner table in the bustling coffee shop.
It was still slightly dark out as the sun started to pool through the wide front window.
The workers behind the counter were like a well-oiled machine with each rush of hot air from the espresso machine to addressing people tapping their toes while waiting for their morning pick-me-up.
“Hot chocolate for Carol! Extra whip.”
“A warmed cardamom bun for Ashlyn!”
Baristas called orders one after another as customers headed in and out of the door, which was coated in a gentle sweep of fog and condensation.
I lifted the lid of my laptop open, a half-empty cup of black coffee beside it.
It was early—barely eight thirty a.m.—but the place was already buzzing with people ordering their morning fix before heading off to work, which made me feel like I was kind of doing the same thing right along with them.
I figured I might as well clean myself up after last night’s disaster date at the dive bar and arrive for this one early so I could start the day off well, however date number six was going to go.
If he showed up considering there was only a few minutes until our planned meeting time.
Plus, I actually had a few writing jobs that had come through the other day that I needed to finish by the end of the week.
Though still, no full-time positions had magically pinged in my email.
It just made no sense. I was smart and practiced. I had a master’s degree, for God’s sake!
What else do these people want?
I had done everything I was supposed to do! Even if, yes, I could’ve chosen a more normal major with more job options, I now realized. Did I need to attach a song and jig to my next application, begging them to hire me?
At the very least, I was certain it would help me stand out.
My fingers, lightly covered with powdered sugar from the pastry I couldn’t deny myself while I had been in line, hovered over the keyboard.
I stared at my screen, squinting at the headline for my latest article.
At first, I had thought the job was a scam.
But, nope, it was real. A website wanted someone to write an article about lawn furniture.
And that someone was now me.
I stared at the untouched “Five Tips to Make Your Lawn Furniture Last Longer.”
The title alone was making me feel like I was writing the world’s least inspiring piece.
Have I really stooped this low?
I had thought maybe after that fun website gig I’d had from before, things might be looking up. This said otherwise. I kept writing, trying to watch as I hit the word count requirement.
But freelancing was a grind, and I needed the money.
Between this, a few articles for lifestyle blogs, and some copy for a local restaurant’s website, I was scraping by fine enough.
Still, I’d gone to school for writing. Studied it.
Practiced it. Did it for free for the sake of exposure.
I didn’t want to be typing about plastic chairs and Adirondack sets for the rest of my life.
My phone buzzed in my bag. It was Gina.
I was just told he’s running a little late, but he’ll be there soon! He’s cute though! Promise!
My eyes drifted over to the door of the café, as if I expected to see him walking in right at that moment.
To be honest, I didn’t care as much as I probably should have, mainly because I didn’t have high hopes. After a string of disappointing blind dates, my expectations were about as low as they could go at this point.
As if my never-ending job search wasn’t keeping me humble enough.
And he’s cute, huh? I thought skeptically. I’d heard that one before.
At exactly nine a.m., the door chimed, and a man in a sharp business suit entered. He was tall with short, dark hair and a confident air about him that immediately caught my attention. He looked like someone who had his life together—way more than I could say for myself, honestly.
He was scanning the room, probably looking for me.
Well, at least he doesn’t look like a serial killer.
Standing up, I waved. After taking a second, he moved toward me with a smile I could only describe as warm.
“Hi. You’re Brielle?”
“That’s me,” I agreed, shaking the hand he’d offered. No awkward hugs—thank God.
“Great. I’m Johnathan. John works,” he said. “Sorry I’m late. I should be used to it around here by now, but traffic was a nightmare.”
“No worries.” I settled back into my seat, extending a hand toward the empty one across from me. “I was just getting some work done.”
“Oh, that’s great.”
As he sat down, I noticed just how put together he was, unbuttoning his suit jacket.
He looked like he’d just walked out of a magazine ad for successful business people or maybe a high-end cologne commercial.
I’d genuinely mentally prepared myself for a guy in a faded band tee and cargo shorts in winter because he wasn’t going to let the weather control his style, like date number four … or was that five?
I was getting them mixed up now.
But this guy? He was a complete surprise.
“So, how’s your morning going?” John asked, adjusting his suit jacket and leaning in slightly.
I smiled, feeling a little more at ease than I had felt a bit ago, thinking about this eight hundredth date.
“Pretty good actually. Like I said, I’m just getting some work done.
It’s nice to write outside of the house or else I turn into a troll, all holed up in my apartment until my roommate, Gina, insists I get out for some fresh air. ”
“You get into the zone.”
I wished I could say yes, peeking back down at my … article I was currently finishing up. “I’m a freelance writer, so my schedule is a little more flexible these days.”
He raised a groomed eyebrow. “Oh.”
“Something the matter?”
“No. That sounds interesting.”
“Why do I think that isn’t true.”
“I’m sorry. It is.” He shook his head, trying to get back on track. “What do you write, specifically?”
“Well …” I hesitated. Warning bells that something was about to go wrong started a gentle trill in the back of my mind.
I’d had them built in between date three and four.
Or was that a PTSD symptom? Post-traumatic stressful dates?
“Mostly content for different brands. Like copywriting and articles for websites and stuff. Right now, I’m working on an article about lawn furniture. ”
John chuckled, and for a brief second, I thought he might’ve just been surprised or maybe trying to keep the conversation light. It was funny in a laugh or cry kind of way.
But then his face shifted into something more … amused and not at just the topic, but …
“Lawn furniture?” he repeated, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. “Wow, that’s, uh … pretty specific.”
“It is,” I attempted to joke. “Isn’t it?”
You know, it kind of sounds like one of those starving artist things. You know, where you’re doing something completely unrelated to your dream job just to make ends meet.”
I blinked, a bit stunned. I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or if he really thought my work wasn’t serious.
Though it was lawn furniture— No.
“Excuse me?” I asked, my tone a little sharper than I’d intended and my voice shaky. “I mean, I get that it’s not the most glamorous topic, but it’s still writing. And the pay isn’t bad. It keeps me afloat while I search for more stable work.”
John looked at me then—really looked at me—and his face immediately flushed with embarrassment. “Wait … you’re serious?” He paused, then quickly said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t—I mean, that’s actually really impressive. It’s just … okay, lawn furniture? I didn’t expect that.”
I felt a wave of frustration building.
I could get up and leave, but this was a good seat. I had free coffee refills for at least another hour, and I didn’t want to leave yet if not because I was hoping the date was going to go well, at least to get some work done for the day. For me.
And for right now, whether he thought it was worthwhile or not, writing was writing, and it paid the bills. Most of them, anyway. Now, here he was, a guy who seemed to have everything figured out, treating my work like it was a joke.
I could make fun of myself. God, I could even be downright critical. But I wasn’t going to let this guy do it for me.
“I guess I’m just doing what I can right now,” I said, trying to mask my irritation. “It’s not always glamorous, but it’s work. And I’m trying to get my foot in the door with bigger projects.”
John’s expression softened, and he leaned back, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just … well, I guess I was expecting something more. I don’t know.”
I waited.
“I figured my friends who set us up knew my type by now.”
Like how I was now figuring out he certainly wasn’t my type—corporate douche.
“All right then,” I muttered, taking a deep breath.
“I just like someone who is put-together and knowing what they’re doing with their lives at this point—you understand?
” His ears flushed as if he was now hearing what he was saying.
He quickly started to backpedal. “I didn’t mean it like that.
Really. I respect the hustle. You’re just not what I was expecting. ”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence before I trusted myself to speak again. “It’s been nice meeting you, John. I’ll let our mutual know that it just didn’t work out, though I appreciate them trying since, externally, you’re very cute. Internally? Ick.”
He startled, like I might as well have wrinkled my nose and held an X out in front of my body to ward him away from me.
“That way, they won’t get your type wrong again. But I think you should probably get going so I can get back to work,” I said. “I’m very dedicated to my work after all, even if you don’t see it that way.”
“I didn’t—yeah, of course,” he said quickly, standing. “I’m really sorry about what happened before. I didn’t mean to meet you like that. God, I sound like a complete ass.”
He chuckled. I was glad someone was having a good time.
I raised my eyebrows at him. He didn’t notice for another minute. Strike that. More like a minute and a half.
“I guess we just aren’t a good fit. I can get you another coffee to make up for my rudeness, if you’d like.”
I forced myself to smile tightly. “It’s fine. Thanks though. Have a good day.”
He nodded, looking genuinely apologetic.
I watched as he walked toward the door. Oddly enough, though I’d had such little expectations, I’d still managed to feel more than a little deflated.
Another hopefully promising start, but in the end, it felt like yet another reminder that I was on the outside of what most people considered “real” work.
At this point, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to “real” work status.
Pressing my lips together, I glanced toward my tabs at the top of my computer screen and opened up the one farthest to the right. There were a few new comments on my newest newsletter.
Opening up another page, I smirked. At least I didn’t have to write about lawn furniture now. I had another plain coffee. However, by the time I hit the bottom of the cup, my stomach started to churn.
I reached down to hold my stomach as the room started to swirl with the sound of the espresso machine.
Whether it was the second bad date in twenty-four hours or too much caffeine, I was no longer feeling ready to take on the day.